From The Quill

 The sun sets in His part of the world.  It rises in hers.  In between,  The Sun travels the distance  Between them. © Suranya

 For all the times I believed it's true,  I had searched the world for You. Up in the mountains, down by the seas,  Dense in the forest, by the fort's gentle breeze. Dawn and dusk, winter and summer,  I have looked far and near. "Magic and love", they say,  "Are illusions, never stay in their delusions." But woke every day, with a faith stronger  Couldn't wait for you any longer,  And in my darkness searched Your light,  In my eyes, Your holy sight. It was just when I started losing hope,  It was then that I couldn't cope,  That You showed Your true might. My dawn meets Your dusk,  My morning meets Your night;  And in every moment You make me realise  Love isn't an easy task,  But for it, fight, we must! © Suranya

 Words crawl on empty pages  Taking the shapes of stories.  Stories we have seen,  Heard, lived and experienced.  Stories that were true,  That we wish were true.  Stories of what could have been  And those that are not.  Stories of what should be.  Plots melt into subplots.  Characters now have life.  A mind of their own.  And when they speak to you  Often saying, we would not do this.  And then the writer submits to the plot.  As though the strings of fate  In that parallel world  Had never been in their hands.  The characters tell their own tales now. © Suranya

Today I was going through an old box of memories. Cassettes, scrapbooks, slam books, Mills & Boons, Tintin comics, Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries series... And I chanced upon a journal I used to keep back in college. I had no idea how it got mixed up with the school notebooks and teenage hobbies. I fondly remember keeping a diary every day back then, since my early teens, well into college. Even if the day was uneventful, I would still end it by writing down what happened. The random page turned to 23rd March, 2013. I don't remember what happened that day. But I wrote that I was crying alone in my room. I don't remember what the argument was about, but I had blamed myself for everything bad around me. Back then, I was neither aware of my mental health nor could I recognise toxic relationships. Perhaps because I was in one. I had quoted every word he said that day. I had even asked myself why I was with a person so self-absorbed (I perhaps couldn't use the word selfish...

 I feel like writing a poem Yet no thoughts come to me. No rhyme or reason to share  No will to fill the empty pages. With ink and words. Yet I feel like writing a poem. Why? To be appreciated by people I barely know? To be criticised by those who matter? Or simply because I want to let everyone know I am still at it, The struggle and the journey  Not giving up on dreams just yet. I got what it takes, I am running in a race  With millions of others across the globe  Named, unnamed, anonymous, famous  To prove that I can write. But why? Here I am scribbling every day.  Procrastinating about the story in my head Which is yet to find the right plot. Here I am weary from nothing. Yet sleepless awake and alert  Anxious about how the words refuse to flow  In a night of writer's block. I don't stop even when I want to.  I can't stop, even when the thoughts tire me.  As if I have a world out there  Waiting for me to prove my worth. © S...

 I am born of fury,  I was born in bloodshed.  In some corner of the world  I reincarnate as Death.  No choosing, no right or wrong  No age or religion, or caste  I seek blood and I draw it  Causes mingled and morality at stake;  Battles won and lost in the struggle for those  Who is up in the high chairs yet  The sufferings are of those stampeded below  The weight of power. I am born from battles,  They created me to balance the good and bad. Yet when wars are fought,  It all becomes just stories. Versions of the truth,  Yours and theirs. False hopes and assurance  That wars are inevitably good  For humankind seeks the blood of its own  Pretending they are different.  You hope history doesn't repeat. You hope battles spare children and women Who becomes pawns in your ego games But nothing changes, does it? Era after era the stories repeat, And you pray harder every day. Irony is, you worship ...

 This is not the first time  We met at the crossroads of life.  I feel it as deeply as you do. I recognised your eyes.  As soon as they met mine,  There was a similar longing in them  To know, to touch, to feel, and hear.  As if we have been doing so for eras now  The familiarity of your scent  Which I otherwise can't recognise  The comfort in your breath  That gives me warmth in the snowy night. And then I watched you extend your hand to me  As if to say, hold on to me now,  I have waited long enough  Travelled through cities and time  To reach out to you. And I do, expecting the touch to be electric.  Instead, there is a sense of mundanity.  My heart skips a beat.  For I have never felt this familiarity in my life Our fingers entwine as we walk.  Silently through the busy street. To most onlookers, we are lovers,  To those who know, strangers,  To us, soulmates tied by an invisible...

 I put on your favourite dress,  Rouge and lipstick  Everything the way you like.  You say you are lucky to have me.  I put on my smile,  A laugh aloud or a giggle,  Speak of my opinion and ideas,  Asking for my rights.  And suddenly, you don't like me anymore.  Why? © Suranya

Memoirs of unwritten verses,  Waiting to find the words;  Feelings of unrequited longings  Couldn't be put on paper.  A dream trip you never took,  A half-done hobby or a book,  A few scribbles,  A friendship  Without a closure to comfort you? Do they matter at all? What troubles our nights? In the hollow emptiness of your mind  The sleepless soul asks in an echo, "What are we? Who are we?" An accumulation of particles  Forming a shape and mind,  Floating insignificantly in the universe  Loathing in superiority and pride. © Suranya

 All the inspiration for lovers  In distances and praises;  All the childhood stories  Of wonder and gazes.  Growing up hearing about  The Charka Buri spinning her wheel,  On the craters shining still.  And here we are to T minus five  Thudding heart and teary eyes.  A minute second, a historical event,  And a country finds its smile.  Who knew all the musings would cease  Into the reality of science. © Suranya

 They say it is destiny,  What happens under Your scrutiny. They say it is meant to be,  You puppet the strings of me. They say it is an order  Of universe, divine numbers  And laws in patterns sublime; But isn't the universe itself an absolute?  A lawless, timeless, endless attribute?  Isn't the earth in unorganised havoc?  Isn't it chaos that runs the cosmos? © Suranya

"This tastes funny." He made a face at the now cold cup of tea. "Yes." She agreed with a slight giggle. "You added salt instead of sugar." "Why did you drink it then?" He asked, surprised, staring at her empty cup. She smiled. "Because it's the first cup of tea you made for me. It's the sweetest cuppa I've ever had." "Ew. Mushy." He shook his head with a silly smile that made her laugh her heart out. He fell a bit more in love that day. © Suranya

Sometimes the smallest actions speak more than big gestures. Like you are walking down a road and you see their favourite flower, you send them a picture as a reminder that you remember their favourite flower. Or when you walk into a departmental store and see something in their favourite colour and decide to surprise them by wearing it the next time they see you. You care enough to share a picture of yourself every day, even at your worst, because they can't see you soon. Or write them a letter to keep and read whenever they miss you. You often try to read their favourite books or hear their favourite kind of music to understand a person better. Try their favourite drinks or meal to see if you can share one on the next date. Or simply ask, How was your day? And hear them rant. No judgment, no advice. No amount of gifts, big surprise gestures or anything else can replace genuine efforts. © Suranya

 I often wonder how queens waited  After every battle, I was  Unsure of the king's return. Or the captive princess  For the wanderer to free her  From the shackles of society.  Or the silent bare tree waits  For winter to be over  To fill its branches in bloom;  Or how the birds wait  For migratory season  To find another home.  I promised myself over and over.  I wasn't like them at all. Yet I found myself  Waiting for you  At every chance I got. © Suranya

 Her hair tangled like her heart  She walked through the aisle  Looking for customers, in need. Her dress as dark as her skin,  Desire-filled eyes eat into her body  His hands on her naked skin,  Her soul untouched, face painted,  Character questioned,  He'd leave before dawn  In fear of being seen with her, As she displayed in a tease;  Their hunger was her morsel  With yet another man, she leaves. Then one night she chanced upon him.  He was looking for a story he had never heard,  She had aplenty, some cruel some funny;  They talked through the darkness into dawn  And they both knew it was just a start.  Days passed by, people teased,  She who was forbidden to love a man,  Had shown one her empty soul.  He was slowly filling it with wisdom;  Each night, he smiled and left a note.  The writer in him turned Poet for her,  He had found his rhythm and rhyme,  In her words, e...

 Tired from a never-ending journey  The wanderer looked to rest.  Bruised and weary, he'd stop.  And ask the Universe for directions.  Time and again, the sun smiled,  The stars ignited a hope in him,  The moon showed a path to go on,  The nature echoed in a chorus theme,  "Tomorrow you will be Home!"  Tomorrow turned into yesterday,  Years, decades and eras passed,  Yet like the wind aimless and worn,  He roamed the paths, lovelorn. Never giving up on his faith,  Hurt and healed by people he had met,  Faith finally led him to a door  And just like that, he was home. © Suranya

 Beneath the debris of dreams  Rain drenched the soul in existential crisis  Struggling to find lost meanings. © Suranya

 In the summertime eventide  Try finding in the concrete city skyline  Windows to a thousand untold stories. © Suranya

 My heart is wild and in a frenzy  Like a sudden spell of rain  Makes a peacock dance.  For I see you then,  O Lover of Love,  In amidst the grey scale clouds,  Like a ray of sunshine,  Rebelling through the sky. I see you in the soaking earth  That smells so sweet. I see you in that puddle and mud,  Perhaps a rainbow rarely in sight.  In the raindrops making art  On the window panes it hit.  In the music they make  On each plastic sheet. The monsoon has arrived in all its glory  And with each droplet that falls,  Like a waterfall  Curving through my body  Into my soul, I feel you nearer, in me,  As the monsoon drenches me in your love! © Suranya

 The moon reminds me  Of how in the darkest of times We are truly alone.  The stars veil the night sky, twinkling  Almost touching the skyscrapers  In a distant concrete jungle.  The leaves rustle in whispers.  The owl hoots often,  One by one, the fireflies light up  And arrive at my window.  My words scribble on paper.  My thoughts were disoriented In a state of numbness  Sometimes I cry over a song,  Over stories of the past  What we could be and never were.  Sometimes I overthink  Every conversation plays in a loop  The punctuation and emojis overanalysed. © Suranya.

 A notebook stained with blood  Unnamed poet, missing in the crowd  Someone's wait for a reunion never fulfilled,  Someone's goodbye was never said.  Of an innumerable number of lifeless bodies. A poem half finished, some lost in the wind  Who will remember the stories behind them? Who will know the unfinished tales  That ended within moments  On a derailed train track  Or those whose lives changed forever  While you are too busy to blame and shame. © Suranya (On the occasion of a Train Tragedy in 2023)

 I fall in love every day. It comes as easily as I breathe. I fall in love with the sky,  With how it changes into  Thousand shades of blue. I fall in love with the wind,  How it whispers in my ears  Plays with my hair. I fall in love with the leaves,  How they rustle  Make music under my feet. I fall in love with sunshine and rain  Playing hide and seek again. I fall for the aroma of flowers,  For the sunset in the hills,  The stars from the fort,  The smell of the soaked soil,  The sight of bright yellow sunflowers; I fall in love every day.  Just not with people anymore. © Suranya

 If only changing names could change the story, I would have called You - My Beloved. If only new names meant erasing the past,  I would have renamed myself Your Lover.  If only the present could be without the past,  We would be nothing but hollow inside. For the past makes the future;  Stories cannot be untold. History cannot be undone  And truth simply wiped. © Suranya

 Stop saying God will save you  God doesn't save you  You struggle for it yourself  Your belief just gives you the strength to endure. Stop making gods out of men  It demeans their human sacrifices  With divine poetic justice. They suffered, they pained, they were torn  But they had the strength to pick themselves up again.  So will you. © Suranya

Does the Earth smell the same In your corner of the world, After a scorching summer afternoon Makes way for the first rains? Does it distinctly remind you of home? Do you feel calm after a busy day When you watch the droplets Make a pattern on the window pane? Do you remember me Shuddering at the thunder While I muse on the same? . The gale roars but doesn't stop, The breeze plays on my hair As I shudder once again at the sight of lightning. The heart draws me back to you, A moment when the raindrops drenched us Yet the hearts were warm and I could wear it on my sleeves Without a worry of it shattering In your hands. ~ Suranya

 The storm lashed through my city today.  The heat of the moment, building up  Between the Earth and Sky, lovelorn.  It poured as though the Sky was in a hurry  To meet the Earth in petrichor  Thirsty, lashing through the scopes.  In a loud, rebellious protest  The storm marched along the concrete streets  Like a knight invading a city  Claiming what is his. Does the storm take a port of the  Earth with him to the Sky? Does the Sky wash away her pain?  Wanderer as the heart is, never fixed to a place,  Why does she then wait for him this way? © Suranya

 The sound of raindrops on my panes, Haunting wail of puppies in the lane; Existential crisis of mindfulness;  No moon to muse on, no stars shining Only the city is visible in the lightning. Wide awake, not a wink of sleep, On these days, the thoughts run deep; I gather them together in the warm blanket  Carefully hide them away in my emotional casket. The mask of the strong has fallen for the weak,  The rain wipes it off like a magic trick. Slowly, I blend in the waters of heaven,  As it flows upon my cheeks,  And I know for sure that I must endure  In the path that I seek. © Suranya

Ishq e Mareez tha Majnu Dard e dawaan thi Heer Intezaar ki lamha thi Sahiba Aur waqt ko badalne chala tha Farhad. Ab ishq hota hai duniya ko batane ke liye Kabhi pyar milta bhi tha, toh bas bicharne ke liye. ~ Suranya

 You have heard that tale as a kid,  When Aeshop told the story of the  Sly Fox and the Crow. The Fox once praised the Crow;  Its voice was melodious enough  To melt the coldest snow. The Crow was manipulated to lose its meat,  Trying to display its magical feat. Today, the world isn't any different,  Social media illusions: praises and fame. Does the Crow see its potential on its own? Do the lies fed by validation make it lose its course? The sly foxes hide behind innumerable usernames  Follow unfollow a game despicable When do we learn what moral stories teach? Do we ever get out of the circle or drown in the sea? Fox or crow, bunter or hunted, which one are you?  For the curated world to see? © Suranya

It was a decade ago That I wept with my head Silently on the pillow In the empty room On the darkest night. Today, everything is the same. My tears. My agony. My secrets. Only people have changed. Reasons have changed. Do I attract a pattern? Does the same story repeat itself? I don't ask you for anything. Yet now, I am tired. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of my patience. My understanding. My triggers and trauma. I want to move on to better things. I don't want to wait to be happy anymore. I want to witness sunsets and embrace darkness. I want to write about everything I believe in. And this time I choose myself over you. ~ Suranya

Remember that rock upon the valley where we sat? Watching the day turn into dusk, the sun disappearing behind the horizon. Little by little, the stars came out, veiling the night sky like glitter on a dress. You sat half an inch away from me, carefully avoiding contact, of body and eyes. The wind whispered in silence. If not for the flow of the stream that gushed against the rocks on its bed, I would have felt my Sown breath and heart beat. Somehow, this silence was a comforting bliss. A feeling of peace. Like I belonged there, in that moment, with you. Then we walked away, back to our mundane lives, where we belong. Miles away from each other. Just a picture in the heart. The rock still sits there, however, hoping for our reunion. © Suranya

The darkness danced around me, Silhouettes of ghosts of the past Appeared as a form of regret Shattering me within. And I embrace it with grace For in its intoxicated presence I could see You near me. I weren't I yet You were You. We talked, we danced, we recited poems We dreamt that things weren't the same; Until the evening sky gave way to morning gloom And you faded just like the crescent moon And now I have to wait for tonight To see you again. - Suranya

He was struggling with his first letter to her. He had strangely written thousands of letters before. To his mother. To his seniors and subordinates. No letter left him in loss of words like it did today. What could be written to her? He had promised to write in an impulse. For when he was leaving for the battlefield the day after marrying her, maybe because he had seen it in her eyes. Tears held back. Worries concealed with a smile. And a sense of loneliness, A sense of getting lost in a palace full of unknown people. Truth be said, he didn't know what to tell his new bride. But what he did was to assure that he would write to her. For the first time, the sleepless night made him sit with a pen and paper and scribble. He had never paid heed to his words or letters before. They usually talked of politics and his well-being. But she... She was like a poem to his heart. Gentle, Deep. And mysterious. Reading between the lines was not easy when it came to her. He had wondered at times ...

The child who promised his mother he would be home soon, the woman whose aged parents were waiting for her return, the activist whose wife had pleaded with him not to go that morning, the clueless merrymakers roaming the gardens; people. Old, young, clueless, unnamed. They didn't deserve it. Yet here we are, a hundred years later, still comprehending thousands of massacres, thousands of deaths, and several families destroyed. For the borders. For the ego of a nation that thought the sun never set on them. For humanity's loop of violence. Suranya.

Sometimes in the darkest nights, under the bright veil of stars, a dim lamp shone in the room of the gem-studded marble palace. While the Palace slept in silence, no one noticed the gems on the walls, designed to be trees, flowers and shrubs, shine in the light of the lamp like the trees of heaven. It is then that the magic worked in her heart. She would stare at them and imagine how slowly, in the flickering light, they seemed to come alive one by one, swaying in the breeze gently around her. The flowers smelled of a mixture of jasmine, tuberose, and tulips. The shrubs whispered in the wind. In the palace of stones. The imagination made a garden of Eden for the Princess. She sat in a throne under the open sky, surrounded by flowers, forming a canopy over her head. The walls around her, the cold white marble, seemed to have fallen as the wind brought the freshness of the open gardens with it. Once again, the Captive Princess felt free of her chains. Her chains of reality. Somewhere far...

The earphones playing কেন মেঘ আসে হৃদয় আকাশে তোমারে দেখিতে দেয় না while I occupy the quiet window seat of an otherwise packed bus in the evening hours of a busy office day in the city of joy. As the bus approaches the city, outbound Vivekananda Hoogly Setu with a spectacular view of the Grand Hotel, Victoria Memorial, Eden Gardens, Samriddhi Bhavan, Princep and even Howrah Bridge from the top, it starts to rain. Sure enough, the weather predictions were right about the season's first Kalbaisakhi. There's something I look forward to about the first storm and first rain. Even when I am terribly scared of thunderstorms, I still wait for the wind to play across the city, gushing into homes and swaying the magnificent trees, rustling in a chaotic musical orchestra of nature, and finally, when it starts to rain, the wind makes patterns out of it. Soon, the smell of petrichor hits you with nostalgia. There's something about it that reminds you of good days and childhood. Today, th...

 I cried my heart out today  Cleaned my soul of all the agony  The pain, fear, hurt and anger  That I managed to keep hidden  From the world for so many days. I have a problem. I think my problems are smaller than yours. They probably are. Hence, I don't share with you. It builds up a storm inside me. I try to break free from the feeling  Of suffocation, claustrophobia and guilt. What am I even guilty of? My own sufferings? They say suffering creates art. But my soul is tired and tested. My overthinking brain works like a hamster  Stuck on a loop wheel and can't stop. I am a walking red flag,  With my flaws, issues and definitely my personality. I am self-absorbed, obsessive and sometimes  Borderline narcissistic even.  But I try, I will keep on trying.  Life is a battle, and I refuse  To give up just yet. © Suranya

 All your life, you stare at Death. But never even feel for once  That life itself is Death's flipside. You are dying with every breath,  All your life has been a lie. An illusion you travel through,  Is all that life is; To reach its destination, Death. © Suranya

কখনো কখনো ইচ্ছা হয় হারিয়ে যাই। মনের মধ্যে যে জগৎ আছে, সেখানে। তাতে যে অনুভূতি আছে, তুমি আছো, তোমার স্মৃতি আর নাম আছে, অন্ধকার এই পৃথিবীকে নাই বা বললাম তার গল্প কথা। ওই পাহাড়, ওই সমুদ্র হাতছানি দিয়ে ডাকে। তোমার ইচ্ছা করেনা এমন একদিন হঠাৎ সব ফেলে পালাতে? আমার হাতে হাত রেখে আমার অন্তঃমন দিয়ে একবার এই পৃথিবী তাকে দেখতে? সূর্যমুখীর রং, উচ্যাপলিপ্টাস এর বন, সমুদ্র তৎ, সূর্যাস্ত কিংবা দূরে কোনো দুর্গের চুড়োতে দাঁড়িয়ে জীবনের কল্পনা করতে? কত বড় এই পৃথিবী। কত ছোট আমাদের গল্প। কোনোদিন কোন কালে লিপ্ত হয় যাবে স্মৃতির পাতায়, তবু বেঁচে থাকবো আমরা, অন্য কোনো গল্প হয়ে। © Suranya

 The fire rips through me  And still brings mirages of hope  To be heard, to be understood  To be loved. For who I am. I pay for sins that I know not of  Yet here I am, committed to mayhem  Apparently overthinking it. To you, my problems are small  Insignificant to your rich world  Of course, you suffer from the heat, it's summer  Of course, you don't get appreciation  Your art is free, who will buy it? Madness, anger, frustration  I have been silently screaming into my pillow  Every night for the past decades. My tears have now dried up in hell  Where many like me scream into the black hole  Where our issues and complains disappear  Before they reach your privileged ears. I chose this life, I chose my pain  For the little things you find insignificant  That makes me who I am  And enlighten my soul, richer than yours. Your flaws, your reasons, your excuses  I justify them all in my head  ...

 Beyond the crowd of civilisation's woе  Stories of immortality and fondness grow;  Of star-crossed lovers divided by fate  Society is repeating the same mistakes. Of caste and creed, religion and status  Power and blood, endings disastrous.  Of Poets who roam mad in imagination  And Heroes who die for their beloved nation.  Mothers who took their child to war,  Sons who fought to prevent their Jauhar.  Then again, there are monuments of Love,  That glow in glory in the moon beam and star dust. And some stories lost in the pages of the past,  Tales of war and cries of lust;  Of queens who followed their kings to exile,  And princesses who waited all their lives to unite.  Waiting with eager, anxious eyes on the horizon  In their palaces, they lived in oblivion; Let this universe be made of such Love,  That lives beyond a day's celebration and show off.  Let the promises be loud and clear,  And...

She watched his horse go till the dust settled back on the road. Her eyes shone, but no tear drop fell on her cheeks. There was no time to cry. It was time to prove that Love was the greatest strength. Days passed by, then a week. Many a messenger came and went telling about the progress at the battlefield, but each day her eyes were fixed at the gates, for a letter. A letter addressed to her, minus the seal and title. A letter that called her by the name she had otherwise forgotten. Every night as the stars twinkled, she sat sleepless and stared in the direction of the camp. That's where the sun set every day, almost as a metaphor of the darkness that engulfed her life after he departed. Somewhere in a tent in the camp, he stared at the flickering lamp with a feeling of longing. A will to return to her. Embrace her and feel at home. He could have written a letter, assured her he was fine, but what if she replied? Or worse, the letter reached her late? Long after he was gone? Could...

February 1943, Vienna She always complained about how vague he was with goodbyes. Whether he was coming back in a few hours or in days or weeks, she could never tell. He would walk away as briskly as he did, as if he were going to the market. He laughed at her childish complaints, mostly because there was nothing he could do about them. All his life, he had assumed that having a family would tie him down to more worldly things. He wanted to be free of attachments one way or another. But who knew what fate had in store for him when she walked in through his office door with her innocent eyes and smiling face. In a life of war, she was when he truly felt at peace. He picked up his hat as the radio chattered on about the impending wars and damage of last night's air strikes. She was nurturing the baby close to her bosom, smiling down at her sleeping figure and whispering her name into her ears. The sense of being watched made her look up at him as he smiled, almost sheepishly, like a...

 I saw you make rings of smoke  Of the cigarette you lit as we lay together.  Your hand felt sweaty in mine  You shrugged it off, complaining about the summer.  I stared at my empty finger as the ring you made  Disappeared into thin air just like promises.  That was the moment I felt suffocated with you.  And it had nothing to do with the smoking. Did our story begin somewhere?  Or did it end in a whelm?  Did we know the date or time  We promised that everything would be the same  Or the exact moment we fell out of love?  Was it a mere habit or just the pain of separation  That kept us together all this time?  Were we ever in "love" with each other  Or we were simply the easiest option  Not to feel lonely at night;  To be emotionally validated or even  Pretending to be cared for? All I know now is that, with sunrise  I have to pick up my clothes and bid you goodbye  And as I do, I wi...

"What's so scary about Friday the 13th? So cliché." He murmured, seeing an advertisement in his co-passenger's newspaper. "All mumbo jumbo fed for commerce." The man smiled at his words. "They say spirits roam free on this day." He frowned at the man. "Have you ever seen one? Seeing is believing, sir. All these legends are only to scare people. Spirits don't exist." His co-passenger shrugged and got back to his newspaper, in no mood for a conversation, covering his view from the man on his left. The bus stopped at his designated bus stop. And he got down without sharing more pleasantries with the man, still reading the afternoon news. His co-passenger didn't look up. If he did, then perhaps he would have noticed how he got down, without waiting for the door to slide open. © Suranya

 I told the moon a secret,  In trickling pearl drops  And words of regret  That formed the clouds above.  The grey clouds took my tale to the sea,  Who told the river my silent plea?  In turn, the mountains knew my plight,  And the stars smiled upon me at night.  Now the entire universe knows my story  Except you,  Who should have known truly. © Suranya

 Sleepless I lay awake in bed,  Gazing upon the moon and stars,  My cheeks are warm and wet,  As I look for You in my scars.  I stand atop the mountain cliff,  The gentle breeze passes by,  Upon sunsets that make my heart leap,  And feel the magic this universe hides. I wait on every breath and beat,  Where are you, hidden beneath  The toughest face or sharpest mind, The kind of love I wait upon,  The Love that is of forever kind? © Suranya