“Confessions of a madman”

In Writhing of winters:

The shallow puddles of moisture,

Days off in a sweater,

Sounds that resemble symphonies of flicker,

Tropical wind that shutter,

Making heart and hands flutter,

Both might shatter,

The serene cold of winter 

Before you go

Don't you

Forget, I want you ,

more than you'll 

Ever know.

Leaving ...

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Melancholic of the monsoon

Sluggish mornings,

Smell of fungus

in my slippery doorsteps,

Elongated bedtimes,

Slacking routines,

Hearing nothing ;but symphonies,

4 walls, headphones as my roomies,

Safeguarding books

And Reading them to cats 

To which they nods,

But silence alone growls.

Instant noodles,

And concurrent doodles;

Fills stomach and minds.

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a weighty fog

like tinned milk 

sweetly opaque 

hiding the feathers and tears

traces of a an empty place called

heaven.

these beads rest on hats

press down on weary brows and

weave between the fibres

of gloves

of family 

such a slippery thing, this life. 

like a rain you can't catch on your tongue 

but the taste weaves between your

thoughtful mol...

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Tired souls sigh together,

lovers have given up on getting better,

but I will continue to stay with the withered tree until the end of times.

We have exchanged the word 'forever'

and thus I will patiently wait untill we are back together.

I will wait for you, my Nobody,

until my body cannot anymore.

Until my body decays

and my bones slip into Mother's embrace.

Even then...

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