Avijeet Das

Depression is real. It happens. We go through it. Hold onto yourself in those moments.

Some words were left unsaid Oh Layla, as you slept peacefully in my arms, and the stars kept on peeping into the room to glance at your smile!

And tonight the stars again ask me your name?And I just smile, playing the guessing game!

Like a splendid mosaic of myriad colors, she in all her hues of sensitivity would paint her feelings in your mind__ gray skies. She was the butterfly making you run after her. She was the Zahir, a mirage that transcended borders and time-zones.

I am no writer. Her sparkling eyes made my fingers write words in the sand, Her radiant smile made my pen write words in the air. Her beautiful soul made my typewriter type poems for eternity. I am no writer.

I am no writer. Her sparkling eyes made my fingers write words in the sand. Her radiant smile made my pen write words in the air. Her beautiful soul made my typewriter type poems for eternity. I am no writer.

So I became the wanderer and wandering became my destiny!

You came into my life like the rain to the parched desert!

I am as disillusioned with the number of likes for one's posts on social networking sites as I am with the number of followers in one's social network. A great number of people liking your work does not prove your mettle as a writer or as an artiste!If my work can affect even one person and make him/her think then I am satisfied as a writer.

A writer creates from his mind; his creations emanate from the feelings enmeshed deep within his heart. From the fire burning within his soul, he gives shape to his thoughts. His thoughts start to breathe. Every sentence breathes with a purpose.

I have battled with loneliness. I have battled with insecurity and rootlessness. But I have never given up the struggle. I have never quit trying in life.

I heard the breeze whisper your name to the trees. And the flowers giggled smiling at the leaves. I and my loneliness keep talking about you.

A strange feeling of lonelinessAdrift near the blue canvasYou may stare long and listen deepYet not know whether sea-shore or sea-snore!

Poetry is the yearning of the soul to break free!

Everything is connected. We see the signs every moment. There are miracles waiting to happen!

A man does not become a real man by showing his physical domination over women. A man becomes a real man by loving, respecting and protecting women.

She day-dreams just as I do. She is addicted to her solitude just as I am. She loves watching the rain-drops fall slowly on to the green leaves of an old guava tree just as I do. She loves drifting in time and time travel just as I do. She loves looking at the waves dashing against the rocks just as I do.

Some people are like the fragrance of flowers!