This feeling is forlorn But who are we To fuss about it? Because It is better than that facade Crawling with temptation Gnawing at us As we start anew In oblivion As the sun is…
One should learn to let the past rest. Be grateful to the experience, whether pleasant or unpleasant. Learn from it and go on. Explore new adventure and never let anything stop you. Save
It took me so many years to understand how important it is to love yourself rather than expecting it from others. As we can never-ever be the exact person which other’s expect us to be….
Kuch khoya hai toh Kuch paya bhi hai Maine, dhundane Chali thi manjil aur Khud ko khud se milwaya hai maine. Kya batao aaj Ishq hua hai khud se muje yaro. Etani thokare khake Khudko…
Remember you should be the only competition you compete with. Everyday adapt a new good habit and leave one bad habit. Save
You’re my Mercury you are very difficult to meet, but was worth it. Just like the Venus, who’s the brightest in the sky, you just light my darkest mind. And my Earth, who’s the center…
What does it mean when You are visited by a ghost Previously buried and forgotten But just as soon as it was gone It resurfaces Whistling in the wind a haunting tune
“Not Waving But Drowning” is an extremely sad and gloomy poem. A poem about a man who seems happy and full of life all the time. But inside he is dying. He gives signals about his state of mind, calling for help or maybe an ear who could hear. But either the world was deaf or ignorant or deaf during his life.
When I’m struck, they’d shower their love ; Which kept me flying like a dove. Whenever I felt weak ; Those were the souls I could seek. When I felt rejection, I was pushed into…
I thought it was Rupi Kaur Who said Hi to me But she was only another player at a busy casino table. Hiding in her art, her prose and feigning innocence She counted Deceiving the…
At the murky and filthy corner of the street, lives a ravisher. He smothers her innocence and purity with his foul touch and ogle. It’s bruised and sore where he spreads his lechery. His sinister…
Where the master sits catapulting profanity and food bits at her, there is a trail of dust kissed toast, yolk bleeding splotched eggs and a thousand bits of crippled ceramic, patterning towards her. Abstract art…
