Love story of two cities

Love story of two cities

P.c.  www.google.com We are not humanswe are citiesand unlike living ones,we are connected by roads & airwhich,can never be unfair I lead to uu lead to me & hence we maintain , the perfect harmonyso what if we ain't livingmillion lives reside in us,billion dreams flourish hereWe've loved each otherso madly,that any place after you, will have to go through meand only me.when i get wet in rainsu are notified instantlyby the breeze and that smell of soil& hence we are more connected than humans,who've learnt only to spoil.Feelings may changebut roads don't feelhearts do breakwhich ends the zealBut a damaged road, still leads to its destination& thereby, a road never insults the love's equation...

My Everything

My Everything  I am exist , Because of you. you are the one , who loves me unconditionally. you are the one , who have conviction in me. you are the one , who knows me too well. you are the one , who is always on my side. you are the one , who is embedded in the soul of me. you are the one , who gives me always a good advice. you are the one , who faced soreness for me. you are the one , who fills me with happiness. you are the one , who is my mum. words may be end , but  your esteem can’t be.                       -Rupali Chaudhary....
Writer’s Patch

Writer’s Patch

Writer’s patch o Writer’s patch, How do you bring it out in me, Thinking  that I am on a roll, Just then Poetry ditches me..   Brainstorming myself, Just to find something, Only for ideas to fade in and out, Just like civilization turned into modern technology..   So, I just penned down stuff, Comedy brought me into laughter, Love brought me into blushes, Sad reminded me of Arjit Singh, Life made me inspired, Yet all down down on paper to form a literature..   It maybe short, But I am back with a bang, Writer’s patch, it’s time to pack and leave with a clang.    ...
Sobriety of Love

Sobriety of Love

It was still there when you did not see it and it is still there now showering the pearls that stick on your body in a cold winter night and relish it till its morning. It was still there when the sun was singeing the loam with all its might, and even when it was evening, it did not set; it kept making love with the earth until it slept in the arms of the night. It was still there when the child came first into a mother’s womb, and after full nine months, it came out and the mother took hold of it teary eyed, it was still there. It was always there, kept walking not with you but a little behind you like a shadow so that you cannot see it. It wanted you to get drenched in the first rain, wanted you to gleam not like a half lit lantern but like a full fledged star. It wanted to serve you like a slave and to master you like God but it restrained itself for the sake of itself, the love...
Call for Kismet

Call for Kismet

I am at a lonely road of broken dreams, It’s a Boulevard that I am searching for..   The galaxy is so bright, Yet it’s the Moon that we search for..   Love is angry at me, It’s peace kissing our feelings..   Happiness is written all over our stars, Despair lurks greedily around our shadows..   There’s a rush-hour around me for eternity, But it’s a companion that I am searching for..   My Life is just like a branched path, It’s a destination, I am seeking for..   Yet clueless to what I am searching for, Maybe it’s *MY DESTINY*, that my soul seeks...

Mutiny

The solemn, the honored, the deity of compassion;Goddess like, women have had epithets several. But with the coming of the harrowing age of the vice,Father time stands witness to the Goddess’ dismal demise.The crude demons of this era have filthily sinned,and echoing about is women’s shattering magnificence’s din. Her supple wrists have been brutally broken;She cannot protest and is unable to shout for help.Her tongues have been tied and throats have been slit,Helplessly dumb, she cannot scream or yelp. Withstanding pain and horror,the clocks have ticked on;Filled up to the brim are now the cauldrons of vice & wrong. The conch shells have now been sounded; the tempest of wrath is at its peak,The victims have vowed to avenge the melancholy of tattered veils.Until the rogues are beheaded and shunned to burning hell,She shan’t stop until this tyranny has been wrecked. And then alike Draupadi, the wretched daughter of Drupad,the Goddesses shall rinse their manes in the traitors’ blood.The woeful wounds begin to heal as truth triumphs over wrong,Disrobed of respect formerly, with dignity & regard she is...