Nazariya rakhta hun,
kuch haalaato ne khaara kar diya is jheel ko,
isliye dariya rakhta hun.
Par tajoorbe ko kisi nazariye mein shaamil nahi karta,
khayaal ko tay karne deta hun apna safar ,
kuch kati patango se maayus hokar,
yeh hausla uski udaan ka kaatil nahi banta
Thamne aur thaamne ki jaddo-jehed thi,
aakhon mein tairta khara paani,
labo pe raengti kuch aakhri boondein shehed ki….lekar..
naa jaane kis pyaas mein jee rahe the...
who am i…?
a bunch of bones stitched by flesh
an orderly life managed by mess
a high pitch nasal throw of an anxious throat
a hopeful rover carried by a lost boat
a happiness failed by gratitude
a failure bailed by attitude
a body stuck in routines
a soul immersed in past
a villain cursed in someone’s story
a good screenplay gone awry
a person stamped with expiry date
an immature who arrived late…
Gamo ke samandar mein aankhein taair ti hai,
ab behna bhi nahi aur rehna bhi yahi,
toh dono har raat alag alag nikalti hai
kinaaro ki talaash mein,
meethe paani ki pyaas mein,
kya yeh bas khwab bhar hai,
ya mumkin si baat,
yeh sochkar laut aati hai palkon ke pichhe,
sametkar raat bhar bikhre jasbaat…
Lips faked smiles,
tongue was tied,
words were dying beneath,
throat running dry…
back caved in ,
heart quaking beneath,
mind felt like jumping off dizzy heights
Holding onto the scoop,
as the melting ice cream lands on shirt,
as the wheels breach the hesitation of steering,
Sitting through a bad movie,
as the paid ticket looses a penny with each passing minute,
as toast loses brown but doesn’t leave the pan,
Waiting is just skipping the chaos,
as hesitation tries to cut peace from anxiety….
was sun slipping off the sky
it was just an early morning lie,
was sun taking a dip in saline waters,
leaving behind clouds that bother
for eyes it could have so many stories,
for mind just a sunset……
she wanted to be touched,
he wanted to be felt,
people say they made love,
but they just succumbed to the need of being felt alive by another body
Body is drunk, soul is dry ,
pouring whiskey down the throat ain’t giving it a high .
What do i do?
Sleep won’t intoxicate the darkness within,
for dreams have left the gates, feeling tired of waiting for insomnia to be over.
Now nightmares are queuing up,
to push the soul in valleys of anxiety
His love was like a ciggratte,
burning tobacco from one end,
so the other could stay on her lips.
Her love was like a smoker,
it wanted to enjoy the puff,
but with a filter in between .