do not.

do not stand for me and wait
i won’t be there. it ain’t my trait.
i’ll be gone before you even know
along with gushing winds over the snow
i am the blinding light of your blues
i am the rain of a thousand hues
do not stand there and act shocked
you listened as well but never walked
when the stars drown you every night
i am the sailor of their guiding light
do not stand for me and try
i am not there. i did not die.

How to write

you ask
how I write poetry.

those words that
rhyme together in an
unusual way that
stays, with you
and the ones getting
wet in their rain.

there’s no secret, darling.

these words
and their poetry that
you claim to see
is not even real.

the only poetry
I believe
I ever saw was in
your wild hair, hypnotizing
its audience in the
wild wind ampitheatre
and in your
eyes, when you look
at me, and

smile.

Coffee and rain

the smell of coffee and rain,
takes me back
it’s all white and black,
to the times simpler and sane.

i’ll be the last one leavin’,
before you close the door
& can’t scream no more,
i’ll lick your inside,
slowly sippin’,

like my hot black coffee
on a gray rainy evenin’.

Untitled

continued from last time…

What I find amusing about Texas weather is that it changes a lot. I mean multiple times a day. I vaguely remember one day in August I checked the weather before going out, and it was a promising 85 with sun shining nice and high. An hour later I get out of this meeting, and it’s fucking pouring down. I’m damn sure they put out flash flood warning for that shit. You could have just floated in your boat and sung those rain songs on your way back home in that much water which collected there in last hour and only God knows how. That was my first encounter with this mood of nature. Everyone around me acted like it was normal.

Me? Hell no.

I just stood there with my eyes wide open staring at the huge drops of water coming down from the gray sky thinking about what in the fuck am I going to do now without an umbrella.

Truth be told, it didn’t turn out to be a good day. I’m not a big fan of multiple showers a day. I barely get on with the required one. And that gray sky, it pisses me off. You can’t go out, and that alone restricts me to do stuff. Do stuff. Something. Anything. That’s what I do. All the time. And the rain basically told me, hey you, fuck off. And I’m just sitting there sipping my coffee listening to an intelligently picked mellow music playlist specially curated for rainy days in my room running out of ideas to DO stuff. I never liked being restricted.

I like my freedom. I like my options open most of the times. And I get it that you can’t always have whatever you wish for, but most of the times, I just need the freedom to think and act on. That’s pretty much what I desire from people around me. And from life overall. But rain devoid me of that freedom. Unless you give me a soccer ball and couple of humans. Then I’m the happiest kid in the world.

But this story here is far from being a happy story. It’s not going to be pretty, or colorful, or even have a happy ending after all the bullshit. There’s no doodling with crayons. Yeah, the movies lied to you. As of now, it doesn’t even have an ending. Because shit seems to keep going on and on. Forever and ever. And for as long as the shit keeps going on, there will be a writer bored out of his fucking mind writing about it.

Because somebody gotta entertain, ain’t that true? So be it. I’ll keep writing, and you keep reading.

Rain

Shall I compare you to a rainy day?
You are more thunderous and wet
with misery, giving turbulent winds a way,
Reminiscence of the time we met,
Sometimes too noisy for the eager ear,
And often making the landscape dreary,
Always gray and too much to bear,
Exploring and exploiting the confused and weary,
But your eternal excitement will never fade,
Nor the smile you put on my face will die,
For you’ll be the broken star to whom I prayed,
Leaving behind a trail of stardust in that rainy sky,
So long as your heart can see what’s essential & right,
So long lives this, and you, and your yellow light.

Thunderstorm

rain used
to be
just tear drops.

until one day
wind, with his
alacrity
came along
and told her

that together
They could be

thunderstorm.

Unwanted

rain.
feeble light.
canned soup.
slow breathing.
clock ticking away.

silence.

there was
something
unwanted but complete

in his emptiness.

It happens

Why didn’t you get that job?

Why didn’t she call you back?

Why did no one like your blog post?

Why did you fall in love?

Why did you say no when you knew you wanted to say yes?

Why did it rain when you planned everything out so perfectly?

That’s the thing. It happens.

It just happens.

Sometimes there’s no explanation to things that happen with us or around us.
Sometimes they just happen without any reason.
Sometimes there’s no logic or pattern.
And we try so hard to figure out the answer to the big WHY.
Just to see at the end of the road that there’s no answer.
There’s nothing that can tell you WHY.

Because sometimes, it just happens.

Isolation

I left
the windshield wipers
on
and sniveled
to my heart

passing shadows
saw rivulets of raindrops
trickling down the glass

I was the center
in my storm of isolation.

up, up and boom

i’m out of dark stouts

the car splashed all over clothes

they stole my bike

they stole my painting with

two purple eyes

bugs climb on the windows

my will’s broken

my string wouldn’t play the

damn riff

but the stock market went

up today.