WHY...

The child in me still  thought of the world as poetry,

but it never  happens that way.

Since last few days ,
From time to time
I sit down,
and scrape my pen of my thoughts against the blank page in my mind,
I think of the way you spoke my name ,
the day I first met you, or
The way your lip gloss shimmered ,
Your hairs shine,
the light reflecting
of camera lens,

Ahh... the feeling I get, looking back
at all the time we spend together,
walking in the park for miles 
lying on the grass watching squirrels ...
the time just stopped whenever I was with you..

You were always beautiful in words,
You were sweeter prettier in words, and
I loved you more in worlds and words
then I ever did anyone in real life.

...the only question  I ask is why didn't you see in me, what I saw in you.

Monsoon at Pune

a wool blanket,

the way it scrapes.

cheap slippers on the feet,

jumping in water puddles on cold wet concrete... 

the smell of earth intoxicating the soul,

streaky windows are a picturesque stroll, 

life is a bliss,

letting  perfect golden little light in our morning kiss...

The rain,

it makes the nature hum,

playing romance on soft drums,

making our days lazy and fun

The sky turns white as angels,

there is a new freshness in the air,

you feel the gift and it's flair,

The drenched hitch

the first attempt,

at homemade 'pakoras'

Another film

with friends and drinks

Mending thoughts

of the ones that were lost

Making plans

of visiting faraway places

remembering, 

that hardwood and her cute little cup,

her coffee,

our love

Weather she wanted it or not.

P.S . : There is something about rains that makes me want to pour my thoughts here. After-all it's monsoon time , so it has to rain in rainville :) .

To my readers , I've missed you all. 

Cheers!!!

The Place of dreams

I've been missing a place, and it's forever loyal aromas, I remember the peacocks on the front lawn, hiding , playing , flying and pecking at the ground, I miss them, the ancient paintings, the smell of smoke throughout the rooms, packs of cigarettes and cases of wines, poetry in the air, I miss the thoughts exchanged with him and her, on the side porch, And the times when she will pull in the driveway, lock up the gates, When she'd walk through the doors, when I awkwardly fell in love, and I know there is no explanation needed, for it's not a love of lust, it's more like knowing in those moments, that remembering them will feel, just as intense and comfortable, as our time spent was, your influence... purple dreams floating in my mind.