Noctis Verses

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.” ― Saul Bellow




I was lovesick – 
Her smile,
It devoured me 

This is what being in love meant?
To count moments without them –
Laugh till your stomach hurt, 
Or was it the smile that hurt your cheeks
Perhaps, it was how you’d feel home –
In their arms, as you softly grazed them 
Traced their skin, bit them 
And kissed them ever so deeply under the streetlight –
As the traffic passed by, you both broke into a smile
When only they matter –
Was this how’d you say you’re in love? 

She was warmth –
Her eyes, 
Like kisses from the sun



Chilly dress

The sun blushed —
A hue of deep ochre

A warmth seems to seep in —
Setting insides on fire

Often we’d wonder;
What colour was her dress —
One that’d accent her pretty smile
And eyes one gets lost into,
It’d be that green one – olive(d)

Her wicked smile —
And ginger touch

Lusciously, one could taste it off her —

Often we’d wonder;
Is she the sun or would the sun be her —
Happiness infectious
It’d be bleeding out her pores,
Yellow and bright brown eyes — score(d)

Sundresses and flowers tucked behind —
Warm winter mornings

Sat admiring the sun —
Flushed and in bliss

China call

It’s been ringing since day break —
Pick it up, will you?

He tenderly reached —
A call on the China, for him?!

It scared him —
Was it the one he’d been praying for?

There’s a warm gentleness about it —
It was the wicked smile, wasn’t it?!

Oh, his beaming smile —
It’s radiating on the lines, you know?

I need this(like my vitamin tablets, too)—
If only he’d realise his importance?!

Thank you —
Meet already, please?


It was slow night,
The moon seemed to blush
And the stars shone brighter

Fell in love with brown, too

He’d need her,
He was falling —
Wished the chance hadn’t passed

Daydreamt about a smile, too

With amber approaching
With a beautiful girl beside —
He wished it won’t end

It was her, wasn’t it?

And romanticism —
Butterflies in his stomach

Melting into a subtle blush

Recalling the slow night
Waiting for the chance
With the moon blushing behind the stars

Boy of 4

Rose petals sat there,
Adorning his stolen treasure –
Specks of corpses peeked from under

He was the king of thieves,
Sitting upon a stolen throne

A mental chair,
With bones for cushions
And the fallen – kept it in place

If one overlooked this –
They’d chance upon a tender past

A single lilac stay there,
Adoring the grave –
Specks of future, bleak

He was the whore’s son,
Sitting upon a debt 

Gentle innocence,
Thrown –
Directionless, rode on still

The boy of 4 – now a man
Stood there, teary 

Infatuated Romanticism (?)

She ran her finger,
His locks posed a challenge though –
Auburn knots, 
They glistened under the twilight sky

She was lost in his dreamy eyes,
Devoured by his gaze
Accents of walnut and coffee
Not a pretty medley for her stomach

Oh, did she mention his smile?
She could have gotten lost in field of sunflowers –
With the sun hitting just the right spots

She’d wondered,
If this is what infatuated romanticism was (?)

She’d realise,
This boy could be her end –
Not that she’d mind that,
But – friends can be our end, too (?!)

This person –
Was her definition of perfection
(She know’s he wasn’t,
But dreaming doesn’t cost a pretty penny)

She now sat wrapped under layers,
Sipping on her eggnog –
With the sun coming out 

She sat, dreaming of his fingers tracing her skin – distractedly 

Sad (?!)

He’d been sleeping more,
Crying into a pillow –
Water stains and cigarette butts
Empty glasses and alcohol stink

He’d been sadder,
A deep hue of blue –
Bloodless blade and needle
Hangman’s knot and metal peripherals

He’d not be sad anymore  

A November Farewell

How often
Does a sad person – have thoughts

Laying on the floor,
Staring at the fan –
Thinking of how jute would feel against the nape
Cold, bitter(?) – perhaps liberating

It was a refreshingly nostalgic feeling
One felt – time too many

A constant nag,
This too shall pass (?)
Didn’t seem to – stuck
“Stuck in reverse” (?)

This time it won’t last

On a breezy noon –
With high tides and sandy waves
A November farewell  


It’s been over a decade of days,
She’d been wailing —

Her pillow water stained;
Draining into a loop —
Of sadness and melancholy

Much like —
Someone with a broken heart,
;Lost muses
— sitting atop a stolen throne

Heartbreaks are hard (?)
Or so it seemed —
Love wasn’t lost, sadly
;The person though – was

Why’d you do this?

Dead men spoke no lie
Here it’d seem —
That won’t be the case

He’d died in his sleep —
With a friend (?) in his arm
While she—

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