For lonely hearts

Every heart is a room. with secret corners , sunny windows and some windows shut close. Trivial whispers circulate the room all day and more in night. this room has no walls though. you make one whenever and wherever you want. You let few people in, keep some out, throw some out after some time, and some you keep missing even after they walk out. and once in a while some one lets you in their space. A space you were never willing to enter, let alone stay. Gradually, you make it a second home. with a feeling that you belong there, with a wish to forever belong there, you keep unpacking baggage one stuff at a time each day , and packing it all a bit too many times. You dream of being asked to forever stay there, of making a passage from your heart to this – once and for all. Even a minuscule chance at such life keeps you smiling for hours. And then one day …. who knows where it will lead you …

sad that autumn comes
once the spring and summers pass
her loneliness stays.

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Fingers

My fingers often trace
the features on my face
as I sit alone and wonder
about myself,on that day.

Pulling my pink cheek
and pressing nose tip,
I smile as I wonder
the last time he did this.

My tears I would wipe
each eye with same finger
and stare at the wetness
that like a pool gathers.

With light they play like shadows
and in darkness they explore
these fingers never go silent
whether they mean to or not.

 

Inspired by We Wrie Poems (Write a poem about your fingers)

Poetry and Illusion

Prompted @ PAD challenge[Day 12]  to write a form poetry . I discovered Lune on the same site, and the same I tried here.

Kelly lune [5-3-5 syllable count]:
words alone never
make a poem;
make a discovery

Let ideas  be seated
in your head-
now watch them unfold.

This was written for We Write Poem [ About writing a poem]
Collum lune [3-5-3 word count]:

A tragic magician
creates illusion out of evident;
Is God amused ?

God make evident
of all illusion we create;
a tragic logic !

Submitted to 3WW

I wished fire

Oh how i wished there could be a fire
in eyes that talked so much,
in hands that yearned to touch
in heart that beat much faster
in words that  were said never.
But all i felt was an overpowering desire
to let eyes drink all that you showed
to let hands trace the things you owned
to let heart play music to your beat
to let words die before i could speak.

 

Written for We Write Poems [ fire] , Submitted to Poets Rally [week 41]

Musty minutes

Between the loud conversation
in the overlapping pauses
we look at each other
from corner of the eye;
the silence has its riches –
i take a sip of its memories,
you nibble at the dreams
while our present connects us,
with the painful realization
that no words can be persuasive
enough to bind you to me
no feelings can trap yours
You are as much unknown
as my heart feels you inside
as much toxic is your presence
as heavenly seems your touch
your eyes overpower my words
and the remaining breaths
you seal with one last kiss
your musty essence erasing me –
one goodbye that was to be final,
I realized it not then,fortunately.

Prompted @ We Write Poems , Three Word Wednesday

I am awake

Hands search the slim mobile
only to see it snuggled by my side
open an eye to note the time
yawn and into blanket i dive.

Few minutes later i half awake
much time it usually doesnt take
to switch on the laptop by my bed
oh and also,the texts to be read

A morning tweet,a hello on chat
and then to the mom’s call
a song selected to play in loops
finally out of bed,out of room.

Stand in the balcony,admire the day
smile lazily,as new plans I make.
And then i proceed to kitchen
am not awake yet,not without tea.

 

Prompted at We write Poems , Also submitted to One Shot Wednesday