As I woke up in the morning
I looked outside my window
A red bird was looking at me
I winked at it, waving hands
Nobody else could see me
Then the day went ahead
A mask came to cover my face
Stayed on till the end of the day
It appears every day, stays on
Disappears when dreams turn on.
It hissed near my pillow
Then kissed my feet
Fake comfort is a tool
To make things discreet
It held my hand swiftly
A flashback of the life
Of things missed and trophies
Then came a tight and warm hug
Death is comforting me.
How can you quantify my situation
When you haven’t seen my evenings of devotion
You cannot get inside my mind
When it’s immune even to the divine
You cannot see me touch the zenith
When you haven’t been the reason beneath.
As the paper flies out of the ash
The matchstick is still breathing
The fire burns words after words
The violence doesn’t need swords
Last letter takes one last breathe
And then the smile slowly recedes
Writing is the fire within my mind
Every word needs an intense grind
The cherished diamond then shines
On a silent lazy Saturday evening
As the sun was leaving from work
Night shift stars were getting ready
And I looked out of the dark window
An iron bench was there in the park
Her head resting on his shoulders
The cold evening was getting hotter
Passion was getting into it’s groove
Beyond the rules of right and wrong
Two souls seeing the reddened skies
And I pulled down the curtains then
This window always gives me stories
Because this window is of memories…
