Scribbles and stories.

The night is divine, So was our love I love you, And at times, you loved me too, Eyes, thy eyes spoke to me of things You never knew, That’s why you never looked into mine, And that’s why I never looked into yours We weren’t lying, We were just hiding Star crossed we were, And the universe wasn’t ready for yet another Romeo or Juliet You were my elixir But I was born for hell, Let alone love, We are strangers now She loves you, And you think more of her now, Forget me, for I can’t Today, as I write I promise to never write again of thee Only to find yet another verse about thou. Today, as I write I will try to love thee less. The night is divine, And so shall it cease, But, will we ever?

As she walked by the shores, Her footprints on sand, Met with unknown, As the waves crashed each other, Longing to touch her feet, Only to take the sins away, She looked at the sand castles made of dreams, The seashells she collected now, Will be bracelets then, The wind whispering the tale of unknown, And the clouds so deep, For stories so new, And as she looked back at the ocean, She saw life and stories, Hope and dreams, And there she was, Standing at the present, Smiling at her mysterious future and the immortal past.

As the sun kissed the moon, The sky blushed, And the stars like fireworks fell from heaven, For the world froze in the love of two, Which had lit up the sky with an eclipse like none too.

Those eyes that are closed, Oh! How I wish for you to look at me, Just one look, love? The lips that touched to a faint smile, And dimples on either side, Round the face, so calm and sweet, Lay there she, Hands on stomach and legs together, The white gown, Fit tat, only for thou; When that strip of your dusky hair fell on your face, Oh! How I envied it, for it could touch that angelic face, And I naught, Oh Woman! How I wish to hold you once, And now too late, That woman in the deathbed, So pure and tranquil, “What a perfect time to fall in love!” I thought, And I walk away, For I know, I will look into that eyes someday, somewhere, For I love you, And then, you me.

Let it rain, Let it rain when you think of me, For those drops shall be the words that I left unsaid, That may fall on you, endlessly; Maybe then, you shall know the love I have for thou, Till then let's watch the sky, And wait...

. . ."Aami", amma was calling her for a long time. But Aamaya was busy searching for papers, newspapers. She was always fascinated by the sky growing dark and the sudden drops of rain. She would steal newspapers, because her muthasshan never allowed. She would then turn on the radio and listen to the 90's old hindi songs. She would fold the paper into two halves and start making boats of different sizes. Newspapers, with people she never met and words she never knew; was her only comfort. She would then place one after the other in her big nadumuttam and watch them go. She used to watch them for hours. As rain fell like pearls from the dark heaven, each boat would start sinking. The world has always been depressing. She sat there empty and crestfallen. Those boats were her dreams, her love, and herself. And one by one, it drowned. All of it. How can the things you love the most ,kill the things you love the most? She smiled for she knew she was too greedy to love and t...

We love, They leave, And everything after, we name poetry.

To you, Who owns stars in eyes Fire in soul Heart with scars And desire to burn, Oh darling, one day! One day you will ignite, You will burn them into ashes, Cuz you are the child of nothing, but dusk.