Jaya Pillai

Perhaps this is it. Or is it? The elusive path To an eternity of happiness With its quagmire Of ifs

Of late, I have been painting pictures in  the air And framing them in  little cases That have sprouted From

Sometimes On the darkest of nights When the rumbling sound Of unknown fears Crawl in through the walls of My

YET ANOTHER MONSOON When the  clouds embrace The parched souls, Their dreams Begin to rush forth In torrents That  fill

Your words hit Against the brazen walls  Of dark minds  And bounce off To slide into A pit.  One day

#PoAttic4 #Lies A streak of grey across a blue sky Does not make it grey. Or so I say. Huddled

  If all our dreams Rested upon the whims Of a shooting star, Would we not be strutting about, Twirling

A tendril of smoke rises into nothingness From a cigarette that empties itself out. Like thoughts from a broken heart

Last evening, As I was rummaging through A heap of frozen moments, I found a slice of time Wrapped in