Poetry, Quill, Write Ups

A New Understanding //

// look at your ‘protruding’ belly
and see how it houses the
nourishment for your entire body,
look at your ‘bulky’ arms
and see how they make magic
out of everything they touch,
look at your ‘scarred’ legs
and see how they let you
experience all the wonders of the world,
look at your ‘boring’ eyes
and see how they capture
everything you love so deeply,
look at your ‘flawed’ smile
and see how it expresses
all the joy you feel,
look at yourself –
your beautiful self,
how dare you ever convince
yourself that you weren’t
good enough because you
don’t look like you were chiselled
out of beauty magazine 101;
look at yourself with
a gentle gaze
and you’ll realise that
just like you,
your body craves for
love and acceptance too. //

Poetry, Quill

Thunder

the rain felt like a fading memory
before i met you
but that night
i felt like
there was a legacy between me & the sky
the rain poured in torrents
& a numbing sense of pain
that we both felt in our hearts
seemed to fade away
as we both touched
it felt as if
two souls have become one
we heard the sound of our thoughts
and the heart pumping
inside two shallow mediocre human beings time stopped
unfurling all senses as a taste of you
nearly silenced all my thoughts
but that night
as the oceans, the skies, the moon
looked upon us
they were envious
of the smell of thunder that hung in air
we could feel a fire within us
& no amount of rain could’ve doused it off.

Poetry, Quill, Write Ups

Happiness //

// the waterfall
inside of me
has learnt the
right momentum
to flow with;
no more floods,
no more droughts,
just a gentle cascade. //

Poetry, Quill

इष्क़

प्यार बोहत है उसको मुझसे,

मगर गुस्से में शायद, 

आज हाथ उसके झूल गए,

कैसा बेदर्द इष्क है तेरा,

क्यों ले रहा कुर्बानी,

औरत हूं, कोई पाप नहीं,

पर इस प्यार, इष्क़, मोहब्बत में,

शायद हम इज्जत देना भूल गए।.

Poetry, Quill

ज़िंदा तो हो ही ना तुम!

तो क्या हुआ जो दिल टूट गया,
ज़िंदा तो हो ही ना तुम!

तो क्या हुआ जो ख्वाहिशें नहीं हुई पूरी,
तो क्या हुआ जो छोड़ गया वो तुम्हे,
तो क्या हुआ जो इबादत सरीखा ईश्क़ अधूरा रह गया,
ज़िंदा तो हो ही ना तुम!

तो क्या हुआ जो अंदर सब खोखला सा रह गया,
ज़िंदा तो हो ही ना तुम!

तो क्या हुआ जो दिल हो गया पत्थर,
तो क्या हुआ जो आँखें बन गयी दरिया,
तो क्या हुआ जो लिपट गयी खामोशियाँ,
ज़िंदा तो हो ही ना तुम!

तो क्या हुआ जो दिल टूट गया,
ज़िंदा तो हो ही ना तुम!

Poetry, Quill

Sinful Ink


The poison is falling off the blade of my pen,

It’s beautiful, the scrawl upon a dead body,

Wonder lies in the breath of a child,

As it climbs atop a tree,

he finds paradise,

But this child is now a part of them,

He poisons his pages,

In the memory of someone he loved,

He paints a picture,

not a thousand words,

Only three would satisfy his heart,

The poison is falling off the blade of my pen,

And it’s clearing my mind and my soul from within,

I want it, not desire it,

I need it, not require it,

My venom is out, it’s flowing from my pen,

My poetry, it opens me, such a beautiful sin.

Poetry, Quill

Business

I often pour cranberry blend into a decanter and leave it for a couple of days to rot.

Until it turns rancid and all the sugar turns sour. To sip on it is an acquired taste, more like inhaling cigarette smoke.

And while I lay on my bed, with closed doors closed and lights off, with this secret recipe of mine, I wonder to myself-

Am I allowed to feel?

I do know you can trick people but not yourself and I do try- to be true to my conscience- and let this gloom envelope me. But I fail

I fail to feel

A deep heavy voice strikes the back of my head, “You can’t waste this opportunity. Not often does this mighty sadness descent upon you. Stop mourning and trying to feel and go and create. Mould this gloom into a poetry or something before it vanishes.”

A good businessman gives his clients what they desire the most and also makes sure that he pounces on every good opportunity. And poetry, and this word play.

Isn’t it but- Business.

And isn’t this what this generation of ours, this generation of half hearts and half smiles, truly desires? Talks of pain and narrations of sorrow that tells them you’re not alone.

So I throw my hand on the switch right above my bed. Pull out the chair, and the dusty diary from the right of the book shelf. And I take a quick glance on the screen of my phone- I click your tab to check if there’s any new message, I smile at nothing, have a good look of your face and re read our previous conversations- all this before my conscience catches me.

And by the time, conscience could react to this cold heart of mine, I already have used that glimpse of you as a source of rage, of fuel, just as this pen uses ink and have begun to write.

Poetry

Yaadein/Baatein

सुबह की ये मन्द मन्द सी गरमी
ना जाने क्यों अपने साथ ये ठंडी हवाएं लाती है,
उड़ा लेना चाहती हैं शायद मुझे अपने साथ
क्यों ये मुझे इतना भाती हैं?

चेहरे पर रौशनी पड़ती है जब सूरज की
खुद ब खुद आँखों का परदा गिरता है तेरी याद में :
दूर इतने तू…
दूर इतने तू की मुझतक तेरी आवाज़ें भी न पहुंचे
ज़रुरत भी क्या है..
इन हवाओं से ही तो अब हमारी मुलाकातें होती हैं ।

दिल को ऐसे पिघलाती है ये ठंडी हवा
जैसे कानों को कोयल के मीठे बोल सुन गए हों,
कौन न सुन ना चाहे इनको?
शायद इसीलिए दीवारों के भी कान होते हैं(?)

सुबह उठकर तुझे याद करता था मैं
यादों में बातें थी, या बातों में यादें ?

इस दिल के सन्नाटे को अब मैं
सुनकर भी अनसुना कर देता हूँ,
अब मैं तुझे याद नहीं करता
अब मैं चाय गरम पीता हूँ ।

Poetry

Lifeless //

// a thousand broken dreams reside
inside the almond-shaped depressions;
a tiring heart beats waiting for answers-
digging out life one breath at a time;
the tear-stained cheeks give nothing away-
but the people point and whisper,
“here in this body,
there once was a soul .” //