It 's time to depart.

Now it 's time to part.

I saw the best in you
You saw the the
best in me.

But I won't let anybody
playing with my intellect
and emotion.

You did not care
My feelings when you stole
My brain just like others
For your dears and nears.

Played well  a game
With my sincerity
And devotion. 

And so now its time to part

Can it be called feminism?

 Should springs be scattered abroad?
Streams of water in the street?
Sweeping away kids and home far,
Wandering for?

Is this feminism?

 Beauty tips on lips 
 as ugly blot of lies
 Ignorance at tongue.
A heart that leads all blinds.
 Feet that tempt.

Is this feminism?

 Now in streets
 Now in squares
 And at every corner 
 Look like dawn
Fair as moon 
Bright as sun

Is this feminism?

 But like  a thirsty traveller 
drinks all kinds of water 
She sits  in front of every tent..
Just like a bird rushing to a snare.

You are Iike...

You are like pink petals
Pure with aroma
Never withering,

Like the sun
Bright and shinning,

Like the river
Rushing with ripples
Reaching the farthest blues,

Like  symphony
Sweet and melodious,

Like a storm
Outpouring 
the healing waters ,

Like a tree
With branches extending 
Care and freshness,

  Yes, like love.
Like you and she. 
Lòok! That she is not me.
Then me? 
Yes... daughter of thal LOVE  of both.
The symphony of your love.   

Searching for you...

Searching for you
everywhere
In the path of success,
Not in the path of failure.

Time just asks me a question
Why your mind loses
Its balance
At the creased valley of tears.

Come on...
Forget yesterdays.
Look! the road to success
Is under construction
For you....

bottled ink..

Sometimes the night envelopes me

With questions in pale shade of purple

Why you weep into my eyes?

How your tears become mine?

When and how I cocoon your breath?

Why I feel touching the wander

of your silent feet?

Let me whisper the answer....

I watch the faintest melody

Of wounded soul

And I quiver still breathing

The warmth of you.

Unfinished

I feel you 
as an unfinished prayer 
From the lips of poetry.

Sometimes I close my eyes 
on the night wind
To hear you singing 
From the moonlight.

Yet the sky wears purple grey
 To say greying greenery 
 Echoes in our melody.  





Author notes: Poems are just poems. They can't be one's life because reality is very  far away from imagination. 

Smiling branches

You chiseled 
your ocean deep 
mighty verses 
dear dove
to collect snow balls 
from the painted sky 
to hatch 
the glowing dawn.

Thousand eyes 
of summer
with you in the aura 
of my frozen autumn

May the ink 
of spring
shower 
the hues of cosmos 
on your verses.