Last Verse

Poet, Artist, Lover of Math
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he’s just a pretty face
and a favorite color
how am I supposed to love an
empty being- or perhaps
care about his existence
and how he makes a difference
in my reverie,
if i find no way to
a two-way conversation,
coz one-way streets tend
to dwindle away from the
general flow of life
and a stranger is a stranger,
even with a pretty face
and a favorite color
for a stranger can only
affect with a smile

You should come with a warning tag
"I run away."
and perhaps a few caution signs
"Caution: I toy with hearts."
"Caution: I don’t know what emotions are."
It must be a skill acquired to be so
oblivious to the ripples you create
by your existence,
that even though you might be
nice, your lack of regard to whom
you meet, share a few words with,
delve into their thoughts, pry out
a few laughs, and without even
considerately saying, hey I must
be on my way, you were only mine
for the short while I was here,
You walk on away.


her tears are lighter fluid
her cheeks the sparks
and her smile fire

but somehow the fire
cannot scourge the sorrow
though it pushes the marrow
to plentiful percussion

her tears are lighter fluid
and her smile fire
and her eyes a haze

but somehow the shadow
cannot fill in the recesses
though it seeps the memories
to resplendent ramifications.

Make a wish,
watch it levitate
towards you.
Let it unfurl and billow
your reality to smithereens!
For wishes are
as commanding as

The way you draw your breath across
each terrain is breathtaking. I falter a
bit trepidly dangerously at your fair-play.
If i was paper would you pour yourself
all intimately, as if pour your soul into
this dry gourd. Coz you oh dear pen
do breath a soul into me.

If you continue to make me so breathless
how am I to breathe and just live
preoccupied with those things that
capture your enrapturement and drag out
that thing which we call thoughts.

Perilous and oblivious to its own exitence
Say do chill, and flow on.


Raise me up as you would a bubble,
with sudorific devotion
careful beyond careful,
because even though I present
a composed and hard form
Inside, just below the fine layer,
it’s all bubbles

So raise me up
so that I may
not pop and burst,
Or explode into oblivion.
so that I still shine
from the sheer capacity,
of being supported.

She the kind of harbinger
who faces the world as she

Most warriors create a path
facing only forward, with the
unending push that the past
only causes pain and not
realizing that the tail must be
kept in check as well.

She’s one who prepares
forward march and backward glance
and charge ahead
do you follow? and she leads.

It’s the perfect love affair
no quarrels, no guilt and
no afflictions of any sort
just the return after
long adventures and perilous quests
to welcoming folds and soft ensconces
no questions asked, rather
thoughts of where have you been
how long may I hold you
soothe your entire body
that tensed back from everyday
atlas like ritual
and knotted shoulders from
furrowed aspirations dwelling
among the crux of sleek
conjoining where the nook of the
neck, sweet delicacies are murmured.
Never such a perfect companion
has been chanced upon such as
my bed.

She had by chance dubbed herself
The Lone Wanderer
considering that all her travels
and ventures were of the solitary
   so it seemed proper.
It isn’t to say that a
companion wasn’t desired.
Somehow circumstances haven’t
    Those that came close,
faltered over superficial
adherences and almost
absurd delusions because reality
isn’t reality until you realize
it to be so.
   So that many live quite a
disillusioned reality.
    But wandering alone isn’t
all that lonely,
    It’s being a flower that
is forgotten in the haste
of everyday life and suddenly
found when the bright colour
and enticingly sweet vapour
catches one unawares.
    It’s being constantly aware
and also unaware, coz one
can wander through their
mind, while awandering amongst
reality but to be doing that
consciously and unconsciously
is what borders on a curiosity
and a profound resistance
to monotonous revelry.

so I wander, perhaps a
solitary wanderer, perchance
not but do we rarely
enter this world with a
fellow wanderer who takes the
same path.

Literally and metaphorically
taking things apart
and the key piece that holds
different things together
                  and it looses
itself without a care
for how do you know
which piece is the pith
that holds all else in
         for when you disappear
who knows which ties
held up because of you and
which faltered and became
brazen reminders that the
crux was
       something no one ever