dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Imagine, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

The Poet of Kashmir

Another day goes by
as my temple of verses rests desolated,
with her laments succinct.

this curfew of imagination,
keeps the pilgrims (of thoughts)
sobering behind closed doors.

The valley is being robbed
of its flowers and fervor.

We both are dying slowly
but not as we once dreamed.

In winter,
when it rains saffron
instead of snow.

beauty, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry


sun bathes in snow,
a few hues melted
to eventually freeze
in the sky

a crepuscular light,
a white grave of memories,
that smells like burnt wood
and fresh dark wine
by the fireplace

a white sheet of blindness,
over a glass of silenced darkness
fire devours
the aching coldness,
the melody,
appeases even gods,

the fangs of frost
grope the petals of the flowers,
some will perish this winter.
intertwining beauty and death
both of which I seek,
but at different times
in my life

dream, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, Poetry, Stories


If you ask me for a wish,
I would say a long dark winter,

where the sun has been consumed by ice
and turned like a dead cold floating moon,

where rivers have nowhere to be seen,
just white sheets till your eyes can wander,

where animals are hidden in caves
scared of the unknown wandering,

where screams are nothing comparable
to the howling of the winds

I would just wait for an eternity
at my window with thickest blanket

humming about snow, the sky and the darkness,
and writing about the spring to come
for eternity.