Precious

When did you go my precious ?

You are my dearest desire. 

So why would I let you go ?

Slipped and crawled away from me,

never took vows yet I am a liar !

When did you go my precious ? 

As wild and clam as the deep sea 

you light my sodden spirit on fire 

So why would I let you go ? 

Your primal urgency, if I could see,

Alas ! this empty adventure is dire.

When did you go my precious ?

In eccentric rhythm you let me be,

your hums of the Tune, lifts me higher

So why would I let you go ?

Did you know that together we,

can light this silly world on pyre

but where did you go my precious ?

why did I let you go ?  

Wings

With whirs in lifeless circles, fan recurs 

black and white world between drab and pale walls

boundless but broken a crippling inspiration. 

deep beneath the skin, anxious boredom crawls.

Something has to shift. Something has to change.

Out in open under shell of gray clouds 

infinite rickshaws mirroring metro tracks,

painted buildings blurred with gray paste.

Fueled in dust and air, the whiff of cigarettes,

a rushing wind wrapped with reckless haste.

Up above constant construction of towers.  

foot on pedal, a ride upon the street-

distant destiny guides the destination.

Flung on the sides, parked cars in disarray  

like flock of humans in a railway station.

Bare tinge of green, in forest of cement

drear drowsy eyes near vegetable stalls.

Fused with a lingering stale smell of petrol-

turbulent noises amids horns of hatred,

on fifth gear the boiling frustration falls.

Gentle kiss on belly of the waxing gibbous. 

swept off from clouds, a whirling confusion

The caressing grace of the setting sun splashed,

quite lights in field with colorful explosion.

There's something in the sky, something in the eye. 

Pale orange glow of street lamps at night 

dots of light in deep and dark distance.

Something in the sky, something in my eye,

Wind on face with wide arms outstretched  

A soaring inspiration finds its wings to fly. 

When We Were Metaphors

For
I was the slight smell of kerosene

I was the dull black in the green

I was the dirt sitting softly on your shelf 
I was the paint chipping off your bed.
You were the branch of an old willow tree
you were the way a dancer moves free
you were the way ink flowed on my hand 
you were the way the universe expands. 

I was the crumble of a tart on a summer day
I was the frills of the chandelier my mother made.
You were a giant wheel with fairy lights
you were a picture book filled with colors jut right. 

I was a kite torn while being made
I was a curtain too light to give shade
I was a book that yellowed too soon
I was a faded picture of the moon.
You were a wave stretched too far to hold in a palm
you were a fragrant poison that lingered on
you were a penny dropped in the shallow end
you were a romance that ruined my essence. 

Four-eyes

Iron rod dragged along by arms pale and scrawny

that had been twisted too much to hold lunch money.  

"Teacher, teacher, the school jock beat me, it hurts!"

"Didn't I tell you to do something about those warts?"

Creaky door opened by shoulder still fuzzy  

from when that boxer's son whacked it bloody. 

"Little shit, get outta here, I'm pissin'!"

"Just one second, I need to do some killin'."

Broken tiled floor painted scarlet and yellow

by the cello-playing nerd, no longer mellow.

Loony Lovegood and the Chthonic Monster

Luna and Medusa met in a bar. 

Drank whiskey and smoked high tar. 

The eagle flirtatiously offered kisses. 

All the snakes cheekily giggled hisses. 

Half the men there were stunned stone. 

The other half, Stunned flesh and bone. 

Stroking a strand of reptile, Luna asked, 

"Why do they think you're a demon?"

Medusa smiled and replied,

"A woman loving another is treason."

The Green Revolution

Slumber.

I held a sparkling seed

in my palm and

vowed to sow it

with a motive.

Its growth

to be a surreal one,

bringing with it

a simple change.

No, not just mere change. Wait.

A portrait themed

on lost and found,

created with strokes

of perfection and

a liberal choice of

pastel shades.

Yes.

The emerald droplets shall

be the humble healers;

leaves of the crowned

paradise which fill up the

chasms of the ailing

with their nourishing nectar.

The upright stem stands

for  sense and strength

while the deep roots form

the basis for compassion

towards one another

Go ahead.

My sincere seedling shall

sprout further and

flip frowns upside down.

Showers of mercy from

the unseen, infinite

and supreme Lord

shall satiate its intense

thirst, letting it absorb

the vulnerable essence

of goodwill and harmony.

Perfect. But what exactly is happening here?

A dream where

a stimulating seed

is being buried with

a hope to cultivate

peace, love and unity,

right under the soil

soiled with blots of

unrest and blood,

tears and greed,

pain and sweat

shed in vain.

Just a  dream? Or wishful thinking?

Where is all this headed?

Press forward.

Flowering and blushing

with pride are the pious petals.

Deep, in both hue and morality.

To enlighten and brighten

the barren land with

beams of boundless joy

and combatable sorrows.

Weeds of wrath and contempt

shall uproot from those

piercing depths and

the concept of greenery

will triumph again

for many other reasons then.

Dream Over.

Checkmate

Vote for the black and pray for the whitest of the white,
The grey left for a dull respite.

An easy fight for the straight, for the gay a hopeful right,
The bi left by in a queer might.

To be or not to be, they seem to make themselves play fight,
I be and yet not be with full insight.

A left or a right? A path to my world so bright.
Left, and a right, and a straight.
 Checkmate.

Happy Independence, My Friend

We shed our sweat and blood together, happy independence my friend.
With joined hands through our suppression all together, happy independence my friend.

We were one while fighting our battle beyond the commands and taunts,
200 years of love we were supposed to gather, happy independence my friend.

Their break down lead to blood seeping from our wounds forever,
We were no longer together, happy independence my friend.

Cross fire and breach of the LOC is now all that we gather,
A broken nation lead to the rise of another, happy independence my friend.

This Mehaq may not remind you of the fight we slather,
Her scent will be your fate, no matter. Happy independence my friend.

Chosen Flower

Who cares if he left me to my fate? I will wait.
He gave me love while I fed his hate. I will wait.

Where guilt and sorrow are followed by a little hope,
The truth of the hour will help me sate. I will wait.

They say that crying for love is a waste of time,
A petty reason to fixate. Dear mate, I will wait.

There is an answer I seek from my beloved,
I take a left, a right, a straight, checkmate. I will wait.

This Mehaq may not lead to your chosen flower,
But her seed will still be your bait and I will wait.

The Nowhere People

Our borders have turned

to knives, and the sky

has been mourning
since dawn.

Perhaps these lakes
are but fleeting

mirrors, to remind us
that in the rain

it should not be our task

to tell reflections apart.  

Lock up the door.

Telephone love to come early, the hurricane is on it’s way

It has its eyes set on melanin, colours begin to wane

Let me lock up the door in this villanelle, history is ashamed today

You stood on the pedestal, red hands fleshed out with hate

The only syntax they ever mustered, was what is your surname?

Telephone love to come early, the hurricane is on it’s way

Time begins to echo the murder counts, they sealed the freeway 

Another blood spattered journalist, in a country of pawn-littered lanes 

Let me lock up the door in this villanelle, history is ashamed today

My neighbours hold their doors for me to celebrate 

Love transcends the opium of the masses, as Babri Masjid’s rages

I telephone them to come early, the hurricane is on it’s way

I once read a poem about lovers encased in summers of deodar days

Prayers in Urdu, Kashmiri, Hindi ground to dust in the pellet haze

Let me lock up the door in this villanelle, history is ashamed today

The wildfire charges in with partitions we cannot erase today

Ghosts of power seek the privileged again, rest of us in our own rage 

Telephone love to come early, the hurricane is on it’s way

Let me lock up the door in this villanelle, history is ashamed today

City reeks of dreams you can no longer seize.

September is the cruellest month

the rain simmers, grasslands left burning 

hovering between agony and inability to be static

you run around waking up in madhouses 

you look for streets with mirrors

hoping you will find yourself in passing by. 

Or you will stumble upon a concrete jungle 

holding up a canvas of a cerulean sky 

in a narrow alley way cinching with hours 

dedicated to a life you no longer can call yours.

The fields at midnight look like an abandoned plea

and the city reeks of honks and dreams you can no longer seize 

highways sink and stir with night’s fantasies 

the market is full of mannequins, falling in love 

with their parent’s dream. Winter is the cruellest 

time, begging you to look at the life you are hoarding

when you are only a figurine of happenstances.

You sit wondering what life would be 

in a few months, a plane ride away 

underneath the cherry blossoms or

slicing open tangerines on the beach 

but really just a ride 

away from the cubicles of your mind, virgin

of all the algorithms you have learnt to survive. 

So you sink between cities, wallow in trains 

in planes hoping a street will speak to you 

that milestones will unfold your prayers

restore this reckless abandon in you.

September is the cruellest hand

Delhi is bruised Dadri lonely

you are looking for the kind of solace

that takes the first train 

from outskirts to run along foreign lines

to find a spark in graffiti walls, and overgrown 

gardens home to forts of lovers, for

a moment that will softly sit on your lip, 

linger on your skin seeping into all the people you have been

and you will come back to your own bed

meandering from all the times 

you never felt like yourself.

*The first line is taken from the poem Wastelands By T.S Eliot “April is the cruellest month breeding lilacs out of the dead..” 

This Bench

Today a woman sat here, on this old wooden bench, lonely in a park. She sat there quietly keeping to herself. Composed in a svelte silhouette, here sat a woman.

Yesterday a woman sat on this bench, she spoke loudly and passionately, her voice resonated through the park and bursting out of the confines of the bushes, here sat a woman.

Tomorrow too, a woman may sit here - she may or may not speak, she may or may not yell, she may or may not be educated, or married, she may not know how to cook, and she could be wearing nothing and she could be wearing everything. She may not even look like what you think a woman looks like, she may not act the way you think a woman should act, but still she will be a woman.

Perfect

My friends tell me

that I am the happiest person they've ever met

 and that they are often envious of my perfect family

little do they know

 the scars on my back too are perfectly shaped

some black and some red

but all hurting the same

and when you come to my room 

every night Daddy, saying 

you will turn me into the perfect woman 

and that I deserve to be whipped 

for being too loud

something breaks in me every night

because one day, I'll grow up and 

find myself a man

and in him 

everyday

I am afraid

I'll see you.

Smitten Kitten

I drink up your words

like a cocktail of emotion.

With a million caged birds,

my heart seeks adoration.

Before all conversations, 

I need a solid preamble

to save our interactions

from my bloody ramble.

When you logout suddenly,

though we weren't talking,

I feel broken or at best, empty.
Seeing you was comforting.

I fear you might be a dream
or my mind's vague projection.
How else can your body gleam
with such levels of perfection?

Your feelings are a jigsaw

which I fail to unscramble.

Our future rings hollow

if our relation, a gamble.

But you are not at fault

for your bold dispassion,

I'll take it with a pinch of salt,

tonight I inspect my passion.

There's nothing more to do,
but I lookout for a smile or

an accidental brush with you.

My heart is at constant war.

Now, don't you turn me blue
cuz I've madly fallen for you.

(Theme: Love, Form: abab Rhyme)

Bihari

Abey o bihari, gaadi dekh ke chala na!

"Where are you from?"

Stiffen up.

Lie, maybe?

Plus Mumma's from there -

Not Papa.

"Gwalior."

Yaar ye toh bihari hai ekdum.

A student asked,

"Maam where are you from?"

"Bihar", Mumma replied.

"You don't look Bihari at all"

Sucked in her breath, winced,

Laughed, maybe?

"Bihar is a bimaru state - the worst state in India so to speak"

I thinks of her childhood,

The roads of Chhapra,

Weekend trips to Patna,

Mausis bungalow in Muzzafarpur -

All left behind in the bimaru state.

Yaar bihari jaisi harkatein na kar.

"Where are you from?”

Stiffen up. Defensive stance. 

"Bihar."

One Day

The honest person wore no colors,
Never preached, had no followers,
Woke every day in a different room,
Walking and wandering with a broom.

Countless power worked around the day,
Guiding and halting the nomadic ray,
To them not an inkling was paid,
For someone else had problems to be allayed.

Not one day would go to waste,
No one day would govern his fate,
No one day is complete for him without
being better than that yesterday's lout.

Me and my roles

I am gentle, a being, too normal.
A friend, a son, a brother and a person,
roles in life, which for now is abnormal.

A guy never known to be formal.
Either a friend or a fickle to shun.
I am gentle, a being, too normal.

A trained dog which itself an abysmal
shares the fate of a failed son.
Roles in life, which for now is abnormal.

A goblet of hatred, never a being, rather an animal.
A brother, to a sister with no liaison.
I am gentle, a being, too normal.

A man with no regret, a life of no dismal,
too short to share and enjoy the fun.
Roles in life, which for now is abnormal.

Just my life and myself to be it's primal.
People yet to come, never to stay but over-run.
I am gentle, a being , too normal,
roles in life, which for now is abnormal.

Do You Exist?

Every time I pass a kid selling his childhood

I ask You

Do You exist?

Every time I see news on my television

I ask You

Do You exist?

Every time I see people suffering from disabilities

I ask You

Do You exist?

Every time I see the hate and violence in thy name

I ask You

Do You exist?

Every time I see kids suffering from fatal disease

I ask You

Do You exist?

Every time I see innocents killed in bombings

I ask You

Do You exist?

I am done giving examples asking questions

It’s time You

Prove Your existence.

Silence

Dark heart, darker mind,
Pinned her down,
Killed her soul.
Evil prevailed.

Tear drops, non-stop,
Tumbled down,
Her punctured cheeks.
Sadness prevailed.

Red anger, so sudden,
Pulled her hair,
Slapped her face.
Violence prevailed.

White terror, beating heart,
Made her hide,
From the world.
Fear prevailed.

Hurt, anger, stress and alcohol,
Together pushed her,
Against the wall.
Silence......
Death prevailed.

On Loitering

Tonight
when the lamp blows shadows into shapes
do not run.

Instead, wish your bones into blades
and meet every eye that roves your skin.

Keep your chest taut and your spine
aligned. The only light the street knows
is your design.

Carry sharp silver into the night.
Chances
unlike gifts between lovers
are not to be held with ease.
It is even a skill
to learn lurking number-plates
quickly, and by heart.

Tonight, know
that you are no one's daughter.
(let your palms hold
their own heat tonight)

Do not run tonight. Instead
gather the sounds at your feet
and let them break the earth.
It is only glass. And you
are the air
you occupy.

Let me sleep darling.
Turn off the news, come to bed!
Aren't you tired of it?

Destiny

She was a maid by the time she was ten,

And lived in a hut with thatched roof,

She saw her mother raped and her father beaten,

And she never, ever, went to a school.

He was born with a silver spoon,

His dad was a business tycoon,

He now runs his dad's company,

And has a handful of degrees back home.

They crossed each other on the streets,

Him striding confidently towards his Lamborghini,

Her, hurrying towards her sahib's house.

And they bump into each other.

No, their eyes don't meet, filled with wonder,

Time doesn't slow down, the moon doesn't get any bigger,

A gentle breeze did not warm their hearts,

No, this is not a poem about love.

He brushes her off with an irritated indifference,

She apologises  and scurries past.

He goes ahead to greet a world full of luxuries,

While she works hard to earn a square meal.

All because of where they were born,

This, my friend, is "destiny".

City Of The Red Moon

I rode the white scooty along the city
amidst the red cars in the traffic.
Pavements with people, dressed in red,
staring at me, like the one in cars.

They chased me, the men in red.
Didn't leave me, until I stopped.
Children dressed in red, threw stones.
Grandmas in red, cursed me to death.

Gathered around, the men in red
as I fell into the bloody gutter.

Slashed with their sickles
40 times.

Leaving me and
my scooter
in
Red.

You Do? You Don't.

You say you empathise, but do you?

     Do you sit huddled in a corner with your sister,

          as they drop bombs in your empty plates and

               plead the birds to sing, not wail as they burn?

You say you will bring change, but will you?

     Will you look the enemy in the eye and ask if

          they've collected enough blood to wash their sins

               for even their 'heavens' are reluctantly overflowing?

You say you’re here to help, but are you?

     Do you shelter the homeless up with your eyelashes,

          while picking up bricks of their broken dreams from a 

               pile of souls which have lost their will and their bodies?

You say you will guide their future, but will you?

     Will you give your shoes to the wounded little feet,

          and gently kiss their scars which are scared to heal, 

               for their skin likes to smell its own taste for some solace?

You say you care about your people, but you don't.

      The petty stories of sympathy you broadcast are shallow-

           just like the picture of 'humanity' you splatter on the face of

                those who are severed enough to believe your romantic lies.

The City

The city is loud,
Because,
Over the blaring horns
And the noise
Of a million people shouting,
They cannot hear 
The fear in their own thoughts.

The city is busy,
Because,
When they are swept
Along with the flow,
When they are surrounded
By ten others like them,
They may no longer feel lonely.

The city is rude,
Because,
Beneath the racial slurs,
Between the catcalls,
And the dirty words 
That may hurt you,
They mask their own insecurities.

Forgive the city, they don't know they are mean,
Let them pretend this is how it has always been.

Sunset

I looked over
Across the hall,
Caught her eyes,
And smiled
She smiled back
And that,
Made my day.
Later that day,
I approached her
And told her
That I loved her.
"Eww you dyke!"
She ran away
Leaving me alone
Crying in the dark.
The next day,
All eyes turned
When I walked in.
Girls ran away
From me,
Guys laughed at me.
My friends, they
Stopped talking to me.
The news spread.
I cried.
No one cared.
I ran home.
My parents shunned me,
I locked myself up
In my room,
The same room,
Where I spent years
Hiding a part of me
From the world.
Then I realised,
That I could not
Live like this anymore.
Hiding, scared, lonely,
In hope of
A better tomorrow.
The world hated me,
I was a liability.
I got up, and
Walked to the terrace,
Stood at the edge,
And waited-
I waited for the tears,
A constant companion
In my wasted life.
I waited for
the flashbacks,
The memories,
All the happy moments,
To come flooding by,
To make me
Think twice about
Ending my life.
I waited.....
But nothing happened
And that's when
I realised that
This is how
It ought to be.
And I jumped

The Desk

We talked, both of us,

and the desk stood in-between.

Words from a side were

shoved across, while the

ones in response choked,

limped to reach the other.

Hands on the desk made gestures,

reached out to far ends

like the wind on a wild day,

picked things up and put down.

The desk was thin when he spoke,

but gained elephant weight

when it was my turn

and the hands lay crushed below.

We talked, I tried to,

with a desk in-between.

Daadhi topi

Kai baras ho gae mujhe vo imarti khae. Jab mithaiyon ka daur tha.
Meri gali ke nukkad par jab jannat basti thi..
Us sheher mein mohabbat ka kaarobaar vahi to karte the, mere Khan chacha.
Har dopeher jab school se laut-te waqt mere baaki dost ghar ko daudtey,
main apni aankhon mein chamak liye us dukaan-e-jannat ke aage zubaan latkae khadaa ho jaata.
Vo meri ye harkatein bakhoobi samajhtey they. Sabke Arshad bhai, aur mere Khan chacha.
Mujhe vo har roz, bina naaga, apne haathon se taraashi, zubaan par rakhtey hi pighal jaane vaali
imarti khilatey the. Har roz.
Paise? Vo ishq ka kaarobaar tha janaab, usey noton mein mat giniye varna khazaane chotey pad jaenge.
Badaa haseen rishta tha vo. Khoon se to nahi, magar dil se zaroor judey the hum dono.
Vo jab bhi ghar aatey, tab akhbaar mei lapeti, soney si chamakti kalakand, meri maa ki nazron se bachakar mujhe thamaa detey.
Maine chalna bhaley hi pitaji se seekha, par hansna sikhatey the mujhe, mere Khan chacha.

Haan to main kahaan tha??   Haan...
Kai baras ho gae mujhe vo kalakand khae. Kai baras ho gae mujhe vo mohabbat pae.
Par aaj achanak raastey par chaltey, na jaane kahaan se, maine vo aavaaz phir suni.
Aur suntey se hii meri nigaahein us aavaaz ka chehra dekhne ko bechain ho gain.
Aur phir yun hi tatoltey us bheed mein, meri aankhon ko phir se vo sukoon-e-deedaar mila.
Vahi safaid kurta, safaid topi, vahi daadhi, vahi khoobsoorat chehra. Haan vo vahi they, mere Khan chacha.
Na jaane kab, meri aankhein baras padin. 
Maine tab unki taraf kadam badhaya to, magar na jaane kyun, mere kadam tham gae.
Isliye ki unke chehre par, ek ajeeb khauf nazar aaya. 
Vo har pal chehekta hua chehra, aaj sikuda sa tha. Un mohabbat bhari aakhon mein aaj ek darr sa tha.
Mere sukoon bharey ashq pal bhar mein sharmsaar ho gae. Kyuki us darr ka vajood mujhe unhi aankhin mein nazar aa rha tha.
Bheed ka darr.
Isse pehle ki main unse kuch keh paata, vo chehra fir se na jaane kahaan gum ho gaya. Main unse pal bhar ke liye guftagoo tak na kar sakaa.
Agar mil pataa, to main aapse itna zaroor kehta, ki aapko is bheed se darney ki koi zaroorat nahin. Main aapko bas itna yakeen dilaata, ki aapki hifaazat khud khuda karengey. Arrey is bheed ki kya himakat ki ye aap par nazar daagey. Yakeen maaniye mera, ye bheed kuch bhi nahi aapke aage.
Vo dil, jismein kabhi beshumaar khushiyaan basti thi, unhey aaj is khauf ki koi zarurat nahin.
Aur kehta, ki apna khayal rakhiyega Khan chacha. Aur sach kahun, agar main aapse mil paata, to phir se us imarti ke liye mera jee lalchataa.

Meri gali mein

Meri gali mein jab tum aati ho
har pehlu aahein bharta hai (x2)
titli sa jab balkhaati ho

Nainon se teer chalaati ho
har tarkas tumse darta hai (x2)
meri gali mein jab tum aati ho

Phoolon par keher jo dhaati ho
har bhanvra tum par marta hai (x2)
titli sa jab balthaati ho

Yun zulfon ko lehraati ho
tab sooraj bhi jhuk padta hai (x2)
meri gali mein jab tum aati ho

Aankhon se mae chhalkaati ho
hothon par jaam theherta hai (x2)
jab titli sa balkhaati ho

Meri rooh kahin choo jaati ho
mera jism-e-hosh bikharta hai
meri gali mein jab tum aati ho
aur titli sa balkhaati ho