Park bench

I'm sitting quietly solemnly

On a big park bench

Listening to the chirping birds

And feeling the slapping winds

When I see you creeping

Slowly upon my mind

With loving thoughts,

Not colourblind.

I sit and wonder

Where have we reached

Just two friends, 

Two companions,

Sometimes in heat,

Sometimes under

A soft bed sheet,

Sometimes walking around

Or sharing a drink,

Sometimes fighting,

Sometimes sweet,

But more importantly, 

Two bestest of best,

Loveliest of loves

For all to see.

My cup runneth over

My cup runneth over

With moments of joy,

Of blushing profusely 

And feeling oh so coy

And my entire being

Is flooded with love

And sooner than later

Eases all that was tough.

To smoothen edges

That were rough

I polish my cup

Because I'm that one winner

Who never once lost hope,

Never once accepted defeat;

My cup runneth over

As I get what I seek.

the world's best boyfriend

I had the world's best boyfriend

Once upon a time for whom

I penned many songs and rhymes;

He showered me with love,

And kisses so warm

And together we made music

Sometimes when we were sore.

I still think that he is

The most handsome man

To tread the Earth,

But because I lost my mind

He couldnt find me glued;

He bore, he was patient, 

I think he really tried,

But one fine day he told me

He had resigned

From the role

Of being the world's best boyfriend

As about me it looked like a trend.

His love burns bright in my soul

And I don't think I'll date another

Because he made me so whole.

I'll carry good wishes for him

In my heart all the time,

And write more truths

And pen more rhymes.

My mind

What do I tell you about the power of my mind,

Sometimes so creative, sometimes so blind,

Sometimes wandering, sometimes wondering,

Sometimes after something hankering;

It won't stand to be cheated upon

And many loves reside there and very few wrongs;

So many ideas my mind has conceived

And it can learn from the past

And see the future gingerly.

Each day I sit and polish it a little

And I don't ever want it to become brittle;

Steady and quick, galloping thunder,

My mind is rarely ever asunder.

It's seen so many realities at once,

And dreamt so many imaginings like a song;

My precious possession, my mind

Where I sow hope and very few whines.

It's the beauty of being bold and brave

As with my mind I compile many a page--

You are truly noble in the deepest trenches of it;

Now I'll let it rest bit by bit.

Journal 10.50 pm on 31.7.2026 trying to feel happy

Dearest Journal,

When you think you are talking to God, you are in fact talking only to a realm of your mind. When you feel you are connecting with thought with someone, alive or deceased, you are in fact again accessing a realm of your own mind.

I'm not an atheist. I believe in the God/Virtue principle. But I also know that even to the most intuitive mind no obstacle can pierce as long as you love yourself.

I often think about whether I would date me. My career is choppy at the moment, that says nay. But as a person I think I'm golden, I'm a good girl.

I haven't really been taking care of my looks and I haven't in some time opened a book.

I think a lot, creating causes at the intention and thought level; I've been doing that all my life-- I am a deep thinker.

As for Arun-- I wish I hadn't blown my top. I wish I felt less intensely about him and that I was more practical.

Life is good. I'm trying not to worry. I love my parents and I am deeply indebted to them for accepting me, loving me and standing by me.

Arun was rather rude when I called him up last. Once bitten twice shy. If you've been thwarted once you are unlikely to try again.

But people do rethink their words and people do change.

I don't know what to think about him. I love him.

I am feeling:

Happy

Full of love

Sweet

I am grateful for God's infinite Love, Grace and blessings on my life.

I am grateful for relationships based on mutual trust and mutual love. 

Love,

Me.

11 pm

Dirty floor

The floor is so dirty 

With all the vomit I spewed

Of words of harsh truth

And angry fumes

And I clean it ever so clearly now

To dance with the flowers

Beneath the boughs.

May I not utter another harsh word

As to many creations

I give birth.

I have tidied myself,

Cleaned my abode

For tales are to be told 

And songs sung.

Black pen

Black pen glowing in the night,

Filled with ink so bright

With which I write soothing brave songs,

Righting all the way all my wrongs.

This stylo is only mine,

It belongs to me

And with it I shine,

Sometimes with apple tart,

Sometimes with wine,

I pour all my joys and sorrows,

My gratitudes and rhymes.

It is the most sturdy pen today,

A special pen for a special girl, that's me;

It is possessed by nary a soul but me

And has written stories for all to see.

This pen I hold to my chest most dearly,

Forever filled bright ink tenderly.