Pumpkin on my head

I dont carry

A pumpkin on my head

In case

I am hungry

Useless

Is there a thought

Without contents

Or is this poem

Useless?

Untitled

Saurav Keyal

A label to my soul

Is as big a lie

As this thought

Without a name

Or associations

I was born

Untitled

My only universe

Something is alive again

Inside my head

And itz not the fear

That follows

I observe

As the movement exhausts

Till these thoughts are

My only universe

My geometric mean

I flew for the sun
With wings on flames
Whats with the fire
Inside my brians?

Like the dead bird's opinion
Of the sky
I look, I search
For a geometric mean

Maru rock

The new age music
Of maru rock
A conspiracy against
Our planet's evolutionary destiny

My cycle

I am tired
Of the journey
Now I want to sell
All my cycles

The last words

The last words
Have not been spoken
So we can never be
Too sure

Self realisation and a map

I look at a map
Form a circular loop
It sucks me in
Returning to the top of my head

A partial realisation
Of my existence
Or something similar
I experience

Blunt pencil

The pencil I write with
Is blunt
"I chisle and chop
And the lead is broken"

Each star

How can we
Justify ourselves
When each star
Deserves a poem

Plastic train

I laid down
The circular tracks
A train with
The plastic engine

Closer to the stars
More than ever
I wish it could
Entertain forever