kisi ki aur, kisise door,
pal ki azaadi dhundhta, saalon se majboor,
sapno ko haqeqat se jod,
chhilte kadmo ki andhi daud,
Aakhon mein paani, hothon par sharbat ki pyaas,
patjhad ka patta phir bhi oas ke mijaaz,
pahaad tha kabhi kadmo tale,
ab khaai mein koodta yeh mann chale..
Her eyes were closed,
or bowed in grace
Her lips were sealed,
or playfully sleeping with each other,
Her curls were waving out to me,
or winds were building their home
Her expression was blooming with grace,
Or face was holding back the storm
Maybe she was everything pink and red could feed
or a different story you could never get to read
They say.
i keep looking back.
No.
i don’t.
i left myself there
at a point in time
with those people
in those situations
Where
i never felt
the need
the temptation
the pressure
to skew myself
to suit
to be accepted
to be cared for
i don’t look back
i am just bored of the drama,
So i look at the real me
laughing, talking, breathing
in my thoughts
which they say
are memories …
Blood drips from the wound as if pain crying in relief
Can imagine you taking bite of the cake,
with cream left on the lips
Can imagine you shaking a leg to good music,
with song being sung between the hips
Can imagine you leaning on the sofa,
with your curves revealing the secrets your silence keeps
Can imagine you getting inked (tattooed) by me on the inner thigh,
with my hands going deeper to give you a high
Your ideas won't be silenced,
ignore and they would rebel into frustrations,
kill and they would haunt you in dreams,
listen and they would lay their life before you,
act and they would grow with you
Ek zindagi ..
khud kai kahaaniyo mein kai kirdaar nibhaati hai,
kabhi kuch labz,
kabhi kuch panne,
toh kabhi kisi ke liye puri kitaab ban jaati hai
Let me breathe pain,
hold back tides keeping tear wipes plain,
instead gulp those salts to unclog the throat,
if not quench the thirst, it would keep me afloat
The play was real without any rehearsal,
some enjoyed their tragedies,
while others remained poker faced even in the joys.
Ones who thought they were hero,
broke down after realizing their role,
ones who thought they would own the stage,
had to make peace with a guest appearance.
No one actually knew when the backstage will recall them,
dialogues were going to be important,
but silence too had a role to play.
Some got variety of roles as long as they remained clay,
while the stubborn were played by the play.
All tried to bribe the script writer for an immortal fame,
but he kept changing the actors and stage remained the same
Drowned in the notes his fingers were playing,
he got a high from something the ukulele was saying.
A moment he was vibing with the sunset,
as if singing a lullaby to ocean,
on how the moon and sun met.
