The crunch of autumn leaves was the sound of when you smiled.
The rising sun, caressing me like the colors wild.

I wish you had known this but you didn’t have a clue.
The only thing I hate more than waiting is waiting for you.



The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge : Lines #2

#thedailypostphotochallenge #dpchallenge #thedailypostweeklyphotochallenge

An old Teekwood tree that stands behind my house. It dries up this time of the year and reveals it’s structure. Has got a lot of lines there. Also the view was quite nice so I took no time to capture it.

Another one here.

The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge : Lines

#thedailypost #photochallenge #lines

This one’s going to be very simple.
So, I have been in a search for unique and beautiful lines ever since I found out this week’s topic but sadly I couldn’t fine any. However, last night when I was already in my bed, the lights went out throughout my locality. At around 1 in the morning, a vehicle’s headlights flashed from behind my house through my room’s rear window and formed this glitchy image on my front orange wall. It was only for a moment so I seized the opportunity and captured it. It’s quite mundane. Nothing special. But these incoherent lines were forming some kind of an illusion making me feel like I had blurry eyes. Also, they looked kind of creepy as if they had come straight out of a horror movie.

#dailypost #weeklyphotochallenge #dpchallenge.

Skinny Reality

Google images.

I walked in, I looked at you.
Into those dark doe eyes.
You passed a grin, it wasn’t meant for me.
That’s when I realised.

I was painting my reality on a skinny sheet of glass.
And all it took was a grin from you to make it fall and crash.


The Little Girl

The little girl sitting on the floor

knew she wasn’t that little anymore

and now was time to stand and think

how much has changed in a blink

of an eye; that how messed up

this sullen world is like a cup.

Cracked and burnt and full of things,

like dusty stones and shiny rings.

All twist and turn in a poky space

pushing each other, its like a race.

It didn’t make sense, it’s almost wry

some laugh hysterically while others cry.

She wondered, pondered, trying to comprehend

was this the beginning or the end

of her life she just found out;

she’s just a tiny speck in a crowd

of million others of her age,

blank, naive, on the same page;

but she knew how it was,

like a clayey knoll in a blanket of moss.

But when the wind hits at times,

the green is cleared and out it shines.

And she will too, betwixt, she knew;

and face the fire when it will roar.

Oh, she isn’t that little anymore.


This Year 

It’s so cold outside. Hazy yet clear. Clear, you know It’s the first day of the year.

My hands freeze as I write this down, My fingers, tremble. The letters may not be readable but my pace is nimble.

I see resolutions all around. Promises to self ( in a way or another) This new year is so clichéd Or the next, it makes me shudder.

But if I keep it like that Isn’t this life like a long year? Segmented into months of a child’s giggle, racing youth and grey hair.

Some days we win, We find ourselves flying with the wind We accomplish and achieve, quite enthralled. Those sparkling days, Sundays; they’re called.

And then there are times We bury ourselves. Tying to find meaning in cluttered, dusty shelves. The breeze of gloom scratching, it sways. Yes. Talking bout’ those Villain blue Mondays.

And some days, Everything seems fine. It’s a weekend! Life’s a perfect line.

Now, if I turn it around ( this year) The path is clean The vision is clear.

No regrets, no complications. This is the time of new celebrations. The good is earned, the bad is learned. It’s time to set aside all hesitations.


Here I Write

The feels that rise within my mind

sometimes I keep them packed inside.

but now I sit and here I write

to vent them free, in this twilight.

Some call me rude and some say shy.

Yes, that’s the truth, I hereby lie.

I am no hermit, don’t be mistaken

for I am uncouth and slightly shaken.

The profused silence, it is divine

like dots to connect, in bedlam of mine.

Only in tranquility and peace of mind

is when I fathom world’s great design.

The more I speak, the less I know

The less I speak, oh, there you go.

I am no different, just as different

as floating lava, amidst the snow.

These words, these thoughts.

They freeze, they burn.

It’s like a grand storm

trapped inside an urn.

This quietude is my escape from life

this serene silence I have devised.

This solitude exposed me to the placid side,

that never had I known, until my demise.

But now I sit and here I write,

to vent these words under this moon.

I often lose myself in this

and seldom find myself here too.