Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Rain drops

Patter on my

Window pane

You are far

Away in woods

I miss you

But I know


Is a part of you

And travel

Your first love.

I’m content

With the rain

And my

Thoughts of you

I try

To pen

A poem

For you

But Words

Get tied

A block

Called writer’s

Made by writer’s

When they can think

But not ink

And ink

But not rhyme

Hits hard

On my window pane

Like rain drops

My thoughts

Are jittery


And strewn

All over the place.

But my love

Is whole

In my mind

And soul

It is only you.

She danced and swayed

At the Moulin Rouge bay

As she burnt the stage,

Came clamour and pay

But all she cared for

Was the little one,

In the cradle

At her dim lit home.

Rouge and rogue

A word play

Not for her

For she sold herself

To feed her love.

Image for post
Image for post

Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

Torn books

Folded pages,

Memories wrapped

In a time warp

Crooked lines


My favourites’

From a time

Gone by


Same old smell

Of lazy afternoons

A fairy tale

Gone right

Books are mirrors

“Tell me who’s

The wisest

Of all”

None, yet all

You realize

And you are

A fool

You fail

And you are

The winner.

Look within

Beyond the cover

And the pages

And the writing

On them.

Look within

And hear

The voices

That arise

Look within

And feel

Your story

Has arrived.


PhD in Chemical Engineering, Always fascinated by the species named Homo Sapiens! Here is my space where I play with words.

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