on passion

"The moment passion is too concentrated it becomes overwhelming."

- by Esha Verma

Vintage

Shape of my dreams is bit obsolete
Like the cars we call vintage,
I live in that world when I sleep.

Ode to Age

Somedays he is bougainvilllea on old mill walls
hanging over mostly eroded edges
declaration of aged years
resurgent with a new times.

Other days he is a simple deodar
holding roots in slopes of mountains
content of being a commentator
on winds that once passed these corridors.

Red

I don't like Red
Paint me a rainbow
With only six colours
And see if you can
Arrange Indigo
Between Green and Yellow.

As I see it

Love has settled for routine, and
We break routine in most romantic ways
You drop me a rose at my office
And call my colleagues to check
If color on my face matches that of rose.

Things are simple, like always
I make breakfast and you dinner, except
On weekends when we change roles
For the sake of change, and some fun.

As I see it, things haven't changed much,

You still shout at me for not removing shoes
At the door, as I carry rain into the living room.

As I see it, things haven't changed much
We have kept them moving in more convenient ways.

Sensuality of words

Sensuality of words is drawn on the lines
of your lips, twitching at where you
bite, as you hear me sing one line of
your favourite poetry.

रात के कुछ टूटे तारे

उन शब्दों को सहेज रखा है मैंने

तुमने कहे थे मुझसे जो कभी

रात से टूटे तारों को

खाली पन्नों पे उतारा है


अक्सर यूंही मिल जाते हैं

सिलसिले मेरे हाथों में

बिखरे, कुछ सिमटे, तुम्हारे शब्द

बोलते, कुछ चुप, तुम्हारे शब्द


तस्वीरों के आईनों में

पुराने कोनों-किनारों पर

कुछ पुराने शब्द मिले

थोड़े मेरे थोड़े तुम्हारे

रात के कुछ टूटे तारे


काश.. से शुरु तुम्हारी बातें

ना जाने क्यूं फ़िर मिली मुझे

उंगलियों के बीच में जैसे तुम्हारी उंगलियां हों

कागज़ पे परछाई बनाती

सहर की कुछ रश्मियां हों

The End

The road ends here.


This is what you travelled for
a dream stretched into barefoot miles
cost of a life surrendered.

Is it worth?

I leave you to interpret
the price of dreams not measured against life.

Anguish

Make me a human.


I loved once
they killed me.

Let me live in death.

Love is not worth,
I did not sacrifice.

Do not create God.

Lost

You allowed me to see you whither
and hold the pieces you let go,
Maybe you wanted it that way.

So it goes..

You colour the roses that were once blue,

And say love is true in me and you;
I seek fragrance even if colour is blue,
And I'll keep love true for me and you.

New Dress

Chambers of secrets exploding white
Haunt me in the loud sun sight
New dress I wear for her wedding night
Clamours I hear through inconsistent lights.

Smiles Lost

Days spent cursing the bygones

Faces shimmer in angry tones
Long drawn lists of things incomplete
Words return from the stones.

Smiles lost to uncertain fates
Faces stare at closed gates
Efforts made to fill up his father's shoes
Words get away from the slates.