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Crossing the Rubicon !

With the advent of flames, traced back to you. The dreams that beget pain and inexplicable tranquility. And I see you standing in dense mist-in a place inaccessible, isolated and every few nights shattering my cozy, oblivious sheaths of escapist solitaire by your resounding echoing laugh, your wicked twitch of eye, your subtle brushing of a random, stray strand of hair and then smiling again, delving me further deeper into the vertigo of nothingness, where I lose my existence and burn and incinerate into cinders that buoyage forth into deep grey skies painted with my sense of loss, in quest of you. WHERE ART THOU? Lost? Oblivious to Love? Now I know why stars burn. Every night, they too lost their beloved-comets who went on their quest leading those stars alone. Shame and guilt over-rides a Comet's mind or heart (if she has any).The reason why the tail of a comet always faces away from the stars.
I know you've got nothing to do with whatever is written here, yet so engaging, ev…
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Wanderlust You !

The lines on a map trace out,
Like pronoia seeps in veins under my skin,
You bit me with your forget-me-not hazel eyes

And now I'm poisoned with constellations,
It makes sense though. Where you are,
Is where every road in my body leads to.

P.S - I am sorry to every one of you, really finding it hard to be in sync with corporate life and blogger life.

Sense Of Love !

Love may not arrive tomorrow,
Or today or in between the question,
and answer pause 
I’m not sure how long it takes,
Or whether it come
all at once, or piece by piece
I only know the one,
Wrapped around your hazel eyes
Where you hold a day,
Fill it with a lifetime
and still have room
for tomorrow.

Footprint !

I tried to let my heart,
rest it's wings
but it always start
to wiggle and jiggle
hearing you in the shimmer
of the silence,
feeling you in the space
between white lines

never looking away from your eyes
holding a card, a little longer than
it should,
for i am yours
and you who questions why
wondering about what you
have left behind
that i hold

"the footprint"
all angels leave a mark on this world
yours are made by guiding me home,
inside my fragile bones

Spoonful Words

I want to write you words that are greater than the sum of your victories, and less than the sum of my mistakes. Words that can be seen from the city's skyline and from the harbor that I call home because I don’t have grant gesture to show you how much I care about you perhaps I’d never have. Words that can withstand any distance put between them, because they are true with sincerity that still feel you even in the space between these white spaces. Words that are strong enough for both of us to live by or maybe just for me
I want to write you words that exist in my head and my heart right now, but will soon become only my to keep yet I don’t know how to write to you. I want to ensemble sentences that will fix the flux of emotions you felt, and passages that can connect two lonely dots that will live too far apart from each other on a world map, how everything is different with you, how my own heart fill the air yet makes space for you between each one call while my head loses sense…

Oral Waves !

Even in those moments where loving yourself seems like the hardest thing in the universe, I need you to remember this, I will love you fiercely when you feel like you least deserve it, quietly when you make mistakes, boldly when time slips like sand between your kissed fingers, madly in your nomadic forms, truly when you feel like broken, across every tectonic plates and surpass time zones picking up the broken pieces, on every tattered edge, because I say your name with hope in my chest.

I know loving you is sometime very hard, but I promise I will always, because your smile ripples my fragile bones.

Ceasefire violating Contour !

Like a Sunday morning your smile respirate a galaxy of warmest color that sheets a tangled weave of letters, that i replay in my head, somnolently in late night;smiling, it creates a sandstorm- tempest of the binding whispers of the moment when our eyes used to meet, folding me into a jungle of minutes for bewildered reactions of blink slanted sight, and then again rising like repetition, like respiration with concertina tapping back to chests, bolting out my lungs, like an asphyxiant in sweet favors whisper with glorious release in the pleasure of your grip.

Review : The Wedding Trousseau and Other Short Stories

Why do we review? Does the formed and stamped opinion in authority matters so much? May be not. We review things to let people know what that particular things have a bearing on our thoughts so that if you feel connected you can look out for that. You may think that’s kind of promotional review but in any sense that should be unbiased and that is what I’m trying to do with writing the review of “The Wedding Trousseau and Other Short Stories” by Ankita Sharma.

One line review if you seek –“The book is written in a tone of irony and is portrays various social psych in a very engrossing way with a touch of humor.”

What keep me glued to all those all stories is the usage of the plain-simple English to describe the scenes and detailed attentions to the very common things and the soul of book i.e. content which converses with you because each short story symbolizes of a social touches in our lives that you feel must have happened around or with you still breathing a fresh identity into eac…