Second Bloom

I had folded my heart away,  
tucked it in silence,
as one tucks a fragile letter
into the back of a drawer.

I told myself,
Love had had its turn.

that the music was over,

that the dance was done.

But then you appeared,

not with thunder,

not with the rush of storms,

but with the quiet certainty

of morning light.

You did not ask me to forget

the shadows I carried.

You simply stood beside them

until they no longer frightened me.

Your laughter stirred something

I thought I had long since turned to stone.

Your touch did not demand.

It invited.

And in that invitation,

I felt my walls soften,

brick by brick,

until even the ruins of old love

looked like the foundation

for something new.

This second chance is not a return

to what was lost,

but a tender beginning,

a softer unfolding,

the kind that grows from patience

and the courage to believe again.

To love you now

is not to erase the past,

but to honour it.

To know what pain taught me,

yet still choose your hand in mine.

And if the heart is a garden,

then you are the bloom

I never thought I would rise again.

So, let the world say love is fickle.

It only knocks once.

I know better.

For here you are,

and here I am,

ready to begin,

not as if it were the first time!

Where Shadows Hold the Heart

 

You tell me you love me,

yet your eyes look past my face,

searching for someone

who lives only in the silence of memory.

Your arms are warm,

but your heart is an echo chamber,

still ringing with the laughter

of a love long gone.

I stand here, alive,

offering touch, offering today,

but you kneel at the altar of yesterday,

faithful to shadows I cannot chase away.

Is it love,

if your vows belong to a ghost?

Or am I only a visitor

at the graveside of your longing?

You say the words,

but I hear the distance,

a man chained to remembrance,

too loyal to the past to walk into the present.

And I,

left holding the ache of almost,

learn that sometimes love

is not enough

to resurrect the living from the dead.

Love Beneath the August Sky

August came with golden skies,
And love was glowing in your eyes.
The world slowed down, the sun sank low,
And all I needed was your soul's soft glow.

We met beneath the twilight air,
With tangled hands and hearts laid bare.
Each whisper danced on lips so near,
Your voice, my favorite thing to hear.

You held me close - no words, just us,
The warmth of trust, the quiet hush.
With every breeze, your touch grew deep,
Like secrets lovers vow to keep.

Your hugs were home - safe, pure, complete,
Like summer rain on thirsty feet.
And kisses? Oh, they wrote a song
That lingered on my skin so long.

August nights, with stars above,
Became the language of our love.
No promises, no planned tomorrows—
Just here and now, with joy and sorrows.

So hold me still, in memory’s light,
When summer fades into the night.
In every hug and every kiss,
August will stay - forever bliss!

Love, What Is Love

                                                         By Robert Louis Stevenson

Love - what is love? A great and aching heart; 
Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.
Life - what is life? Upon a moorland bare

To see love coming and see love depart.

 

Here I Love You

By Pablo Neruda 

In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself. 
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures. 
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.

Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Muse of my verses

In the corners of  

my restless mind, 

Where fantasies and 

dreams entwined,

There blooms a flower, delicate, shy,

A crush that makes my heart take flight.

Your smile, a beacon in the night,

Your laughter, like a song in flight,

In every word, a hidden art,

You've captured the core of my beating heart.

I watch you from afar, unseen,

In your presence, I feel serene,

A silent whisper in the breeze,

My heart adrift upon the seas.

Your eyes, they sparkle like the stars,

In them, I find the deepest scars,

Of love unspoken, yet profound,

A crush that makes my world go round.

I paint your name in constellations,

In the realm of my imaginations,

A muse for verses yet to be,

A crush that feels like destiny.

Yet here I stand, a silent gaze,

Lost within this love-struck daze,

Hoping that you might one day see,

The crush you are, dear one, to me.

In the tapestry of passing days,

A crush like sunlight's gentle blaze,

A fleeting moment, yet so dear,

My secret crush, I hold you close.

Truant Thy Love

 She looked for it everywhere.

A mirage appeared wherever she went.

Each lane, each corner had love stamped on it.

“Where art thou, love”, she wondered.

But love played truant.

Love’s many forms, she was unable to see.

There was only one for her: 

her lost love.

Love played games with her,

Cupid was no less.

Both truant!

Tired, she stopped walking,

Sitting under a tree, she spots a mirror. 

An image she did not recognize:

worn-out clothes, disheveled hair, dark circles under her eyes,

cracked toenails, chipped fingernails.

Unrecognizable, she was distraught.

Who am I? Where did I come from?

Questions haunted her like a tyrant spirit.

She got up, walked on.

A tiny path to a house, a cobblestone road,

A small brook, birds chirping in the woods,

Familiar smells of a time gone by,

Memories enveloped her in a warm embrace.

An old photograph, a diary, few clothes, cluttered stationery,

Bits of paper, yellowing books, old letters, doodles and scribbles,

Remnants of her past in a box.

Crouched on her haunches, 

Aroma from an opened box filled her senses.

She turned the pages of her diary,

Each word spoke to her,

Told tales of the yore.

Grainy photographs had tons to tell,

Familiar old faces, moments captured random, 

Tingling sensations of butterflies in her tummy,

Memories of an old crush, first love lingered.

With a teardrop glistening in her eyes, she smiled!

Saaya

Kuchh hai jo ab bhi hai baaki,

Kuchh hai jo ab bhi hai zinda,
Kuchh hai jo ab bhi hai kayam,
Wo hai meri hasti! 

Pehchaan hai meri, 
Wo muskurahat bhi meri,
Wo baatein bhi meri,
Wo zubaan bhi meri! 

Saaya hoon main apna! 

Musings of a Lover

Time stands still for some,
Frames freeze over,
Moments flood for some,

Hearts warm up, 

The thudding goes faster.
Old memories bounce in full force,
Soul gets drenched in the memory storm.

Emotions overwhelm the soul.
Tears flow down unabated, 

The heart is in standby mode.

Thumping heartbeats remind of the past, 
A face flashes past the eyes.

The first time we met, 
The first time we touched,
The first time we kissed,
The first time we walked hand in hand.
Sweet nothings we whispered,
Secret smiles shared!

Ah! Those memories drench me in sweat.

Sweaty palms seeing the one you love,
Separated by timelines, borders,
Secretly wishing those times back.

Times move on, moments and us too.

Never say never, told my friend!

Let love knock on your door once more!