Love is a teacher

I forgot how to frown

After tasting your smiles

Started humming old songs

Since you sighed in my ears

I understood art only when

Sunlight drew on your skin’s canvas

Celebrated every breath

As took my last in your arms.



Green mornings

Of snail placed days

Where every ray

Falls with joy.

These leaves ignite

A lazy breeze

Gently it pulls

And up I fly.

On a branch up high

Of unspoken thoughts

A forgotten flower

Breathes it’s old sigh.

Tasting the first sunshine

Nibbles turn to bites

As the heat rises

Every petal smiles.


Paper without a pen

​Maybe paper exists only for the pen,

Yearning to be marked by it

Drenched in its ink within a few moments

Forever carrying its scratches & scribbles.
All it takes is a mini-catharsis though

A shot of new-age individualism maybe;

Stories don’t always come from outside & beyond

The best ones are often found within.
A fold here & tuck there

Shifting forms yet still the same

Choosing from being the medium or the story

The choice is always your own.



I used to love getting high,

Thought I could leap out & fly,

Never do I once recall worrying

What if flying would turn into falling.

What was once laughed off as fear,

Is now a way of life & called caution.

Looking up, dreaming & taking leaps,

Has given way to looking down, calculations & breathing deep.