My love will not wither awayLike the momentous beauty of a Rose,But I am the weed, no matter how much you pluck awayIt sprouts again and grows…"-(Precious Love)

My bridled soul leaps under the pressure of desires,Chained i am by this organic-societal form from galloping freeMy mind heaves me to safety,but heart is ready for doom...An all knowing glance pierced deep through my skinSmiling at my ailing and confused form,Invading my senses, feeding them to the eternal fires...

If you can tag every Pakistani men as terrorists, you can definitely tag every Indian men as rapists... That's how the minority make an identity for the nation.

What is past, but unalterable truth; life, just a pile of regrets; future, just a sum total of possibilities, and you...? just another trapped soul...

I prefer people to consider me by who I am and what I do and not by how I look!