Prompt, prose and poem

It’s strange to change with a slight interaction,

it’s like I am not feeling too well,

maybe write a poem?

Disguising things under an anonymous smile,

facing tomorrow without my life – changes my perspective

in a tragic way,

I may not be here for much longer,

but poetry has helped,

I sleep a little better,

whimpering with locked arms sunk into featherless pillows,

everything feels a little fragile this weekend.


I have been silent ever since I met you…

but it would be good to know if my words

have altered your emotions in some way…

You are always the last passenger in the commotion

of train of thoughts that comes gaping down my throat.

I have visited you everyday,

I wanted to be by your side,

I wanted to hold your hand,

I wanted to color your cheeks in

the festival of love –

the divine love of Radha for Krishna,

I think you would have loved it.


We all need some reminder that

we’re not alone,

to know to be joined some day.

You’ve been the text of many poems,

but the reflected moonlight doesn’t

show in my eyes

because when I was down and high enough

to be huge again, I heard your request.


What is the pain that one can endure?

How could I not make sense in the morning?

How can I love you when I am a flaw waiting

to be unveiled

to you?

They say that like pressure creates diamonds

we are created with commotions,

but they never told that bones break

and veins bleed under pressure,

it just about a few hundred poems

dedicated to you

because when I’m gone, I’m gone,

I ain’t coming back.

It seems that way.

The stars would grant a wish least for me,

I would ask them

to uncover your lips into a constellation.

The thin lined smile

that you notch

will be a secret zonule to all my poems.


I once painted a heart

where the stairway requited hugs,

where the empty would sleep,

where the black holes would take away lives.

The days went by and that heart


and it knocked the back of my chest.

So, I spray painted your smile,

but I break, and break some more,

to no more.

I could never amount to much,

but my poetry found a home to my readers,

my silent readers,

who call me a blind to my own achievements.

I feel like a misfortune,

I can’t feel my heart.


The first time I saw your deep eyes,

I knew I could love you

for a very, very long time.

If only you would let me to.

Now I believe I got the better outcome.

I still get to see your smile,

I still get to hear your voice

I still get to call you an Idiot,

but it seems that I don’t know much nowadays,

this is just an excerpt from a story I will never write.


Maybe you’ve got a few scars

from late nights,

don’t worry.

I have more.

Maybe you’re my complete opposite,

maybe we’re all same things.

Ain’t I writing the same poem

and dying inside with

just the right amount of ow…

Maybe you’re way out of my league,

maybe you’re a dire attempt,

but I can’t tell you how

the sea desired to let me feel the peace,

let me sink in it,


it was not destined

to end with a simple goodbye.



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