I will taint you ..

As you refuse

to own them —

the illegitimate words

that fertilized in the womb

of my mind,

(when your thoughts persuaded

my passion to produce

love poems)

I’ll throw them at your face,

I’ll taint you,

I’ll hand you the guilt

of their birth out of wedlock

if I’m ridiculed for their creation

this time again.

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Like A Season Goes By ..

The flowers on your

embroidered dopatta would

remain fresh,

(like the ones I would place

in your locks)

soaked in the midnight rains

of your eyes;

now, sighs, that formed

the thick rain-clouds

are no more to rise

as you trample the wilted

leaves of our blooming love

evoking thoughts

of an autumn that came too soon

P.S: I was taken by a pleasant surprise to see a publication after quite some time.