THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

When love came with a bunch of flowers, You were sleeping, Of the tiresome classes and exams, Not to disturb you, She walked away Deciding to visit you some other day. But when she came the next day, She saw the angry you at home, For some trivial matter. Afraid of confronting the furious you, she once again walked away. But for three years, She was busy braiding her hair And cleaning her mirror To go out with the new found love. Love came back with untouched lips Yearning for a kiss, But you were busy to miss, Entangled in the hands of some passer-by, Who only offered you a month of redemption, And left you with a broken heart. When depression rented the rooms of your heart, you hated yourself For being a fool and desperate. Love landed with suspicion Of meeting you again, But you carelessly opened the door and offered a coffee. Love was not partial this time. She sat at your living room for years, With her belongings at the door And your hands in her&

When mosses grow around my bed, Creeping under the blankets, Hiding away from lights, And lifting my body to a higher plane, I will ask you to be my pair. Timeless dreams and faceless figures Capture my mind Bringing novelty to my existence, That's when you have to be my pair. When absurd drama is about to begin, I will ask you to be my pair, To pretend love To pretend hate. I see the sweat on your foreheads, Your eyes sparkle from the sprinkling of sunbeams Which jumped over my head to hug  you. Lost in a world of opaqueness, I will present you the old tattered tshirt, Which will make you nauseous Of memories. That's when I remember the promises that you gave me, To become my pair. Once you become my pair, I can take you to the caves that seem to be haunted, Where i have hidden the magic wand. When I say that I can take you to the past, Unable to believe, you will stay indifferent. When the door finally opens, You will scream and hide behind the

I owe you a multiple times for being the Wild flower amidst the potted plants. You seem to listen to the endless entities of night, You seem to walk away from the ballet of wind. Your magic is irreversible And contagious. Separated from the sun of the day, you are fond of the moon of the night. Your footsteps seem to be the artwork of an amateur artist, Yearning for applause. Heartbreaks seem to be the rhythm of your heart, Forming a walkable distance from death. Your enchanting pupils seem to be ready to trap a Whole lot of invisible things, Beyond human perception. Today you sing the songs of yesterday, And tomorrow,the songs of today. The lavenders of your garden are brighter than mine, For the sun seems to be sleeping over your garden for a whole season. I owe you for being the muse of Desperate artists, Kindling the fire in them, Not leaving them behind to wither And to be drained of all vitality. I beg you, Break my bones, Hold my hands, Take me to y

Let my pain grow older and wiser, When the death knell tolls, I will built a coffin for her, To be in solace, To descend and not to levitate, Because I sneeze pain, I hear pain, I touch pain, and I walk pain. I hear pain from Deep down the abyss of hell, Producing cries of unknown. I see my body giving birth to uncanny prickles, I touch the warm waters that gifted me blisters. From the dark corners of beautiful gardens, I see eyes of pain with beckoning signs. When too much of fakeness engulfs my existence, I see Pain commuting in public bus, Looking out at the old footpaths. Pain clutches tightly to the windows Of the young widow, with one week of nuptial happiness. Pain borns when rain rapes the land, Heavily pouring down in red and yellow. Pain takes the form of old abandoned toy in the cellar, Trying to get free of the dust. The flowers of unrequited love in multiple pockets cry out in pain. And when summer gets murdered by autumn, pain falls down from