Smiles are a peculiar thing
I find yours infectious
Crawling on my mouth
So when you look at me
I look at you too

If only your smile found its way onto mine
So that they can intertwine
Delicately and passionately
So when your hand is on my body
Mine is on yours too

फूलों से प्यार है उसे,
सूरज की किरने चूमता है उसका चेहरा।
हँसती है तो खिल उठता है समा,
एक नज़र से उसकी, हम हो जाते फ़ना।

"हम देखते हैं उन्हें नज़रे चुराकर,
इतने हसीन हैं वो।
देखते हैं उन्हें शर्माते हुए, मुस्कुराते हुए,
क्या अदा है वो।
जब वो ज़ुल्फ़ सवाँरे, परियाँ सी लगती हैं,
इन्हीं अदाओं से कायल करती हैं वो।"

𝐈
𝐍ever
𝐅igured that
𝐀
𝐓eensy tiny
𝐔ndeveloped
𝐀ttraction would
𝐓urn
𝐈nto
𝐎vert
𝐍ausea

I urge you do not fall in love with the version of a person you make in your head.

Delete the roleplays you keep on repeat in your mind.

Ignore your heart's beating at the thoughts you normally accept that will lead you into an endless spiral of lust.

You never got the chance to speak to the person you wish to know.

You do not know their likes of their dislikes.

You only love the version of them in your mind.

Let go.

Please let go.

I don’t like people at my feet
So, I could never be an emperor, or a king
Though I believe myself capable
Of just about anything
But loving – that’s a tricky one.
How does one go beyond –
I wonder – to be overcome
With wonderment of another
Find salt – beneath a fingernail –
Of the Earth’s splendour
Licking them clean, one by one,
Until there are none left to surrender
To me, it is beautiful but immodest
To bear one’s soul so unabashedly
So bare-naked, weak and honest
That you throw off one’s shoes
Trade them for an embrace and warm breath
Old vestments, at the foot of the bed
And at mine, just you.

You spend more time cradling your shell, lately
Coveting not the flesh of just any man
But the warmth of his skin - only
Tempering your own - rosy
Dulling the mind - *****
And curing the heart’s lonely:

~Ahh… Hare!
Suppose this must be what it means to burn —
Slowly.~

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
Grant my pen a poet's gift
Let me scribble my pencil thin,
Writing, kindling your blossom smile.
You, beautiful as you flip my file
Which has me commit to your homework, while
Sitting at home with a radiant smile.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
'tis true, nobody's perfect -- nobody but you.
Naughty I was and punish you did that's true.
"Write, 'I will listen in class.'" you said demure,
"on each line of those two pages; and stop being immature."
I'd Sit and contemplate, drool and scribble,
"Lovely miss Anderson. My miss Anderson"

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my elder?
Were you younger, by a decade or two,
I grant I'd hop and merrily skip,
With you on the park and  buy you a sweet.
I'd look in your eyes, and call you Anderson.
My dear Anderson.