Your hands are red, And there’s a knife in my back. Blood shed by blood, A war within a home.
What is it about my blood, That gets you so drunk? Is it that I am my Mother’s son, And that your thirst did not die with her?
But the last laugh will be hers, And the tables shall turn. For even if it be a man’s world, This man will fight for Her.
perhaps every unheard cry every fall is an invitation to heal and to love in greater capacity. #WordsByMadhur
I have learned to love you from afar. I have learned to love you as you clutch another's arm. It's easy because I never wanted you for myself, I only wanted to hold you so you fel
One of my goals for the year has been to share more of my poetry. Interlinked with that goal has been a project to originally write poems in Hindi/Urdu and offer English (possibly other) translations.