Ananya Singh Poems

The boy I love is a mystic song of secrets,
Thinking he'll never confess leaving me suspiciously stranded,
He's asleep and I'm looking at his face,
A sheer resemblance of melancholy mixed with a little bit of contentment,
...

Paint me a dream,
Where I am too blur and hideous to see,
Too strong for a fantasy and colorful for a nightmare,
Crawling through the brush strokes, drifting me into nowhere,
...

We're all about these small epiphanies that keeps us sane.
That long breaths you take before saying I love you,
As if you're going to wage a war that you know will destroy you in the end but however you want to celebrate it.
The reluctance of holding hands as you don't want to get burn.
...