A Rote

So they slowly stir from key places, on airs,
Rowing whilst they laid, desolate, where percolated
Passions, under thawing leaves, subjected to sex,
Questioned, then marked as a nostalgic memoir,
Turned to feelings of respect on reeling yachts
Felt in furtive posts of yesterday’s errs in yearnings.


I Did

Explorations at the dawn on the greatest expanses;
Undaunted they soaked in the vastness, invested in
Where they’d often call the unknown.

These amateur pianists, who only ever wanted,
Fell, tumbling down crumbling walls, quickly
Humbled by their expertise in pressing keys, impressing keys
They lacked into constant memories, witnessing
Their own mind numbing inadequacies and crushing defeats,
When they partook in acknowledging progression’s mere meter,
Now able to see here, with a hopefulness in each breath, dreamt
Of a future, imploring for substantiations in missing capabilities,
To change anything, whilst unable to change at all.

Loving in this moment.

Isn’t It

An old horse, looks, with courage,
At the khan in wonder, lets say,
With the sun, intellectually frenzied
In skipping awe, for their expertise in
Hand pulling noodles in implausibilities,
Where interim bits were best kept
In veering nonexistences, horridly had an
Impactful endearing vehemence, while slick
Minimalistic shard like flames, containing pigs,
Ensured those capacities, till the end of the day.

They Love

On their knees, incited covens thoughtfully thought about needs,
Undefining worded worsts without contextual distinctions
Undulating under covers, dressed only in their undies
Understanding the might have’s covert existential crises
Swooning over partial indications of imagined bests and
How they were insightfully grouped to cherish and to
Hold the same meaning, scrambling where
The bested were subjected to loathing, while
They acted as the ones of said causalities.


There was a time
When I had just learnt
What this sick joke meant:

To reside in a different world,
Where I was not sure of
My worth in her perfect eyes,
Where she didn’t love
Me in return.

Given that this was hard
To accept, at first, I
Thought it didn’t matter if
He loved me or not,
But it does.

This Reality

From the fantastical breeze –
Shuddering chiffon dress happenings with
Hints of priceless sweetish scents
From what could be dampened earthy greens
Mingled with expanses of cemented bricky
Textures, in a lane behind the neighborhood’s
Fares, along with rattle snake leaves.