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I shouldn’t have

I shouldn’t have
Let your hands feel
The sensations under my skin
And your ears listen to my throbbing heart
When your fingers ran through me like paint brushes
As if, to you, I were a form of art.
I shouldn’t have let your tongue
Roll inside my mouth
It was a magic that worked
And got me fiercely aroused.
I shouldn’t have let my mind flow
Without resistance
And savour
The taste of your warm lips
Every time you pulled me close under the blanket
Caressed and planted the erratic kiss.
I shouldn’t have laughed and listened
To the imaginary stories of castles
That we built on floating clouds, and,
Secretly wished them to come true
I shouldn’t have looked at you in the eye
And confess that I’d fallen for you.
Rather, I should’ve crawled under my skin
Retrieved
And pulled myself back
For I am betrothed to the one
Whom I promised and I once loved.
I can see in people’s eye
All that we have seems very, very wrong
And now it doesn’t matter anymore
To whom my heart belongs
As my parting is certain and
There’s no looking back
I am sorry for falling weak
Cause, I really shouldn’t have.

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Feathered Pen

She gifted me
A feathered pen
On our first anniversary
With which I hoped to write
Stories, poems, songs and many more
Things that made her smile.

Red and feathered, the gift,
A beauty unutilized
Until I took it out of the case
And wrote –
On a blotted paper.
Blue ink dropped by erroneous trembling hands
Words blotched by running tears
My heart pounding as I scrawled each word
With her gift, I wrote my first
For her
The last farewell letter.

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What if romance dies

What if romance dies

Between you and me

Will you ever turn back and see?

What if words choke

When we meet

Will you help your thoughts

And try to speak?

 

In your distracted eyes

I try to find

Answers to my

floating mind

But you look away

as you smile

Repressing the truth

Like a juvenile

 

Seasons changed

and all turned white

colours faded

leaving nothing to excite

we were there

but we were lost

far away

in different thoughts.

 

‘It is time

To be free’

As we parted,

It spoke to me.

Feelings numbed

And eyes were dry

Romance between us

Finally died.

You did not try

Nor did I

None of us

Wept a parting cry

As you vanished

In the fog

Our long conversations

Echoed

Like a monologue.

 

 

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Withered

She was born in the wilderness

Where people were dead

In mind and soul

And only bodily remains walked

She was the fresh wild blossom

dared

to bloom in the dark

She was the immaculate beauty

Growing each day

She was nature’s winsome creation

Waiting to be slayed.

 

Oblivious to the beasts

Camouflaged with caring touch

It was too late for her to escape

Their strong lustful clutch

Gypped and preyed upon

In devilry so dense

She cried and yelled

In pain intense

As her mournful calls left all unanswered

She lay there shocked, silent, still

Bruised and battered

Sunken eyes, deprived smiles and thoughts all lost

She speechlessly waited

for her life to exhaust

Like withered flowers with petals torn

Her living corpse touched

By hands unknown.

 

There she was, God’s angel, an alluring work of art

Loathing her own esse

In the world so vast

Where legions of deceivers

Still lurk in shadows

Waiting to vandalize soft dreams

Budding to grow.

 

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A poet’s demise

He walked away with the darkest silence

Leaving all their memories behind

He left her hand when she needed the most

Giving reasons least defined.

She wept, for nights and days

Till eyes dried and cushions blotched,

Her fainting voice chocked in pain

With hopes of his return gradually lost.

His love was weak and he was weaker

For they together failed the test of time

In the shade of dark, they swiftly vanished

Presuming that she will be fine.

Was she fine, was she not?

Inside she was battling through

a violent riot

Yet she stood up and she stood strong

With dilapidating trust

she lived on.

An artist succumbed to this tragic fate

For she could no longer write

He robbed her of her inspiration

When he crept away quietly that night

Her thoughts were ink that faded away

And the canvas rendered white

Amidst all this mayhem, she knew,

the beautiful poet in her

painfully died.

 

 

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