Better To Come Soon

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A Naughty Programme

You were a naughty programme
designed by my creative mind
the algorithm I wrote that time
added spices with a drop of lime

nasty thoughts and lustful statements
with ifs and if nots, I wrote my forever ailment
writing it, gave me a comforted pleasure
your presence was my crafted treasure

days and nights dedicated to the A4 sheets
played with naughty thoughts and hotty dreams
carefully observed my wants and desires
penned them down with hopes on fire

end result though was ransom
to me you were my only handsome
I gave you my time and patience
you lovingly defined my existence

©Kritika

Image credit Pinterest

Characteristics of a lone wolf you owned

Don’t you wish
to talk to me
for all the pain I gained
for all the loss I bore

Don’t you wish
to see the tears
flowing from these hopeful eyes
drowned in your love now sore

Don’t you wish
to run to hug
this body to sniff my perfume
caressing my soul

Such a liar you were
showed me the beautiful love
betrayed this heart for nothing
but your egoistic snub

Sniffed my beauty
for your pleasure
intoxicated me with love
for you was no treasure

Disdainful act of cowardice
worried my love did not suffice
didn’t knew
the characteristics of a lone wolf you owned

©Kritika

Image credit to Pinterest

Silence has its own voice

The quiet afternoon
between 3 to 5
world seems still
only the silence alive

Reaching to my ears
a beautiful voice
calm and serene in nature
fresh breath as its feature

Embracing this drowsy noon body
My breathing in the air completely 
waking me up for a chit chat
telling me to relax for a while as the day is still left

Freshening the soul to resume my duties 
having a cup of tea with some biscuits
spreading my arms I accept its presence
Silence has its own voice, my friends.

©Kritika


A writer’s want

I want to write

about the blooming flowers
the chirping birds
sitting on the tree trunk high above

the mountains waiting to greet the sun
chilling under moon light
sleeping with ice cap on
having their own fun

the restless leaves on the empty roads
so dope for a human eye to roll and stroll

the empty iron bench under the street lamp
where people come close or get detached

these short stories mean a lot
read by the world in different language and words

the writers and poets have their own twists and turns
their minds play an imaginative churn

for its not easy for them to pen down
these true experiences
unless watched and analysed while sitting on those iron benches

©Kritika