The blankness of canvases and silence of papers
pouring over horizons...

I am not a racist
if I wish to hold on to my identity...

It is not important
if you are right or wrong...

Life is like being in the deep,
with barely a breath left...

How could one beseech
with all their existence...

To Meena Krish
You alway remind me of our friendship. and I love...

Do not fight to prove
you are better, do it to...

All the languages belong to the same arbour
the two outlet bugles...

There is a desert between our lips
that could not be watered...

Worshipping in everywhere in a rose leaf
or in a celebration of the day in a drop of water...

The fruit to die for:
The apple of neighbour’s bough...

Love brings every side of wounds together
and sew through them with pang...