सोना पसंद है मुझको मेरी जान से ज्यादा,
क्योंकि सपनों में देखता हूं अपनी ही जान,
आखें मिली तो वो पर्दा करे
उसकी ज़ुल्फ़ें जो बिखरी तो मेरी ज़िंदगी कुर्बान
वो जब आखों में देखे तो दौड़े मेरा दिल
कहे ये हर पल की अब तो थोड़ा हिल
जब पास हूं उसके तो कदर करता हूं उसकी
क्योंकि पसंद है वो मुझको मेरी जान से ज्यादा |

You are near,
crying in your arms,
because I cannot carry
your charms
to your seductive,
reductive grave.

Your form is an aura
I'll blind myself to,
wishing nothing
when it passes,
like an unseen star
through a void.

Pen touches paper’s silent stripes,
Women struck by ******’s vice.
Each etching their nails to scar—
One verse more sharp by far.

We trade their wounds for cadence,
Their silence for a rhyme.
Our ink absolves no bodies,
Just stains the frame in mind.

Is every poet a criminal,
Who can’t resist or cease?
Shall we erase this hunger,
Or name it as disease?

I wonder—
do the trees feel empty in winter,
like abandoned cathedrals with hollowed arches,
their prayers carried off by wind?
Do they mourn the once-gold choir of leaves,
or do they wait—
hands lifted in quiet faith,
hope braided into their roots
like a forgotten hymn?

Does the moon know she is not always whole?
That we love her in pieces—
when she is a shard of silver,
a lost earring in the sky.
Does she ache, too,
a lantern adrift in a sea of indifference,
admired but never held?

There is beauty, I think,
in what is missing—
in the pause before bloom,
in the ache of becoming.
The tree, the moon—
they teach us how to stay
even when we are not full.

Maybe they know.
Maybe they don’t.
But still—they remain.
And maybe that is enough.

A large valley of green grass

The sky a shade of pink and orange

The clouds a shade of blue and purple

It is so pretty seeing the Sparkle of the glowing sun

Nature humming a tune like an angel from above

Do you hear it is like we have been graced and placed in a seat in the heavens

The wind sways the trees  

The bees bumble with each breeze  

As they search for nectar from the flower seeds

I feel connected to the earth  

And with you I feel happy on the dirt

It is like Adam and Eve

You and me

Two little christens in a pea

Faith is what brought us here together

We are meant to be

Like the song born to die  

As we run the chemtrails under the country

In my white flowy dress and you fancy dress suit  

And as we get older

We will meet back here  

With wedding bells and doves flying around  

Both families joining together

Singing songs on the ground

Oh, the way we would dance

And cut the cake I love thee  

Will you dance with me

But as we grow older, we will still meet here

But only one of us still lived throughout the years

I still bring you your favorite flower and place them here

Though you cannot grab them and smell them I can

Tell you cherish them from above my dearest Emillie  

You sang this song about me, how we were born to die together

But you made plans first and left me here

Now I sang this song waiting for my time

And in fifty years I will visit again and lay next to you my

Beloved and our kids.

THE LAST WORDS in the taste of love –
As I summon the sweetness to wash my palate
My skin can never find much rest in the day;
A makeshift bed; my body feels like a pallet.
Growing old, means having a mix of colours
Inside of my beard; making it a face palette.

But wouldn’t I love to own a palace –
To French kiss someone in Paris,
And to be loved by both her parents.

Find me a love that is apparent;
Stealing a lingering kiss, like stealing the time
But let’s not clock in the times you tick me off –
Just tick off my check-boxes, of being the one.

And let our love be a beautiful love ballet.