Poets plight

Poet I'm called My pen apparently bleeds 

It sneezes ink mixed with tears and screams.

Deceived by the dreams of past

I author what i saw

Illusive and but picturesque 

Word paintings i veneered

Real feelings unwritten 

Unheard unacknowledged.

Impossibility it is to 

Encapsulate the Beauty.

And  my pen fails me 

When I'm walking on sunshine.

 Expression seemed easier in doldrums 

Happiness feels contained n constrained

Unable to stick with word glue

Sanctity of love and its exuberance 

Is failing a poet to display it to 'him'

Him who sweeps me off my ground

Him who turns my day to night 

Him who shuts me with a pinch of kiss

Him who turns my world upside down

Him who makes me cry with laughs

Him who will be father of kids i might/cant bear 

Him who who breathes life into my lungs

Him whose heart is as pure as theres nothing  that I've ever heard or seen 

Him who would throw himself in front of a bus for me

Him who is so many things my words fall short of

Him whose picture il never be able to paint

For now I'm his and i have him by my side

Wont be ashamed if the poet in me died. 

To and fro

As kids we learned to cross our hearts

In order to prove a truth, as elders we learnt to raise our voice in order to make a truth.

As kids we learnt to cross our fingers everytime we lie , as elders we learnt to poker face commiting perjury.

As kids we spoke n thought less, cuz milk and candies satiated our needs, as elders our mind races and tongue blabs or fumbles , cuz the horizon is so unseen.

As kids our mothers would mean the world and rest were close kins, as elders we make friends and foes entering the chaotic élan. 

Looking back may seem easier 

But to head forward is what we do

Mousy and yellow

With mistakes at each veer

Fumbling and stumbling 

Trying the balance 

Backsliding to maintain

Turning the wheel 

Towards the unknown

Into a hazy sea .