Don’t smile looking at me, the weak tired heart says. Don’t talk to me while untangling your hair, the lorn soul murmured. Don’t walk beside me, the scared another me shouted silently. The longing to talk to her is more than the need– Of thoughts for a poem, But we talk like pigeons feasting on…… Continue reading Talk


Infusing The young night With your exhiliration. Traversing From faith at your nape To the mole on your Cupid’s bow. Down Streaming your body I’m mountain river, you’re its bed. Erosional Your dress from this evening; Wave Your untied hairs, your exstacy As I splash on your warm skin.