अहतराम करना मेरी बातों में,
ये अदब , ये लहज़ा, सिर्फ तेरे लिए है।
औरों से थोड़ा सा बंधा हूँ,
ये खिलखिलाती मुस्कान सिर्फ तेरे लिए है ।

The cadence of the drill sergeant, a ghost in the present,
echoes in the rhythm of my pen.
Discipline forged in the crucible of steel,
now fuels the fire of my art.
The enemy then, the fear, the loss,
a distant memory, yet the weight of loyalty remains.

My love, an artist, paints with colors I cannot name,
capturing the essence of the soul,
a symphony of emotions, a dance of light and shadow.
She is the muse, the inspiration,
the reason this heart still beats with a fierce, protective rhythm.

The scars run deep, both physical and unseen,
reminders of battles fought and won.
But the greatest battle, the one that truly matters,
is the fight for her, for our love.
This fragile, precious bloom,
deserves the fiercest protection.

The Marine within, dormant yet ever-present,
would rise, a silent guardian,
against any threat, any darkness that dares to touch her.
His loyalty, once sworn to the Corps,
now belongs to her,
a love that transcends all boundaries.

In the quiet moments, when the world fades away,
I see her eyes, reflecting the stars,
a universe of emotions, a love that knows no bounds.
And in that reflection, I find my strength,
a renewed sense of purpose,
a love that would die for her, a thousand times over.

The poet and the Marine, two sides of the same coin,
bound by a love that defies definition.
A love that heals, that inspires,
that gives life new meaning.
And in that love, I find my peace,
a solace that surpasses all understanding.

In memory of the fallen heroes, I stand
A US Marine who bore witness to war's hand
Bravery and sacrifice, are etched in my mind
As I carry the weight of the ones left behind

Medals shine brightly on my chest
But they feel heavy, a constant test
For I did not earn them, not truly
The real heroes are gone, so unruly

Gallantry, Valor, Honor, Hero
These words now feel so hollow
For it was my brothers who truly deserved
To be honored, respected, and preserved

I fought in battles afar, and I survived
While they lay on the battlefield, deprived
Of the chance to come back home
To their families, where they truly belong

I am unworthy of these accolades
For I live, while they lie in their graves
Their memory lives on in my heart
As I carry their legacy, I am never apart

So here lies a US Marine
Proud to have served, yet still unseen
For the real heroes are the ones who fell
Amid the battle, where they dwelled

Rest in peace, my brothers in arms
For you are the true heroes, with all your charms
I will never forget the sacrifices you made
And I will honor you, until my final day.

Sitting pretty on the window sill
Perfect and pleasing to the eye
Facing the rising sun
On a clear blue cloudless sky

Do you dream of open spaces?
Of stretching your arms free
Spreading like the mighty oak -
Or the lofty banyan tree?

Would you your leaves be swept by winds
Your breath carried by rain
Growing in the wilderness
With flowers wild, untamed?

And if I hold you close to me ...
Would I hear your soul cry?
Sitting pretty on a window sill
The perfect potted bonsai

In the garden of emotions, love may bloom wild, a vibrant flower, tender, meek, or mild.
But deeper still, beneath the surface lies, the soil of respect, where true love’s root abides.
For love without respect, a fleeting flame, may rise in passion, but wanes the same.
Yet when respect in love’s foundation dwells, It forms a bond that time nor trial quells.

Greater than love, respect does stand, a silent guardian, a steady hand. It nurtures love, allows it space to grow, In the warm light of acceptance, it glows.
So let us plant respect first in our heart, for where it lives, true Love shall never part.

I walk these streets, silent and still,
Faces pass by, each chasing their will.
No words I offer, no call, no cheer,
In their worlds, they dwell—so far, so near.

Let them wander where their visions lie,
Beneath the same vast Nepali sky.
Dreams of theirs I do not intrude,
For in my quiet, I find my mood.

Am I rude to pass and not engage?
Or just a soul, freeing their stage?
Each moment they craft, I let it unfold,
A mosaic woven in threads untold.

Beneath these hills, in Kathmandu's grace,
I honor their rhythm, their time, their space.
For in this stillness, I see more clear—
A bond unspoken, yet ever near.

Let their paths shine, let them be,
As I journey within, just silently.
Nepali hearts, vast and deep,
In quiet respect, their space I keep.