Walking along

It is an every other Sunday,
Why should I wake up,
When it’s the only day, I can dream of her all day,
when I can revisit those long forgotten joyous days.

It was an every other Sunday,
Until they realized it was Valentine’s Day.
I shrugged not to bother, until,
When the lights went off, I unceasingly wept and wept,
when my hands got tired wiping the tears away.

It was an every other Sunday,
until the door bell rang.
A gorgeous lady with desperately waiting flowers, on seeing me said,
“Oh! Sorry, to have pressed the wrong bell. Besides, have a good day”.

It was an every other Sunday,
when I had the phone charged all day.
Hoping she would call,
I helplessly watched the minutes turn hours, to be a very soon Monday.

Unlike all other Sundays,
today I look back too far,
when once fear and sweat, had reigned my blood,
heart and thoughts in unison had said, “My love”,
to someone, whose absence this moment is the way of life today.
Whose absence since then has kept my smiles miles away.

Writing heals !!!

Beauty of poetry lies in the heart,

mistaken are many, it’s not an art.

Hours long that you cry, if you could write,

tears would dry, before your eyes realize.

Moments that you smile, if you can inscribe,

It’ll cease to exist, not after you even die.

In your pen lies some peace,

once into words, the pain will freeze.

Out in the dark take a walk,

look up the sky and the moon will talk.

Find some grass behind some wood,

decide to be alone, but not to cry.

Watch your clock all night long,

wait to smile, it won’t take long.

Look for a soul, whose warmth consoles,

read what you wrote, and seal the joy that unfolds.

Carry the paper, carry the pen,

if you forget to smile, then it’s time to write !!!

Carry the smile, carry your life,

if you forget to cry, you might just be right !!!