An Inarticulate Romantic


The prettiest eyes
I’ve seen are
small, dark,
yet kind

Hidden behind
my favorite spectacles
(a failed attempt to)
make them
Hard to find

A sculpted forehead
chiseled cheeks
a carved smile
captivating, provoking
Perfectly shaped
magical hands
with twists, twirls
a symphony composing

The tune that plays
is the song
my heart shall play
forever long

Fourth Wall


What is sadder than
a tragic love story?
‘tis to witness
the catastrophe unfold
While sitting behind
invisible bars
watch as the story
is being told
The characters
puppets naïve
confusing foolery
with passions bold
Here I am
A prisoner of
the fourth wall
with secrets to hold

Back Home


The smell of buttered popcorn
in the air
As I run my fingers through
your hair

A lisp escaping from
your lips
As you wrap your arms around
my hips

Light brushstrokes against
my skin
Painting our stories
art akin

This little waltz that
we do
When there’s only
me and you



What if
the silence
is eternal,
the Journey
is nocturnal
is a farce
and you’re tiptoeing
on glass

You play the fool
like an old tool
and continue
to misconstrue

What if
the Verdict
is infernal
the Pain
is diurnal
is a comedy
and you’re hoping
for an anomaly

You’ve been blind
finally declined
Just to descend
At a dead end



You said you’d love me
Forever and more
Yet now I am waiting
At the door

Every sound, every rustle
Beckons your name
But you are busy
Playing a dirty game

The skies are grey
and I am blue
The stakes are high
You have no clue

A storm is coming
I feel it here
West wind of separation
is what I fear

You must wake up
From the oblivious dream
Of your inhibitions and
of your insecurities

This is far beyond
a child’s play
Only if we’re together
Will we be okay

At Bay


I know not what will be
When I meet with thee
Maybe a splendid union
or a catastrophe

I wish it could be different
More pure, more innocent,
Free from ignoble pursuits
But so it cannot be

The chain of desire holds
Selfish yearnings bold
Skipping stones on our own
Weighed down by gravity

The dream of perfection
Reduced to an illusion
Fickle, trivial, meager
Such is our reality

We wrote our story
by merging rivers in a sea
When you kept me at bay
We became you and me

The Guessing Game


Caught up
In the middle
Hanging by a thread
The coexisting
of being alive and dead

I woke up
a lost soul
burdened with such dread
not to feel,
and being numb instead

makes me weary
enough I have bled
For the many
loveless days
I have torturously led

screaming echoes
of all the things unsaid
of right and wrong;
poison tears I shed

I am
Schrödinger’s cat
a demon in your head
The clock ticking
to decide
Will I be alive or dead?