I try to steal, Moments of calm, In the chaos of life, Under decorative skies, Spending each sunset, With hope that everything is eventually, Getting figured out, Even though it seems, Far from it now.

I've been waiting for him for days now, And he sneaks upon me, Today, with no warning, no intimation, no hint, Just walking up to me silently, Snaking his hands all over my waist, His face resting in the nook of my neck, My shoulders getting silly butterfly kisses, And his breath going haywire with every second, Seems like he missed me as much as I missed him.

The intimacy between you and your favourite movie is something so comfortable, so cosy, so heartwarming. You know every single dialogue, You know every single song lyric, You know every single scene in chronological order, You know why the scene happened the way it happened, You know how it was shot cinematically, You know why a certain look, a certain word, a certain scene is important in the context of the whole story. The intimacy is impeccable. The intimacy is cosy. movie

How has this quietness normalised? When did I become so quiet? What will happen when someone will really want to hear me? Where did all my words go? Who is really responsible for everything that's been happening? Why am I still so hopeful?

"if i don't do this for myself, then no one will do it for me." These words are echoing in my mind since last few hours, Because I have been trying to put everyone first, Except me. But I haven't seen anyone put me before them, Not once, Not ever. I have to do it, Because if I don't, Then no one will do it for me, And I cannot give them the opportunity to disappoint me. I cannot fail myself like that.

We're living in such a phase of this universe, Where there are limited original ideas, Everyone is waiting for an inspiration from someone, To create something of their own. Not everyone comes up with a single original thought, Everyone is seeing something off the internet, To create something to call their own, (sometimes me, too) But, here, In this corner of the universe, There might be repetition of ideas and feelings, But almost every thought is original, Borrowing inspir

Step by step, Thoughts come and go, And drag me with them, To new possibilities and instances, Making me realize of what I'm still doing, Despite saying I'm not doing it, Shutting off doors, And peeking through the windows.

What's it called, When you're trying to keep your passion alive, Despite no motivation or inspiration, When it's easier to give up, Than go on? Because, yes, Tonight is another instance, Of a tough day at poetry, So, I whip up something, That talks about exactly that. i'm tired.

He's been looking at me, From the dark, And I only get to look at him, Right when he grabs my arm, Pulls me right into the darkness with him, Away from the light of the world, Away from the noise, For a moment, Existing just for us. And there I am, Safe, in his arms, Protected by those muscles he flexes through his t-shirt, I bet it is illegal, For someone to have those biceps like his, For someone to have a back like his, Who has my back through all this.

I would make crochet promises for you, The ones that are tied with a strong knot at the start, The ones that are chained to my heart, Not in a suffocating way, But like a cosy, loving hug, The ones that begin from me, The ones that lead to you, Like a red thread of fate, Linking us up, Through this and other universes, Like a promise, Made to keep, Like a knot meant to be kept tied.

The temperatures are unbearable, The air unbreathable, The world unstable, Where are we heading? Is there even a way out of this? Does it ever be okay? Or we simply lose the fight?

It's probably a good omen, To remove clothes I no longer wear, Not because they don't fit me, But because, I don't feel good in them anymore, So, I shortened three kurtas, Dismissed 2 kurtas, 2 tops and 1 shirt, And now I have space, In my closest, For some pretty things.