Black Hole.

Carefully reaching

the aching

muscles of

the heart.

Not surprised

to see,

what has

been done;

The damage,

is mighty.

Rummaging through

the nerve endings,

I find a bullet

shot from

your gun.

I take it

out and


goes blue.

See,what you

did my love,

shot me



the blood black

rupturing veins

to create

a black hole;

in which

the soul is


each second.

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In the mirror

she looks

at the

insipid reflection.

No colours,

are reflected,

only the

pale outline

of a broken


Hair forming



the neck,

choking it

pale blue.

Black tar,

leaking from

the eyes

making way

to arms,


and entering

the veins.

She smiles,

the reflection

is unchanged.

A cloth knot,

is lowered,

as seen in

the mirror,

she looks

right through;

the reflection


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The games we play,

how I love them,

and I know

you are fond

of them too.


Love of mine,

we are

setting a

bad example,

but you know

we do not care.


And we are happy,

you have told

me several times,

how we are better

than other lovers

in love.


Because we play

these games.


You do it so well,

planting a

harmless doubt

in my mind,

making me

spend all my nights



And you say;you

adore how I

make you laugh

and cry at the

same time.


These games we play,

where no one

gets hurt.


We stay strong;

fight these

obsolete feelings,

and raise the



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Ink Blots.

I have grown

tired of,

writing about you.

If only,

you can

spare some ink

on me too.


you want to,

I won’t even

ask you

to edit.

Let the paper

under the platen

come to life.

Which ever

words you

choose, they

shall suffice.

After all, I don’t

want to influence,

your perception

about me.

But write,

write about me,

because I have

grown tired

of writing

about you.

Maybe you,

can write

about my

face like

I do at times,

about yours.

Just write,


a paragraph,

a line,

few words,

or even ink blots.

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Clipped Wings.

She walked

the surface of


with her

clipped wings.

Flying was

now a distant


For what

she thought

were lovely clouds,

in the sky;

were raging


Some battles

she won,

and some

she could

have won,

only if she

knew that

sky also

had treacherous


And now

she walks

the ground,

with tattered

wings which

no one can



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Hues of orange

getting covered

up by black

beautiful clouds

with such poise.

Sky as we know,

does not exist


Rushed fear

is in the air

amidst the

gallant wind.

Cries of wolves,

are heard

in not-so

distant world.

To run or not,

is a question

on many minds.

Some run,

some embrace,

the arms of


In only

that instant,

I feel so


Storm is

coming my love,

let us be specks

once more,

lets us be born

pure as before.

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Nightmare Of Life.

Chill in the spine,

trivialising the

chill in the air.

I wake up

with sweat bobbles,

on the forehead.

It was a demon,

which was

inside me.

And it had

no intentions

of getting out.

It grew till

it reached,

my brain pulses,

and all I wanted

was an explosion.

Dark and grimy,

it lurked near

my breathing machine.

Each breath I took,

it clawed with,

its vile fingernails.

Death seemed

an easy exit,

but it held me

with force of

thousand gods.

What a devious

spirit to gobble

me in sleep,

when I lie


How I woke up,

is unfathomable

because I was

sure that it

had chewed up on me,

leaving nothing.

I woke up,

with myriad


but after a minute

or two, I knew,

I was empty.



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Forest Fire.

In the fire of


flames engulf

unsuspecting victims

of life.

Particles of

existence are

thrown into

myriad frenzy.

Everything that

touches the


reduced to

ashes or

sublimed in

the chaotic air.

How unreal

it seems;

only when

you touched me,

I became a

part of this

forest fire,

slowly withering,

rapidly combusting.



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Old Barstool.

In the twilight

hours of the day,

I sit down

on a bar stool

in a bar below

my apartment.

Smoke inhales

the scent

of every other


I sit and

drink my

shot of whiskey

poured from

a very old

decanter, old

justĀ like me.

I have been


a long time

to this bar

where the ounces

I consumed once

could not be

matched by

your magnificence,

and everybody

knew I was

a heavy drinker.

We had

a cheery moment

and then

you went

back to your

life and I

to something

akin to life.

Because in

that moment

I just had

given my all.

I sit in the

bar,on the


old with a

forgetful mind

but you

have been

embalmed in

my mind,

and it will

never wash

away with

any amount

of whiskey

I pour into myself,

and I know,


I have tried.


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Black Piano.

Pressing each key

on this exquisite

piano,I reel in

the sounds created.

How familiar they

seem,to my ears

and senses.

You have been

gone a long

time now,

and there is

no looking back.

But you left your

redolenceĀ in this

room which mixes

so well with beautiful

chords of this piano.

Hitting the black

and white keys,

as the symphony

is created, I look

around and see you

in your marvellous


Days of rose

petals, cover up

the mouldy walls

of now as I play

your favourite tune

on my favourite


It is grand my love

like you;

the piano,

the scene,

and me sitting

with a half-empty

bottle of cheap whiskey,

playing the

black piano.


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