Silk

She dances in the mountains
I hear silk rustle in her scream
Oh, my precious, precious dream!

Connected Stories

She is the tangent to his thoughts; and yet
while he is stationary in his beliefs,
she keeps sliding along his boundary
to meet him for brief, connected stories
that have no endings, like one dream
from which he never wakes up.

Without

When other things failed, today
I looked at your photograph
traced you with my thick fingers
and begin to write, in desperation.
Words failed me, like you.
I sleep with shivers when
words haunt me inside, relentlessly.
It has been too much time since peace.
There is a rage I subside
in the mortality of words
that erupts in inconsequential thoughts
when I look at your photograph
and trace you with my thick fingers.
I wonder what I would write, without.

To Arundhati

Fragrance of poetry I find in your proses

The angel surrenders her pain to the roses.

मैं तेरी शख्सियत

मैं तुझमे हूं, तेरे पास हूं मैं
मैं तेर शख्सियत, तेरी आवाज़ हूं मैं
तेरी मंज़िल का हर प्रयास हूं मैं
मैं अंत हूं, आघाज़ हूं मैं
तेरी जीत का उल्हास हूं मैं
तेरे जश्न का हर साज़ हूं मैं
तेरी चाहत, तेरा नाज़ हूं मैं
मैं खुदा तेरा, तेरी आस हूं मैं

राहों का अंत

रात से हार कर चला था मैं
सोचा था राहों में रोशनी तो होगी
धुंधला सा कहीं सवेरा मिलेगा
कोई किरन बादलों से उभरी तो होगी

सब राहों का अंत हो गया
अब तक गुम वो सवेरा है
सोचा था राहों में रोशनी तो होगी
और यहां मंज़िल पर भी अंधेरा है

Excess

My side of happiness is flooded
and, hence, I feel cold blooded.

Excess

My side of happiness is flooded
and, hence, I feel cold blooded.

Faith

Rivers that run silent in summers,
feathers fly to their bed stones.

Musings of Hyenas

Darkness from the trees in surrounding dense forests
Light that stirs unevenly in slopes
Ruskin’s tales of ghosts
A traveler’s introduction to frights,
And then, in the villages of mountains
Hyenas cry at nights.

Stories

She kept stories in her pallu
tied along with the keys
that made sound like tiny bells
playing with her anklets.
I heard her songs in the gallery
that I could feel with little hands
music of tiny bells she played
to tell me stories.

Untitled

There are thoughts that not even blink
I am trapped in one of those I think.

It's been long and I try to wake up,
struggling to find a word to take up.

Bottom

Fishes that rot at the bottom of the sea,
what was the last thing they wanted to see?

Asters

Asters of faith bloom in the sky
A little too shy, a little too high.

River

Always she smiles into the river's last bend
her ankles submerged in the water,
the river eases some of her fears
she repeats the promises made to her daughter.

The daughter knows where the sun sets
and that promises disappear in the river's last bend
she has seen her mother smile
reluctant to accept the much overstayed end.

Stars

She folds the stars into neat triangles
so that each fits into her handbag
as she carries night from a sky to another.

Love, Actually

It will make you jump with a start,
When I say I am the joy in your heart.

Sounds

Speak to me in windless whispers
let me hear, clear
words have a tendency to merge with the winds.

Dahlias

Love is found in abundance in the dead sea
bodies never dissolve and drown;
she floats with dahlias in her hair.
He loves the dahlias, she always felt
they never spoke in words in the dead sea.