A sip with your moist lips is all that, hot me craves! A stir with your feel, getting sweeter and sweeter as per your taste, is all that which makes me a drink of your taste.

You embrace me by your palms, making me feel so lively, dancing over joyous that I get spilled yet noding at the drinks that protestingly die.

And then between your lips and hollow heaven, until your snaky tongue leaves me driven, i slide down your cold throat allowing myself to float.

For when I peck your lips, you feed caffeine into me and I yearn as a coffee of your taste!

~There is something about old books,
more than stories they hold memories,
memories of those fingers which gently
turned every page making it a soulful place.
Those pale yellow pages carry
the secrets of their grapples,
grapple in making every line
read and felt by heart.
The biblichor itself craves for the
fragrance of all those sites it has been,
and the taste it felt by those filled mugs.
The dusty torn cover somehow knows the journey,
journey from big book shelves to those
catastrophic desks, and then maybe
again to plesurable surroundings,
Perhaps, they know the revolving,
of endings being the new beginnings…

You and I become one harmoniously, just as words become sentences and sentences become poems. You have your flaws and i have mine, and becoming one doesn’t overrides any of them, rather we become warm with our limitations and this in turn makes us snug with each other. There is a lot said and even more unsaid between us, but luckily our bodies do the chatter for us. My eyes, fingers and the crinkle of my nose, makes you understand more than my words ever could. And just as words become sentences and sentences become ballads, our words, nose, eyes and fingers become our stories.

झूठ मत बोलना, क्या आज भी तुम्हारी रूह नही कांपती वो हमारा वाला गाना सुन कर, क्या आज भी मेरी याद नही सताती उन रास्तों पर तन्हा चलकर। झूठ मत बोलना, क्या आज भी मेरी तस्वीर को देख मेरा होना महसूस नही करते, क्या आज भी मेरे दीए हुए तोहफों मे खुदको मेहफूस नही रखते। झूठ मत बोलने, क्या आज भी उस प्यार के मौसम की फरियाद नही करते, क्या आज भी तुम मेरी बाते अपने आप से नही करते। झूठ मत बोलना, क्या आज भी तुम मेरे दीए नामों मे खुदको नही ढूंढते, क्या आज भी तुम मेरे हाथों की नर्मिया याद नही करते। झूठ मत बोलना, क्या आज भी मेरी खुशबू तुम अपने पास कैद नही रखते, क्या आज भी तुम मूजे याद नही करते। झूठ मत बोलना।