I wish

Oh I wish, we had not kissed
that afternoon, in spring,
when my fingers straying through your hair
coaxed your trembling lips on mine
and honey would have still tasted sweet
Oh I wish we had not kissed
so deeply and for so long
and imagined our whole world right there-
between our parted lips
and life would have been easier to live
Oh I wish we had not kissed
not just in spring, but in every season
lost in each other's arms
and autumn...it would have never come.

Melody of Spring

Spring has arrived.
Yellow flowers have turned waste lands
into wild gardens
where young lovers
like butterflies
kiss in the bold sun

Winter is gone.
Its haze replaced by warmth
Bright birds and children
are out to chirp
and mock my gloom
with their songs

Standing behind
the wire mesh of the door
hearing the bustle of life
I open the door a little
for the season in me
has not changed for long

Perhaps a stray breeze
will lose its way,
enter my room,
get entagled with the lonely chimes
and fill the melody of spring
in me.

It Flew Away

It flew away, at the break of dawn;
the little bird whose wings with time
had grown just strong
It flew away into the wind
fresh wings fluttering, eyes watering
eager to see the landscape and beyond
far from the nest that had protected and caged it
for so long ;breaking its truce with time
it flew away.

Winter Storm

I'll come to you,
before the cool evening breeze
brushes your body
and you miss my arm
around your shoulder

I'll sit with you
for hours, holding your hand,
watching your eyes
as they empty
your dreams into mine.

I'll hide you
from the jealous moon,
waning away
as its light is cold
and your glow, amber.

And when you feel tired
and sleepy
I'll read you my poem;
about us being together
and getting older.

And I'll stay awake to
hold you, lest the winter storm
frighten you
and turn your heart cold;
as it turned mine,
a long time ago.

I pick up my pen again

No more words, No more verses
No more redundant lines
helping in rhyme.
I had buried my tawdry poems
in the cemetery of time.

I had left on purpose,
the tombstone unetched.
Reminding me
that everything written,
is judged.

But there...
you came again,
to see if my young grave
has that flower
you gave

Yes,
I still have that flower, and
I still have you
deep inside me,
and there is my life, incomplete.

So wanting to meet you
in my words,
in my poems,
in my dreams
I pick up my pen again.

Life

You were always there,
waiting for me,
to express yourself.

You spoke to me
in sentences,
short and simple
and so I penned you,
consumed by your rhyme.

Slowly,
as time progressed,
I understood you,
I added my own interpretations
and I complicated you.

I could no longer find
the right words
for those subtle expressions
of yours.

My words repeated
again and again,
and I limited you-in me.

I know
that soon,
I'll make you banal.
My words would make no meaning
and my pen will have to stop.

But before that,
I just want to write,
Meeting you was worthwhile- Life.

Old Age Plans

When I will grow old,
have lots of time to think
and nothing else to do;
Then I will think about you.

I will sit on my rocking chair,
put aside my false teeth,
Sip a little whisky with lots of ice
and try to make sense of my life-
without you.

Sudden thunders and lightnings
would break my reverie.

I will slowly take another swig
put the glass on the side table
and resume to ponder about
your affair with me.

But I guess I will be too old
to remember every detail by then

So I will just shrug my shoulders
finish off my glass of whisky,
Open the windows to let the
fresh scent of rain fill the room
And read a book instead.