For my musings are not literature, not even close.

They are mere reflections, characterless

Of the life that I lived, mediocre.

Compromised lovers and comfortable love stories.

A cheap book made into a cheaper film.

Salvation.

The cloud ministry finally brews magic

There are lovers holding hands watching out

there are broken hearts in it, crying

There are the whipped of heat, relaxing

And there is me, writing about you, me and the rain

Rain Alone.

Do u hear it too ?

Can you feel it ? 

Its soft and misty

It whistles mildly like a distant mountain wind

Like a statement of muted luxury

Its there, pouring and busy.

Two summers passed by, dry.

Its only now that the monsoon makes sense.

But you are not there by my side.

Come home soon.

Looking Out.

Dwellings so high

For me rain is just a fleeting emotion

Silver strands in the air

I’m jealous of the ground

Its receives the rain

The wet sweet pain

The generous gods pierce it

To feel and split and melt away

It would be nice
To not be oneself for a moment

Rain Therapy.

Pour it down hard on the crusty land

Tear it open by the wet slivers

Reveal what has been untouched unfelt

Its only rain that can seep into corners and crevices

Its only rain that can touch

The most dried of eves

The most shallow of minds

And the most closed up hearts

Pour it down

Pour it out
Breathe.

A Pervert Nostalgia.

Bending like a trained gymnast,

Lumps revealed.
Curving and arching.
My eyes wander on your scape,
I feel gooses and bumps.

This sparse growth
This thick bush,
Is trying to hide from me-
Big rocks scattered and a bent log, broken
Running long and thick between it.

Moist from the night's fall
Exotic smells and heightening senses.
These roads to Mussoorie.
This nostalgia.

My Stand Point.

For my musings are not literature, not even close.

They are mere reflections, characterless

Of the life that I lived, mediocre.

Compromised lovers and comfortable love stories.

A cheap book made into a cheaper film.

Half Bitch.

Slipped at the age of 15
And never learnt a lesson.

Slipped again at 18 and 22

Well, nothing again.

I gave my heart in style

Succumbed when I got no replies.

Let is suffocate in a dingy chamber.

Till is ceased to exist

Or so I thought.

Love, in all its velocity

blew off me, my charm

Love in all its texture

corroded my being, my all.

For love it comes in such fierceness.

A simple rubbing on my shoulder,

is now a itchy red scar.

And now Im what they call

A stone hearted half bitch.