Ticking Wound 

The city is not what they claim it to be 

People are not what they seem to be. 

Sadness doesn’t last forever 

And happiness is not a reality 

Erasing memories is difficult 

More difficult is when people just get up and leave 

Life is short, as they all say 

So why does each second passing by feels like an open wound 

Just waiting to bleed out. 

City has people, walking it’s paths 

Crosses and intersections

Buildings turned into homes 

Life breathed into the concrete jungle

And without them, the city will fall. 

Love is not as blissful as the stories claim it to be 

It’s sadness and longing mixed into one. 

The utter bother of it all, breaks the heart into two. 

Just like time, a ticking wound. 

Summer Days 

The days of freedom, I have never known

Days of reckless joy, breathless laughter is beyond me

Those summer days, carefree ways 

What are they but words to me? 

Something to long for, to earn from life 

Caged, we see the winter moon 

Lifeless, dull. 

There is no spring to welcome the warmth 

The yellow streak, the natural light 

The hope it brings, the celebration of rich harvest. 

Those summer days are always tomorrow 

And today we face the snow. 

Someday, It Will Be Different

Someday, when I wake up, I will have a smile on my face

Someday, something will make me feel joy in life

That day, will come, now or never

I dont know.

But I Know, I have lived that day, in my head

Every day.

The smile is a smile of distant dreams

A world of my own, fragments, a hint of laughter

In the crispiness of the crust of the pie I relish

And yet deny, in penance, of being happy in my dreams.


Its Kind Of My Thing

You can take away the lights, the stars,

You can do it all, to make me fall

And I will let you.

Its kind of my thing, to fall.

Let my mouth taste the dust, lie down

Taking in the grief, the humiliation

Waves of regret washing through me

As warm tears turning dust to dirt.

And I know, Its my place in the world.

Its kind of my thing to cry, to hold on to pain, to let it engulf you whole

Until you are pinned to the ground with the weight of your sorrows.

And hiding behind curtains, shying away from people

Roaming in those dingy buses, until the pain in your back grazes over the pain in your heart

I know that pain too. I have felt it in my bones.

It is my thing, to mourn for the life I could have had

Where things need not be so bad.

When I want to end the poem but my feelings keep rushing on

Like a warm summer spring, gurgling from the ground.