(For those who ask me why I write; for the strangers in the Delhi Metro who take liberty to stare into my phone when I am typing away a poem/note and then compliment; for myself. )
:)
There is a poem inside me
that stays
awake long after everyone
has gone to sleep,
that speaks
in tongues unfamiliar to me,
that breathes
in tandem with the rise and
fall of my chest,
that screams
when the night is quiet and almost dead.
There is a poem inside me that rests.
There is a poem inside me
that sees
a fire where ashes used to be,
that dreams
of a phoenix where
flames ceased to be,
that hears
a sound in the stillness of silence,
that cheers
hopes already tired and spent,
that jeers
at me for being oblivious,
that tears
at my heart with a tremendous
ache that refuses to mend.
There is a poem inside me that rests.
There is a poem inside me
that longs
to know the melody to your song,
that wants
to sing the lyrics back to you,
that taunts
me with what you mean to me
that haunts
my being with memories
which keep on stretching but do not bend.
There is a poem inside me that rests.
There is a poem inside me
that heals
as much as it hurts,
that steals
but is worthy of trust,
that hands
me the keys to the universe
that paints
stories, shapes up words.
There is a poem inside me
that understands
the whole of this wide world.
There is a poem inside me
that people say
they spell like love.
