Just b-e-l-i-e-v-e!

And then everybody talked about, how fishes feel 'safe and happy', in the tiny rectangular of aquarium. Though I protested, "No, they feel tied up and suffocated." They said with humanely pride, "they could have died in the ocean, or must have been caught up in net to meet their brutal fate." I said nothing only glared in the eyes of wiggling black and white fish - their skins glowing under conditioning. They made me feel, fishes in the aquarium are girls of our type.

I am not Moon I am a naked metal lying in the chest of moon, yearning for the touch of fire, rubbing, her conscience with stones who reveal her the true history of their kinds. Stone to metal. Metal to her nakedness - that, this bare is much better than the veil of moonshine.

fill me crimson

One by one my photos have descended from frames, the color of my wall has changed, my old crayon box has been given away to a needy kid, my clothes, which could stay behind me as a remembrance, are sent to my new house, my books, old greeting cards, cds, old letters, folders must have become heavy on cupboards, or expanded, for they are given away to me, as well. No, I don't mean to make you feel the other way. Nobody wants you to feel a scrapped piece, I know. Yet, I wonder, "is this a home feels like." where you stop yourself from going to.

Last time I ate countless cashews, was next day of Festival. We waited for guests but when nobody came until late, to fill the gap, we pretended ourselves to be guests. We smiled, roared, laughed, chatted and ate lots of cashews, pistachios, roasted almonds, walnuts. We tasted them after a hell, whole year. We savored them, although the excitement killed some taste. But it was fine. And after festival, we saw at the residues, looking at us from the air-tight container, as if they pitied us for being hopelessly rigid.

If I have all riches in the world, If all my wishes come true, If I could travel back in time and fix my errors, If I could know my past lives and get answers of my questions, If I could have you, to love me till eternity, Yet I know, I would have been broken and beautiful a light, flickering too much.

She is a woman, who sees herself as a tradition, a ritual, a repetition. You met her, loved, called her, your own. She loved you back. called you, her own. ... deep down her self, she makes you angry, forces you to leave her... Just, when you have made up your mind, she grips you tight. And the pain from her eyes, drips over your lips, She lets you taste her bitter side. You want to bite her pain, she escapes, like the shadow of your own dark side. Until you know, what is this, I should tell you, It is too late, my dear ! You are in love with a sadomasochistic

Start. Start in normal mode. Refresh refresh refresh. All your memories are stored in X drive. Typed - Conversations. Search in All Drives. There is no folder named : Conversations. Hang hang hang... Restart. [Things will be repeated .]

Suppose, in another reality, You are not you, You are me, and imagine pain bites you in million stings, fear clutches you in its jaws.               you wake up in the middle of a nightmare, perspiring heavy, You find yourself, all fine, - Me, dead. Once more. Suppose, in another reality, I am you, Not dead, free - yet, not free. Dark teeth biting light within. Silent, still. Peace, no more.               I wake up in the middle of some lines, confused hell, I find everything okay - You, away. Once more.

I think about distance in :       kilometers                     miles                          cities                                states                        or may be                    one day,       countries.    Then, I think about distance in :             mind      ...

My wings are heavy My heart, heavier Looking into my heart His own reflection, the sky stepped down and took me over his shoulders I fly to vastness My dreams belong to a different world.

of pain is sometimes death... Absence of love, at one point is, another beginning... Absence of grief is not, always happiness... Absence - there is - still some presence.

of pain is sometimes death... Absence of love, at one point is, another beginning... Absence of grief is not, always happiness... Absence - there is - still some presence.

I resist, looking into          the penetrating eyes of mobile, I escape,          it's alluring ways of making me familiar with those who too escape.     I resist, using mobile, to watch         the paint blue sky devouring         all other pretty bright colors on the horizon. The blue eats up all, (a bad masculine habit) I paint those cheerful colors ;            Yellow, Orange, Pink, back into my mobile. Escape of another kind.

I understand you, the way a bird understands a withered tree. (The bird and the tree) She sits on a rugged and dried branch of the tree, She sings a folk song, And waits, Waits and flies away. She is young now She knows less about trees. But she comes back, Seeing, wondering, what makes the tree stands alert, through the summer afternoons. She comes back. She sings. She sings about hope, dreams and life. She sings about empathy and a rare bond. [Connection we feel by our deepest emotions.] ... And I want to tell you now, (before it is too late) I understand you the way, a bird understands a withered tree.

In another story I will meet you then, we will be neither wrong nor right. Just between the parentheses, we will be a little underlined reality. We will not shy away from boundaries, customs, taboos and do-nots. We will be written, in *bold letters* - let their eyes feel strained. I will meet you somewhere before the next... Or in the blurred memories of past births. We are connected - This my poems will remind you. My stories will take action, meanwhile.

In love, we don't owe anything to each other. But ours is a different thing. I owe you a story. (Because what you gave me was a few words wrapped up in purest belief. I healed, magically.) But I will not give it back to you. {I don't want to end this all - the mess we are in.} I want to remain your debtor, forever. So that, we meet in another life, In another time, again, In another story.

From each letter of your unsaid words trickles a sense of disillusionment, as if each letter, if it could fly and reach me over a millisecond, it would sit on my phone screen and peep into my eyes to check if I am really not deceiving you. {But I am not.} And the other day your letter asked, in a way of complaining, 'you don't text anymore', I just said, 'I don't.         Because                         I                           Write                                     To           ...

One day If you ask me, "Why... Why did you want to leave?" I would say, "I don't know... May be, there were too many reasons." And One day If I meet you, and you ask, "Why... Why did you leave?" I would say, "I could not help myself..." I would not ask a nyone of you, "Why?" for anything that happened or that didn't, I don't seek answers. I seek peace within.

Out of the habit of talking I became a theist. I began talking to my God and found that incidents were not incidents, they were miracles. Dreams were not merely dreams, they were signs. Thus, gradually, I became a devotee. Out of the habit of talking, I made him a lover. I imagined him, taking care of me and loving me back. [Illusions after illusions, maze after maze, turned me into an another being.] Illusions became truth. Maze will become the way to infinity. Now, I am someone else, who is a believer. But who I am, or who I will be. There is no end to turning us into another. We are never truly ourselves. We are who we will be.

Bring me the dazzling stars, shimmering above the water, which your eyes beheld last night, on the beach we could never went together. Bring me the white sand which your feet touched, which kissed your back, which held your breath, whole night. Bring me the promises, which you kept away amidst our favourite book, thinking I won't come this weekend and I could really not. Bring me your smile, which you don't give to those who look arrogant and show off  pretty faces behind their big glares. I am not a stranger. Or am I, now? Bring me a song, I have never heard or a drawing, I look at with awed eyes. Or even an idea that makes me laugh till I have last breath. I want all, you think hear, see, do... Bring me, Me. I want one - who has been lost. But I have heard, innocence never comes back, once... lost.

Some fears are born with us. They grow day by day week by week and year by year, Like our own body parts. When we try to get rid of them as with nails and unwanted hairs, they grow more and become an essential part of our existence. As if, we should not live in pure sunshine. I don't remember. Things I have been afraid of, are too many to count. But there are three, you must know, before it is too late... I am afraid, I am going to lose my eyes first. I am afraid of pain that lives in the old age and eats up the body, slow like termites - I was afraid. Happy endings are not true.  Only in stories, we can have all we need to survive. Life - is but a rehearsal for those stories. Good things come to an end. Though, stories never.

You see, I am busy in arrangements of another program : (there will be one more Dance before one last dance) Invitations are to be sent, Guests are to be arrived, Dinner is to be arranged, We will show up - all well at last, and will get ready for another event. Tireless people. There will have another day, When I will breathe and watch an orange sky, sipping my regular tea with my favorite biscuit, I will see a red moon and count stars again, I will stay up late, missing you and watch time crawl slow like a toddler... Then, one day, I will prepare a dance - a dance of soul that takes me slowly away from all the drama before the curtain falls.

The dangers (of being perfect) Tall Fair Gorgeous Well dressed The girls ; who are ravishing, and look taller than they are, gorgeous than they are, they dress up smarter than one can think of. Boys go after these girls, bosses prefer who are : taller, gorgeous, well dressed. But, one day, out of no where, burst out the anger. They came up on the streets of web world. There was written in bold letters : Dark is beautiful. We discreetly edited our imagination. Somewhere shouted a little band of girls from another world, "#Kutoo" It began to flash on screens. Heels were abandoned. Short is sweet, isn't it? Fed up of labels and show-off, Normcore became a new fashion statement, for people around the globe. Weird. "I don't want to be perfect", twittered a celebrity. It became a wide-movement of new era. Unaware of the modern dangers, school girls still steal the lipsticks from their mother's rooms.

I welcome you to the world of women, Half population of this ever enchanting world, I am your host, your guide, your friend here sir, I would show you the best and beautiful, the glittering hearts of mermaids of our world. But before that, would you please like to have something? We have 'I love you' of different kinds : plain truth, lie, naked truth, embellished lie or a mixture of truth and lie, confused i love you or seeker i love you... We have as many 'i love you' as many women we have. As many as, roles they play. As many as, men they meet. As many as, years they live. "What do you want sir?" "What? Nothing?" "Please take 'i love you' for granted sir, please visit again. And have a lucky day sir."

Night after night, Man after man, I learned to be romantic, to be charming, to be talkative, enough to pour out my secrets, to be fearless, to be ruthless, less or more or artfully, to be myself. Then, I met you, my Muse, who inspired my hell gates to bear fire and yet learn to resurrect myself when completely ashed away. I am yours , my muse, and this is my love for you. I don't love another way.

Let us begin with a poem, again Do not wait till dawn, and that I will take your hand and laugh till my eyes freeze, Do not wait till I write another piece and you try to hold me against my swears you call my facade pieces, with love, poems. Do not wait for my message, I have begun to forget things again, we have not spoken since weeks, but I know we are busy spending our days. Oh ! and if you are too busy typing commands and solving errors, buying sweets for your family, making your kid sleep, cleaning dust off your cupboards, meeting with your old friends to sip chilled beer, I will wait till the dawn of another life.