She smells like daisies, She smells like daisies, And I am the grey sailor standing under the grey skies
मुझे शायरों वाली बीमारी लग गई है,तुम्हे देखते ही फिर से इश्क हो जाता है । I have contracted the poet's disease, whenever I see you I fall in love again.
Somewhere I can't be found,Deep in the jungleswhere there's no sound,There are places I know,from the famous spots,to the roads unknown,where no one knows my name,I still see you everydayfrom my earliest memories,and you still look the same,Stopped using Instagram,and tweeting my every thought,I have no notifications,but every song is our jam,I hear you singing … Continue reading Transmissions of a Satellite Heart #23
Walking on the streets and light shining above me, all I can think of are the games that always bluff me
Ocean always deeper than it seems but people only look at the surface, All I want is to do is live my dreams but when I go around I feel nervous. People think I am happy all the time because they don't ever seen me cry, rich kids never know about the climb and all … Continue reading Transmissions of a Satellite Heart #13
What is life but a long remorse? misty nostalgia & many regrets, a dusty trail of missed opportunities. What is life but a small flicker? crazy dreams & a quiet hope, a long stream of bittersweet memories. What is life but a lengthy search? lovable people and sentimental stuff, a bright lane of blissful reveries. … Continue reading Transmissions of a Satellite Heart #10
I met a man today, whom I couldn't recognise, and he was hurt, "How could you not?" he asked, in a melancholic way. But he shouldn't worry so much, I don't do this on purpose, its just that I often forget myself too. I met a lady today, whom I hadn't seen in many years, … Continue reading Transmissions of a Satellite Heart #8
The world stands stillon the eve the apocalypse,and we find ourselvesgazing at the starry sky,singing songs long lost,dancing under the moonlightlike there is no tomorrow.
All the riches in the world,immortality, fame and goldare nothing more than dust,if you don't get to share themwith hands you can hold,a heart that you can trustand a home where you grow old Vikram.
Have you ever seen the gardener? as a rolling stone A dance of death in begonias overgrown.