उम्मीद को जरा सी हवा दो,
पतझड़ भी थोड़ा खुशनुमा हो….
By mistake he ordered two coffees.
Sipped one while watching the other get cold.
A realisation was brewing in mind.
Each sip felt like tears flowing through throat.
On finishing the coffee he realised order wasn’t wrong but decision was.
A poetry is resting on your curves,
with its lines measuring your plateaus and creeks.
A haiku is finding solace in your navel,
with a middle word of second line hanging out like piercing.
Just want to ask,
if you still offer your skin as canvas,
for my lips aren’t finding space to write a prose
Gum se woh kabhi nahi mara,
par ek khushi uski rooh ko jism se nikaal le gayi
Some left their skies
some ruining the expression drizzled from eyes,
rains are emotion or a season?