Will You Be My Vase?

Will you be my vase?

I've been running on a full heart,
Brimming with the nectar of love, spilling out,
And I can't take a single step ahead,
'Til​ I pour out a few drops,

Oh will you save me, my damsel?
Will you be my love, my dear angel?
Will you lift my burden of love,
Will you be my vase, holding it as I move?

I seek to ease my soul now,
Pouring a few cups out,
Oh will you be so kind as to bear,
A few cups of my love, my dear?

Oh please save me, my dear girl,
I can't breathe, holding this load,
I'm suffocated by this love I bear,
And I tremble in utter fear,

I stand alone, here, night and day,
My arms giving away,
Soaked in the nectar of life, 'till wet,
But being killed by its hefty weight,

Won't you open your arms full,
And embrace my wounded soul,
Won't you help me get up and move,
Won't you be my love?

Oh the flowers you hold, upon your self,
They look tired and dry, and old, and frail,
Let me feed them with a little nurture,
So they spring up, strong and mature,

Pray, help me dear woman,
For I've waited for aeons,
Take a few drops of the Elixir I hold,
And let me breathe life into their petals,
I will bring them to life again,
While you save mine in return.

Written, lying down at Marine drive beside the folks (they were sitting) at 8:06pm on 29.4.2017
Final edits made at room at 3:50am, 30.4.2017

The Flow of Poetry

Like a bicycle ride down a hill,

Like steam lifting a kettle's lid,

Like music 'pon pursing strings,

Like water from a tap after seconds,

Flow my words, gushing out with ease,

From the arm that gives in to the force,

Bowing down in humble deference,

To the grandeur of that nameless Source,

The first step is mine, for I choose to act,

In response to the weight of my thought,

Setting the current that rushes forth,

Carrying itself and my arms both,

Like the bus I drive that in truth carries us along,

Like the boat even after I put the oars down,

Nay, like the stream that rocks me along its way,

It takes me ahead, with the force of my own vocabulary,

It fills me up as I nauseate,

Giving up, spitting words out,

Letting it have its way, for there's no go,

Enjoying the ride, looking out my window,

I seldom know the end nor track of a work I start,

It takes me ahead, hitting twigs and dirt,

And as the man on a river awaits his fate,

I stop my struggle and watch and wait,

'Til the current slows, letting me move,

When I push myself to the shore with a gentle shove,

Hitting a bank I hitherto knew not,

I climb out, straightening my gait,

I open my eyes to trace my route,

Surprised at the turns that seemed so straight,

Enamoured by the path I took with such ease,

Relishing the result with delight and surprise.

Written at Tiruvannamalai on 22.4.2017 at 10:21pm

Updated 3:08pm on plane, 25.4.2017

Freezing to Death

I shivered in solitude,
My insides colder than the exposed outside,
Friendless and alone,
Upon an icy, barren farm,

My cries for help carrying into nothingness,
That filled this white expanse of ice,
I struggled, hard and in vain,
With none to sympathise, with me for all my pain,

I gave up, for it was a struggle futile,
As a momentary warmth filled my soul,
I turned for appreciation from the empty space,
While nature turned a cold shoulder to my pleas,

And there I stood, frozen,
My breath quietening all of a sudden,
In deference to the loud silence around,
That pervaded the entire surround,
The beats of my heart conforming, slowing down,
Draping my critter in an icy gown,
As the cold caught up, merciless,
With the tired thuds of my coronary footsteps,
Pinning my spirit and self down,
Preserving the look of my last frown.

Written on 5.4.2017. Edits made by 3:34pm on 12.4.2017 at C504, H13, IIT Bombay
I wrote this when i read an answer on Quora that had this picture on it: