Aaj fir humara ek sapna toota.
Sapney to toot te hi rehte hein.
Aur hum bhi unke sang bhikhar te rehte hein
Nadan yeh dil jane sapne kyu dekhta hein?
Aap hume chor kar itne door nikal gaye...
Aur socha ke hum wohi pe rah jayenge?
Hum un me se nahi jo roye aur bhul jaye.
Hum un mein se hein jo hanse aur yaad kare.
Zindagi ke iss safar me kitni choti si zustajoo thi,
Hum ko pata bhi nahi chala aur khatam ho gayi.
Par jo bhi thi, bohot pyari si thi, thi bari hanseen.
Ab agey kya hoga woh to hume nehi pata,
Zindagi aansoon se kahan rukti hein?
Jo humare liye na ruka, hum unke liye nehi rukte hein.

PS: Forgive mistakes in Hindi, not very well versed in it. This came naturally in Hindi, I dont know why. So I wrote it down the way it arrived in the world.


A Chance Meeting with You.

It’s funny how you and I are alike in our vulnerabilities.
We actually have the very same debilitating disabilities.
And yet we are so very different at the same time.
You are a guy, and I mere woman; so feeble I’m.
While your eyes blink and you have a nervous stance.
I sit there with barely an eyelash batting, lost in life’s dance.
With hands as steady as rock that lifts up the glass.
I look into the eyes of your mind—you know I trespass.
Yet inside I am screaming too, just like you are.
I don’t have the permission to speak, its just bizarre.
And true to myself not a word passes my lips, I feel dead.
Not numb, dead, like something’s gone away, has bled
And it’s never going to come back ever, gone forever
I wish I had a rock to stand on today, when everything’s a blur.
But how can I forget I am my own rock, cruel Irony.
As I dash against myself, its me cutting myself vainly.
Like always…


For Jazzy

I dreamt of your little innocent face last night.
I saw you taking your laborious gasping breaths,
I shook your lifeless body again and again.
Countless times (and I tried to count) in my dreams
Hoping against hope that you came back to us.
But you had already gone onto a better world,
Leaving a little hole where you had occupied,
My heart and ours for one whole week.
You are not forgotten and you will be loved.
We hope that your sojourn to the after-life,
Is filled with pink bows, milk and kisses
And maybe the fishes you never could have.

dance of life

I want to go dancing tonight—
Maybe on the clear drops of dew,
That the night arrays on the grass.
Under the moonlight when it’s cool and dark
Or maybe on the cobblestones without shoes,
Feel the cool round stones make love to my feet.
Hearing the music of my heartbeats,
As I silently dance the night away.
Or maybe on the beach where the waves hit in ripples.
To the rhythm of the roar of the sea.
Hearing the tap of my moves mark the mighty sea.
Or maybe in the storm when the rain beats fast.
To the changing moods of zephyr and wet with thunder.


Pincushions Etc.

Why is it that when you hand your heart on a platter,
They think that its just the thing to use as a pincushion?
And its such a pain later to sit and take each pin out.
One by one, with nary but a sigh allowed to escape.
All this and some hit me when I was in mode introspection.
That in this day and world there is no place for affection.
And so, I am cynical of my abstraction.
And bored of being called an aberration.
Disenchanted with the word called love;
Merely a word, apparently denoting a treasure trove,
Of emotions so flighty that they are a myth.
So I am giving up on this business forthwith.
From this moment forth my heart shall bear a sign:
"Keep out,  Trespassers prosecuted on crossing this line".