I thought a walk could just be a walk,
a soft afternoon, a quiet talk.
I dressed up my hope in a simple dream:
just sunlight, and sweetness, and a green-stemmed thing.
I didn't ask for a cage or a weight,
or a shadow to fall on a first real date.
I just wanted a hand, and a gentle hour,
and the simple grace of someone bringing me my favorite flowers.
I showed up with a heart full of wonder,
A mind full of gratitude

I was just a kid with an open chest,
and he was a man who knew how to test
the bounds of a heart that was soft and new.
He took what he wanted and broke what was left.

Just something alive that didn't demand,
a quiet kindness held out in a hand.
Instead of the cold, instead of the storm,
just something delicate, fragile, and warm.
My chest still aches where the naive excitement went,
before the colors of the afternoon bent.
And you decided to cut the stem and pluck
Every petal.

Before my heart was split in two, and you took the selfish route
Big and looming like you’re hunting prey
My fragile, naive mind couldn’t last a day
But still I stayed, and loved you deeply.
Regardless of the time between us.
You will always have my heart.
I carry the heavy, dangerous unspoken hours,
still standing here, waiting.

For my flowers.

Stone thrown

Into a glass pond

Ripples and reverberations

Radiate out in seismic motion

Circular cataclysmic waves

Breaking over consciousness and consequences

Culminating in the chaos of creation.

I am who I am,

Nothing more – nothing less.

You are who you are

Nothing less – nothing more.

We are who we are

There’s nothing more to say really.

So when you finally

find yourself

friction blooming

down your lungs

caught between

a trillion theses

and their whispers

too loud

find me among

the burned down pieces

where ash has been raining

but no clouds

Smoking one last cigarette, as the sun goes down.

Whatever was supposed to happen, hasn't happened yet.

Maybe it will happen now.

Lost in a hopeful feeling, thats not quite love.

Its sure got my heart reeling,

But it's not enough.

You had me going for awhile.

You almost made me believe.

But then you took my hope and smile.

Did you mean for me to be deceived?

Smiling one last crooked smile as the sun goes down.

Looking for you, it's been awhile.

But you're not around.

I thought i was tangled up in love, but I was just tangled up in blue.

You just left my heart feeling jangled, now I'm not sure what to do.

Lost in serendipity, and my own limerance and lyrics.

If you think there is help for me,

I'd really like to hear it.

Is it too late for me, was I meant to travel a lonely road?

Is there a chance for circumstance, could I find someone to help carry the load?

cerebrospinal sea of memories,

bottle made of pink-tinted sugar glass.

unusually swelled and touching down upon the shore.

i wonder what it contains.

too many two-fingered hands lash from the paper,

expressing something impossible in words.

they tried grasping at the stem.

they almost tore it off.

somethings not yet said,

somethings which should have been said.

compressed into manythings oblate.

followed by a cork of mere restraint.

stem the fluid.

save the stem.

stem the contained emotion.

save the sanity.

words are somewhat versatile.

one could use them as tourniquets to stem a wound,

or wrap them around someone's trachea,

and watch as the cartilage rings pop out one by one.

bear witness to the windpipe collapsing,

releasing whispers of warbled words half-formed.

however words can also be used as a blade.

ones spelled something like s-h-e-'-s d-e-a-d.

blade that causes the same wound,

that needed the tourniquet.

the tourniquet and the blade,

are both made of words.

what about the wound?

the wound is not a word.

words are not that versatile.

the wound is rather a world.

a world that speaks of all-encompassing

agony through the only language it possesses.

words.

to live is to regret

to see you and still know

that i made the wrong decision

of trying to let go

i should’ve known

i’ve held on tighter than anything

till my fingers are numb

till i don’t remember what i was holding

you still give me butterflies

you still make my chest tighten

you still make my words stumble

you still are you

and i tried to forget that

i tried to forget you

and how you made me feel

and how happy i was

i think i can’t let go

my hands are entangled with the rope

and i think that

you never helped me

i think i can’t undo it

what i decided to do

when i first noticed

how pretty were you

you’re still charming

you’re still kind

you still amaze me

and i’m still waiting

waiting for the day it doesn’t hurt

waiting for the day it does

waiting for the reason to unlove you

when i love you just because

Put your fingers anywhere else
Do whatever you can
This instant, or else
Pry your hands away
Dig them deep into the dirt
Connect with the earth, and
Give into getting to know yourself

وں کہ آزادِ مکاں ہوں
جہاں میں ہوں کہ خود سارا جہاں ہوں
وہ اپنی لامکانی میں رہیں مست
مجھے اتنا بتا دیں میں کہاں ہوں

Makani hoon ke azaad-e-makaan hoon
Jahan been hoon ke khud saara jahaan hoon
Woh apni la-makani mein rahein mast
Mujhe itna bata dein, main kahaan hoon?

Close translation -
Am I bound by space, or am I free from its bounds?
Am I within the universe, or am I the entire universe itself?
Let Him remain absorbed in His infinitude,
But tell me this: where do I stand?

When people have gone mad
And everywhere you look
There’s an ad
Look up to the sky, my friend
There are no ads (yet)

It is our choice how we view the world and those who live in it.

It has little to do with our upbringing, wealth, race, religion, or anything else we learned about as we were brought up to accept society’s self-centered beliefs.

To live a life of meaning, choose to see light rather than darkness, then share your radiant spark, your spirit, with the world.

Days have gone by,
I’ve felt both happy and sad,
mostly sad, sometimes all I want,
is a simple hi

Weeks have gone by,
I’ve felt nearly every emotion there is,
Sometimes I get the simple hi,
but it just takes away my peace.

Months will go by,
I ponder on the directions we might take,
I wonder what hi will be the last,
Wonder if we’ll ever get to say bye
I hope she stays in my life,
And doesn’t turn into someone from the past

I woke up with the sunbeams.

They wouldn't let me sleep.

I woke up because I felt something.

It was something very deep.

I almost let myself give up.

Almost gave up the whole fight.

But something told me I was loved,

And it just wouldn't be right.

So I'll stay here for a while longer.

I know that something good is coming.

So ill stay here, I'll work on getting stronger.

I'll stay because I know somebody loves me.

So here I'll stay, still standing strong, on my little spot of ground.

So here I'll stay, be it right or wrong, could you hold me up when I'm falling down?

Thou gavest me thy warmth, thy blood, thy bread, An inner child begot from thy deep core; I slumbered where thy quiet pulses bled, Believing I was loved, and something more. Before me marched my kin in hurried flight, My helpless siblings pushed out one by one, Their tender forms cast forth into the light, Their brief, warm lives already done. And as the last fresh carcasses of the youngest siblings fell upon me, Dumped heavy onto my poor abandoned soul, I knew my terror had only just begun.

Yet lo, before the final, cruel descent— To make my bitter cup of grief complete— With scornful breath, thy sudden flatulence Did strike me full, a tempest in defeat. Thou daredst to disrespect my dignity, And blow thy foul contempt into my face, A crowning insult to my agony, Before casting me into this vile disgrace.

I tumbled down into the porcelain deep, And upward gazed to find thy silhouette, Where thou didst stand erect, majestic, steep, Unmoved by all the tears of my regret. Thou art my maker, yet thou turn'st away, As parents cast unvalued babes aside; Like some unwanted bastard on the day They lock the door and leave him stripped of pride. Thou deemedst me refuse, fit only for the floor, A worthless thing, rejected and defiled. I learned the truth whispered in the shatter: Fecal matter mustn't matter.

Then came the roar—the sudden, vengeful pour That ripped me from the home wherein I smiled. A swirling vortex caught my helpless form, And down the frozen, blackened tube I spun, Abandoned, weeping in the screaming storm, Unloved, forsaken, as the flushing's done.

Hey, I wrote this the other day. I really love poetry and this is the first one I’m sharing. It of course has a specific meaning, but it’s up for interpretation.

“My room is…really smoky” I say, finally realizing the livelihood of my day to day
Smoke covers my room, coating my desk, my bed, my body
I wanna get out
I’m sitting here with burnt toast, staring at it
I don’t like the burnt toast and I don’t like that it’s been burning for so long
I don’t like the smoke I can smell and hear and feel
I wanna get out
And when I finally get the courage to ask someone to help me with the smoke, they don’t realize…
They see the smoke, they worry about that, but they don’t see the toast sitting on my table
They throw water, call the fire department, pull the alarm, and wrap me in a fire blanket…but there’s not fire
Well, at least there wasn’t a fire
Now I’m sitting here with soggy, burnt bread
I can’t eat it, I can’t touch it, I can’t scrape off the burnt pieces
I can’t do anything
My room is soaked and the posters are falling
My toast is soggy and burnt
My window sits there waiting for the person they thought would come and open it…
Maybe if that person opened the window I’d be sitting here with burnt toast
Burnt toast that’s burnt pieces have been scraped off
Burnt toast that has stability
Burnt toast that still tastes decent…
But now all I have is soggy toast
Soggy burnt toast in a room full of smoke
My room is still smoky, but now I have a lot more problems.

Save me.

I fell in a well.

Oh, my body's covered in scars.

They're hiding behind my clothes.

Do I have to be naked to receive help?

Look at my hands, they're blue.

Please, I'll use the rope.

I'll climb out without recovering.

I need to anchor it.

My bruised hands grip the rope,

and my cadaver wraps around it.

Oh, I see sunshine.

I see the rain droplets too.

No, I'm losing the grip.

Help. Help. Help.

My hands slip,

as I fall to the bottom of the well.

How did the well fill up so quickly?

Is that an illusion?

I can't scream, nor can I move.

I'm unable to swim.

There's no air, 

and my hands seem tied.

Thank you, sunshine.

The glare is dazzling.

Wilted purple flowers macerated underfoot

Browned with every hurried step's crush

Spring downpour arrives a month late

Tropical deluge meeting near Antarctic winds.

The city gets more frenetic in the rain -

Damp heads rushing between covered shop fronts,

Somehow always ill prepared for the wet

Despite the yearly rituals of fire and flood.

Umbrellas break grey: colourful, crooked parasols

As the wind snatches at them, snapping

Feeble aluminium arms like jacaranda branches.

Traffic lights reflecting off drenched tarmac

Vision occluded at times by violent downpour

Interspersed with dubious moments of calm.

The sheets of rain can be deafeningly loud -

A destructive force as much as a source of life.

Brakes screech, horns blare, metal crunches

Sirens inevitably to follow, while usually

Curious passersby keep heads down, walk fast

Attempting to escape the drenching sky.

River swells, feeds the creeks to burst banks,

Mangroves and reeds hang on for dear life.

Cracked dry earth desperately trying to

Absorb the long overdue influx.

Gutters turn to rapids, storm drains to waterfalls

Raindrops to tears down every upturned face.

Purple flowers drip down with every storm,

Carpeting the streets with a lethal slip.

Flame trees to come next, with humid sun -

Dampened city streets fading into steam.

Write like it’s required
About the life I desired
The storybook is on fire
But the author’s a liar
Younger selves had aspired
Please say i’m not the only one that’s tired?