Bad Girl

She sashays in the corridor in her rugged denims and crop top, Without a care for your prying eyes.

She is a Bad Girl.

She voices her opinion about love marriage strong and clear, and does not flinch even when you tell her what a sin she is committing.

She is a Bad Girl.

She says No when you want a Yes, she says Yes to someone else. She goes out clubbing and dances with her male best friend.

She is a Bad Girl.

She lives her life by her will, she does not bow does not cringe. She will beat you at your workplace and also at the gym. She is sultry and she is proud.

She is obviously, a Bad Girl.

Thorns and Roses

My love for you is like a garden filled with blooming roses,                                               Adorning an ethereal charm, veiling in deadliest thorns.

What an idyllic sight to behold, whispered my heart,Indulge in this miracle of life, Take a chance, take a chance.

Miracle? Oh foolish heart , don’t try to trick her again, urged my mind. This is nothing but a mirage, the thorns will prick your flesh and soul akin.

I have bled before, bled enough. Yet again, you are worth the bloodshed, worth the scarring. Let me bleed dear heart, let love flow.

The Artist

He splashes the paint on the white canvas, reds and yellows and blues.

Carving a beauty from nothing.

He doesn’t need to see her picture, she is alive in his memory, fresh as a bud.

Every careful stroke, every drop of paint brings back the curves and edges of her imperfect figure, which were perfect in his eyes.

The canvas evokes the memories of a time long forgotten, her face peeping out of it staring at a flower.

He never draws her gaze at himself, that would be too darn real, and he is just not ready yet.

Till then, he will keep on marring her beauty on the canvas, In hope that one day the colours will ease into his faded life once again.