ashok jadhav

My dear love,
Devil in the mind,
Brings evil in the mind,
Because the devil in the mind,
...

My dear, it takes a time,
To become water of the ice,
As setting sun takes a time to rise again.
...

The past was past,
But the present is mine,
What our dream is star like shine,
The curse was called,
...

My dear, you are crystal clear,
Your mind is crystal clear,
And your soul is also clear.
...

When I entered in your minds eyes,
I forgot all my painful worries,
And I remember nothing dear,
And my memories are wiped out,
...

Love is love and love is love,
Whoever in love,
Flies in the sky,
Like that of Eagal,
...

(The speaker stands alone at dusk. A half-packed suitcase lies at his feet. Papers—plans, letters, dreams—are scattered around. He speaks to the silent sky.)
So this was the plan.
This—neatly measured, carefully folded future.
I charted it like a map,
...

Remember the day when we met,
In my beautiful chamber of gate,
There was peace and silence spread,
Door was shut and comfort zone had different thread,
...

The house exhales a quiet I cannot pierce,
rooms that once held laughter now echo only themselves.
The door still swings softly in the wind,
but the hands that opened it are gone.
...

The teacup trembles in my hand,
its thin rim holding more than tea—
the ghost of laughter, the weight of absence,
echoes of mornings I can never reclaim.
...

The teacup on the windowsill
carries the warmth of hands now gone.
The coat hung in the hallway
remembers shoulders that will never return.
...

My soul drags itself through each day,
a candle burned low, flickering against wind.
Breath comes shallow, moments stretch endless,
and even joy feels heavy, borrowed, brief.
...

I wander through the ache,
hands outstretched in the dark,
trying to grasp a thread of reason
in the tangle of sorrow that binds me.
...

I feel it in the quiet pulse of night,
the slow, unrelenting march beneath my ribs.
Time hums a song I cannot escape,
and every breath reminds me
...

I open my eyes to a world splintered,
to streets lined with sorrow,
to hearts heavy with loss I cannot heal.
Consciousness is a weight I did not choose,
...

I shout into the night,
my words scattering like leaves
across a vast and empty sky.
The stars do not answer;
...

I called into the vast, unending sky,
my voice a trembling thread against the void.
No answer came—only the wind
turning my prayers into echoes I could not follow.
...

I knelt where light once promised comfort,
hands pressed to stone, eyes closed in trust.
But suffering came like a tide unbidden,
and the words I held for solace
...

I lift my eyes to skies that do not answer,
hands open in hope, in question, in despair.
Where is the voice I once believed would guide me?
Where is the light I was promised in the dark?
...

I reach for the past as one might grasp a friend,
expecting warmth, a gentle familiar hand.
But nostalgia bites with teeth I did not know,
turning memory into a wound that will not heal.
...