literature poetry writing


I know no thresholds,
I ain’t perfectionist,
But feeling like I’ve something,
That makes me believe in breathing.

I have no hourglass body exceptionally crucial,
Or nothing which looks marvellous.
But I ain’t no masterpiece or the bloom of your balcony.

I can’t divulge myself, with just beauty,
Darling, it’s nothing for me.

All the grind I’ve got,
All the grazes and all the confusion,
Of being accurate about everything,
Is horrifying for me.
I’m more about undone myths,
Being a bird without wings.
I have my world in my giggling
it’s beautiful and smothering.
Darling, I ain’t no perfectionist.

-Riya Shah

literature poetry writing

Scrap affair

You don’t deserve me,

As the melodies,

I’ve written are frivolity for you.

All the tears entwined together are useless,

entirely I have become is a pile of mess.

I can’t undo the feelings,

It’s been four years of togetherness,

But you still can’t confess,

All the sentiments I realized were there within you.

When the moon turns ebony,

And the sky turns white,

I’ll meet you again in the moonlight.

Where things will be distinct for you,

Where you won’t be sole to go.

Where the sun won’t give its ray,

And the sky will be brighter enough,

To show the way, to nothing but heaven,

Where all the wonders began.

And I’ll be mine before anybody else’s,

And you will yearn for this togetherness.

But I’ll be gone, leaving you all alone.

-Riya Shah