One more time…
Poets were weaving magic with lexicons that were the delirium of the streets; writers rekindling the same. “There is something wrong”, a boy with a baffled expression on his face quipped from the ghetto of lovers of all sorts…
Livers bottled up with ethanol, lungs bloated with tobacco; could never set the fire in you albeit both are classy fuels.
We see them in girls squatting whilst forming the greatest possible angles at hamstrings, in boys who shave their legs and mavericks who chant loudly. We call them crazy/lunatic/indecent and trash them off.
When you die and stop breathing all at once, I won’t have to cry woefully recalling how you snored which were also “breaths” that I underrated
Maoists, Nepalese (because many Pakistani terrorists enter into India by taking advantage of porous IndoNepal border) and Chinese borders are threats too. Soldiers who become martyrs
Men have mastered the art of making a woman appear dumb no matter what she does.
Sliding through the crevasses in my heart, you let all the butterflies in my belly meander to the depths unfathomable… And tsh!
Age is a number, they say. And we should stop minding numbers, they say. But so are the records which are made
Overdress, paint the face, fake a smile and you’re done! Not to forget, those skimpy high heels that won’t spare you from the woes of wiggly toes on your