My poems, more often than not, embrace the tone of grit and angst. My poetry Muse is definitely cringing to death at this moment with this mushy poem, but forgive me---these days, I’m just a pile of pure slush. ;)

For you

are the crisp air

after a summer afternoon’s rain,

the awkward silence in between,

when words are not enough

and emotions are overflowing,

the hyphens, the pauses, the new narrative

in my writings

the peaceful stillness of my Friday evenings,

or Sunday mornings,

the ride home

after going away for a long while,

For you 

are the okays, 

and the thank yous, 

the chuckles of amusement, 

the twisted jokes, 

the uncomplicated words, 

the quiet, and yet, warm emotions,

For you 

are the quiet beatings 

of a steady heart, 

the plans, 

minus the well-planned checklist 

that random smile

in the middle of the most monotonous of routines,

that one prayer before bedtime, 

silently uttered for years.