Thursday, 15 November 2018

How do I tell you!

How do I tell you,
How un-important
And not useless
Sleep is.

How do I tell you,
The fear of dreams
Is more passionate
Than the desire to chase.

How do I tell you
That the night sky
The emperor of sleep
Makes love with stars
As it flirts with the moon
But refuses to look at me.

How do I tell you
That midnight doesn’t
Change the day for me
It just exhausts and elongates
A wretched nightmare.

How do I tell you?
Do I tell you,
I tell you,
This business
Is not worth
Telling, tale-ing.

Tuesday, 6 November 2018

Winter is coming!

Winter is coming,
What had to fall
Has fallen and gone,
The dead have vanished
New seeds are beginning
To germinate.

Winter is coming,
The sun’s heat
Will now be called warmth
The negative will transform
Into positive,
Time will continue
To exist, good or bad
However, whatever
It will.

Winter is coming,
Longing for lengthy cuddles
Craving for hot tea,
Frothy fluffy coffee
Will trickle in
With ease,
Soft blankets
Won’t let you
Make it to the first
Meeting of the day.

Winter is coming,
Bright yellow flowers,
Will make love to the
Bright golden sky,
Birds will flirt with
The cool and sometimes cold
Winds and breezes,
It’ll be cold, you’ll be warm.


Sunday, 4 November 2018

Some days!

Some days are not good,
No, they aren’t bad days,
They are just not good days.

A bit of headache,
A pettish feeling in the stomach
Droopy eyes, dash of backache
But, that is it,
We aren’t new to this,
In fact this is the normal
On most days.

So why are these days
Not oh so good?
I have had a good coffee
And a better scoop of ice cream
That’s all that I need
To revive self from the worst.

Maybe on some days
I recall I crave sleep
The one that kisses gently
Holds warmly and stays.
Or maybe a subtle
Head massage to sleep
Could do miracles.

But, all I have got
To deal with right now
Is a war in a cubicle.


Wednesday, 31 October 2018


I’ve put a mix of
Ice, menthol and aloe vera
To soothe my fuming head,
Gobbled down three scoops of
strawberry ice cream,
To ease my burning heart,
Have been moon gazing
The entire night to
Cool down the fire
That’s destroying my soul,
But you know what?
The moon’s fading away,
Another day is about to
Knock off, all the calm
A new war awaits,
And I as usual,
Stare at the battlefield
Feel the ashes of me
Ignite a new fire to kill
Breathe, have a sip of water
Stand on the verge of
Defeat as I continue to
Lust for the victory
That I know is not mine,
Yet, I choose to war,
You know why?
Because war-gazing
Is the religion of those
Sitting in cubicles
And discussing
Each other’s fate.

Bless the stars,
For I’m an atheist
Burning in the fire
That’s been left unattended
By those theists
For the lord they worship.

I burn in the fire,
Each dream kisses
One fume or another
Yet, the germination
Continues, for each
Seed that becomes a plant
Needs heat,
The fire that burns
Also chooses to protect
Rest, that surrounds
Is just pollution, commotion.

Monday, 29 October 2018

One day my poetry!

One day my poetry,
Will reek of the wars
That I chose to pass,
Not because they were
Scary or I feared to lose,
But because sometimes
Letting go and watching
Is a better idea.

One day my poetry,
Will reek of the soul,
That I wanted to preserve
But couldn’t amidst all the battles.

One day my poetry
Will reek of my strengths
And not my weaknesses
Because, one day I will
Set my fears free,
To see how fearlessly musical
It is, to smile, and sleep.

One day my poetry
Will do that for me
And I will be free
Of the shackles
That have built a fort
To preserve my anxieties
And not my soul.

One day, my poetry
Will be mine,
All mine,
That day, I will sleep
Like a baby.

Sunday, 28 October 2018

Who fights a war?

Who fights a war?
You? Me? Us? Who?
Aren’t we just fighting
A day more, each day?

Every night, when you’re
Sleepless, restless,
Which war keeps you up?
The internal? Or the mighty external?

Don’t you see,
You’re warring between
Self and me,
The victory and the defeat
Are yours, you.

Why bleed more?
Hurt more?
Kiss the victory,
Embrace the defeat,
There’ll be peace,
Or so I just believe.

Wednesday, 24 October 2018

Not all days!

Not all days are beautiful,
some days are terrible,
some manage to be unbearable too.

On such days,
what do you do,
apart from drowning,
in your illegitimate sorrow?

Do you even think,
Is there any hope,
Or some leftover scope
To dream?

You just want the day
To end, for you’ve
Bend enough before time
And ways of the world.

You want it to end,
End for good,
For once and for all.

Monday, 22 October 2018

This morning!

This morning, I haven’t
Got up from my bed,
I have been up all night,
My feet were hurting,
Parts of me were aching.

Something has been trembling
Could be my inner self
Or my demons.

They have made me shiver
With a craving to be held
While I know there is no one
To hold or hold on to.

Some mornings are worse
Than dreadful nights,
The light kills
Unlike the dark
Which merely rattles.

This morning is more painful,
Than the awful last night,
But you see, all imposed expectations
Will be met
For that is all
That is left.

Sunday, 21 October 2018

Out of love - 94!

What will not kill you,
Will suffocate & burn,
For those who deserve
To be in ashes
Aren’t blessed to be understood.
Warriors war, fighters fight
Dreamers dream, as there
Dreams continue to die
One day when my verses
Are not about you,
Just know that,
The pain has made peace.
Love lost,
Faith broken,
Soul shattered.

Sun set,
Moon came shining,
Tell me my love,
What changed?
A dog wagging his tail,
A squirrel nibbling a pea,
A girl flying a kite,
A boy combing his doll's hair,
A woman swirling her wine,
A man gazing the sky,

If this is not poetry, then what is?
Do not ask me to come out,
Stop urging me to be what I am,
You have no idea about
My insides and demons,
Let them and me be,
Let the sounds make love
To your restless soul,
Allow the light to
Seep through the
cracks of your heart
Watch the ashes fly
Ignite new fire
Within and around
Maybe that is how
You will find and spread
Warmth and compassion.
Do not bring my demons down,
I appreciate it, when they flirt with me,
At least they choose to love the parts
You and I, ignored.
They say world is blank canvas,
But to me it appears to be,
A tiny cubicle,
Where my thoughts are striking the walls
And hitting me like bullets on my chest,
Yet I breathe, with my eyes wide open.

I make love with the vibrations, despite
Kiss my own sorrow,
Flirt with my own wounds
Dare you talk to me about
Love, dreams and art,
I behold all in that
Cubicle/ gas chamber/ war room
Verses, even for the worse
Are just plain simple sad,
Never painful, brutal.

Saturday, 20 October 2018


There will come a time
When sadness will not
Rattle you, in fact it won’t
Even matter,
It’ll be a part of life
Just like breathing.

There’s no hiding,
Or coming out of it,
There is just sadness
It floats around you,
Has probably made a
Home in you.

Sadness will not
Be an emotion anymore
It will be a way of life
Something that you
Live with, normally,
Just like that.


Sunday, 14 October 2018


They tell me,
That this place,
Where I live is my home.

This place,
Where the walls and windows
Are quite familiar to me
The ceilings don’t seem
To be unknown either,
Is my home, they say.

Till the longest time,
I believed them,
I called this place where I live,
My home.

Where initially each corner
Reeked of ease,
Now demands answers from me,
To each answer that I come up with,
Is now questioned,
No not because the answer is unreal
But because
The questions need to be answered
And answers need to be questioned.

I’m told when I was a toddler,
I used to colour the walls
With crayons and pencils.
They say the walls,
That I had doodled on
Were not painted for sometime,
So that I could call them mine
For a while,
Those walls were
A part of my home, after all.

When I grew up a bit,
The world map and periodic table
Took over the place
Which was once my canvas.
Those walls then smelled of
Pressure and responsibility
Each time I failed a test,
A new chart was put,
Sometimes of the chapters,
I needed to revise,
And sometimes of the timetable
I should follow,
You see life is not all
Fun and games,
There has to be fear
And maybe a bit of praise.
The home, felt burdening.

Today, the walls of
My residence,
Neither have those
Nasty charts and timetables
Nor are they blessed with my
Random doodles,
They are just a huge sheet
Of ivory colour,
They do not smell of me,
They do not seem to be a part of me,
On some days they seem to be
A dead end on other days
I am too exhausted to give them attention,
How do I call those my own?
Or home?

Saturday, 6 October 2018


My co-passenger this evening on the flight from Jodhpur to Delhi was a super energetic, 6-year-old boy, Amay. Originally, I had all plans of sleeping throughout the 3 hour long journey because I hadn’t slept for the last 2 days, but of course, his highness Amay, had different plans. He wanted to know everything from Mom & dad. He wanted to know how does an airplane fly to how is it different from the birds, why can’t he touch the sky if he’s in the sky & so many more questions that struck Sir Amay in less than 20 minutes. By now, I had given up on my plans to sleep & chose to introduce myself to Amay.

We shook hands, he asked me how old am I, in which school am I, do I watch cartoons or do I just read newspapers like his parents. After all the questions were asked & obviously answered. Amay thought he should also know my name. He asked me, “Umm....what’s your name?, My name is Amay, I’m six years old & I will be seven years old in January.” Our introduction was done, we were officially friends now. And thus began our gaming spree.

We played Stone-paper-scissors, discussed how adults who read newspapers are so boring, there’s nothing to colour in the newspaper, why does it even exist!! There’s hardly any space to draw either, it’s such a waste. Mutual grievances of being forced to eat green vegetables, drinking a glass of milk each day were also tabled for discussion.

Then came the best part, the window view game. We named clouds, wondered together why they are only white in colour and not in purple (his favourite color) or green (my favourite colour). We also had quite a few questions regarding the shapes and sizes of the clouds, which obviously none of us had answers to, so we just exchanged our questions. Probably, hoping that one day, some day one of us will find answers.

Some clouds looked like a huge roll of cotton, some were in shape of an elephant & to believe Amay one particular cloud resembled Chotta Bheem too! We spent more than an hour with clouds, giving them all our attention and surrendering our imagination to the clouds which we wish were in purple or green colour, nonetheless both of us agreed that the clouds should be left the way they are as they won’t listen to us.

Phew! Game change. Now we have a big chocolate and so we talk about how chocolates are the best thing in the world. How we can have chocolates all the time rather than our boring dal-roti etc. Why doesn’t Ma give me chocolates everyday, Amay asks me. To which I reply, my Ma doesn’t give me chocolates either. He expresses solidarity by saying let’s share this before it melts, we eat the chocolate. With each bite of chocolate we have a verse to share with each other. You see, we are eating a chocolate, something that both of us love.

We talk about how sweetness of the chocolate is amazing, how the wrapper of 5 star would be if we made it, (oh yes! We’ve made designs for a chocolate wrapper) how wonderful life would be if we could sleep-eat-drink chocolates all the time. During this discussion, Amay also finalises that he’s going to distribute Perk on his birthday. Voila! He screams and tells his parents “Papa Ma, I’m going to give Perk in school”, his parents nod & try to tell him to sit down & talk softly. The entire aircraft by now knows that Amay is going to distribute Perk in his school.

By now, we have also discussed how schools are a shit place & we hate it. He tells me about his favourite maam, I tell him about my favourite school memory.

It’s landing time, we fasten our seat belts, sit straight and count till we touch the ground. The plane touched the ground at 198. We counted. Together.

As we get ready to get down, a co passenger, a man who looks 40-50 years old, comes to us, gives us one perk each, we unitedly thank him. And walk towards the aero bridge.

Amay’s Dad & Mom thank me for keeping their tiny bomb busy during the flight, I thank Amay for his company. We shake hands, promise each other to write to the other person if we found answers to our cloud queries.

He waves, I wave, we go our ways.

Monday, 24 September 2018

ख़ामोशी की आवाज़!

वो बिस्तर पर लेटी पंखे को देख रही थी और मैं सामने वाली दीवार को. हमने एक दूसरे से ना आँख मिलायी और ना ही बात की. मुझे उस कमरे मे आए 15 मिनट हो गये थे. लेकिन ना मेरे पास उसे कुछ कहने को था ना उसके पास. कुछ देर बाद डॉक्टर आये और उससे हाल पूछा, उसने अपना हाल बताया. डॉक्टर ने सर हिलाया, काग़ज़ पर कुछ लिखा और चला गया.

वो फिर पंखे को देखने लगी, लेकिन इस बार मैंने पूछा उससे, कैसी हो?, उसने मेरी आँखों में देखा कुछ देर और बोली की पानी दे दो. मैंने उसे पानी दे दिया. पानी पीने के बाद बोली, कभी ऐसा लगा है की प्यास लगने पर पानी ग्लास में होने के बावजूद पानी पीने में आलस आए. मैंने पूछा मतलब, उसने कहा यही तो बात है, हाल-ऐ-दिल बयां करो तो हर कोई मतलब-मतलब करता रहता है. नहीं होता हर दर्द का मतलब, नहीं है इस हाल का जवाब. क्या बताऊँ?

मैंने कुछ नहीं कहा....लेकिन शायद मेरी ख़ामोशी की आवाज़ उसने सुन ली.

उसने मेरे हाथ पर लगी चोट को देखते हुए कहा, दर्द होता है इसमें अभी भी, मैंने कहा हाँ, कभी-कभी. वो बोली दर्द, चोट का, या उस दिन का जब हाथ उस पर उठाया था और उसने तुम पर. मैंने बात को टालते हुए कहा, आज शाम को कुछ अच्छा खाते हैं. वो हमेशा की तरह मेरा हाथ पकड़ कर बोली, बात बदल लो, एहसास तो बदल नहीं पाओगी. मैंने कहा, दर्द अब कभी-कभी होता है, पहले से बेहतर है. उसने कहा, हाँ, चोट है, वक़्त के साथ ठीक हो ही जाएगी, ज़ख़्म और दर्द को देखो कितने ज़ालिम दिन और तन्हा रातें लगती हैं.

अक्सर ज़ख़्म पर धूल जमने में कुछ ज़्यादा ही देर लग जाती है, धैर्य रखना, जम जाएगी धूल, भूल जाओगी ये ज़ख़्म. मैंने कहा, कोई ज़ख़्म नहीं है बस थोड़ी सी चोट है ठीक अब तो क़रीब-क़रीब ठीक भी हो गयी है. आप आराम करिये मैं चलती हूँ.

मुझे पीछे से रोकते हुए वो बोली, जब डर हो तो छुपाना नहीं चाहिये, आँखें बड़ी दग़ाबाज़ होती हैं ना जाने कैसे कमबख़्त सच उगल देती हैं. टूटे हुए ख़्वाब, चैन से सोने की आस, कुछ नहीं छुपने देती; ख़ैर, कोई बात नहीं....तुम भागो. हमेशा की तरह, यही तो करती हो. जाओ. जिस दिन औक़ात हो जाएँ कि किसी की आँखों में आँख डाल कर अपने डर, अपनी तड़प को बयां कर पाओ उस दिन आना, बतायेंगे की कैसे उम्र बीत जाने पर भी ज़िंदगी का साथ निभाया जाता है.

जैसा की उसने कहा, मैं फिर भाग गयी....हमेशा कि तरह, आदत नहीं है ना यूँ आइना देखने की.....ख़ैर, क्या फ़र्क़ पड़ता है. वक़्त ही तो है, काट जायेगा; ज़िंदगी ही तो है बीत जायेगी.

Monday, 17 September 2018

कुछ अल्फ़ाज़ बस यूँ ही-25!

जो आज़ाद है, उसे तुम क्या रिहा करोगे,
जो क़ैद है उसे, पिंजरे में बंद करके भी क्या करोगे?
ये अच्छा किया की,
दिल के चीथड़े कर दिए,
कहीं चंद टुकड़ों में
तोड़ा होता तो,
फिर से टूटने का डर रहता,
अब ठीक है,
चीथडों में पड़ा है,
ना फिर से टूटने का डर,
ना बिखर जाने का ख़ौफ़.
तुम्हारे इश्क़ में गिरफ़्तार क्या हुए,
कमबख़्त आज़ादी से ही नफ़रत हो गयी,
तुम्हारी मुहब्बत से रिहा क्या हुए,
ज़िंदगी ज़हर हो गयी।
ये अच्छा हुआ की इश्क़ सिर्फ़ तुमसे हुआ,
तुमसे जो ना कभी हो सकते थे ना हो,
इत्मिनान रहा की किसी से दिल्लगी तक ना हुई,
वरना ना जाने कितनी भारी हो जाती साँसे,
और ज़ख़्मी हो जाता क्लब।
दाद, तो मैं उस तन्हाई की वफ़ादारी की देती हूँ ,
जो तुम्हारी याद आते ही चली आती है.
ग़म तो उन्हें हो,
जिनके साथ पहली बार हुआ हो,
हमको तो उनकी, उन जैसों की
बेरुख़ी की आदत है.
समझ नहीं आता कि तुम्हारे
जाने का ग़म कैसे बयां करूँ,
तुम तो मेरे कभी थे ही नहीं,
होते अगर, तो तुम्हारे
आज ना होने पर
चंद अश्क़ ही ज़ाया कर लेती
तो कम से कम जायज़ लगती.
एक दौर तो वो भी था,
जब तुम हमारे
और हम तुम्हारे
साथ मज़ाक़ किया करते थे.

आज भी वक़्त की घड़ी यूँही
चल रही है
बस फ़र्क़ तना कि
अब हम तुम्हारे लिए मज़ाक़ हैं.
इससे बेहतर तो हम अनजान ही थे,
कम से कम तब तुम्हारे दिए ज़ख़्मों
का दर्द तो कम होता.

अब तो ना तुम अनजान हो
ना हमारे जहान में हो.
ज़रा सी खरोंच क्या लगी,
वो तो उसे ज़ख़्म ही समझ बैठे,
ज़रा इल्म होता अपने दिये हुए
घाव का तो शायद ये ना कहते.

Sunday, 16 September 2018

आज जब उस वक़्त की...!

आज जब उस वक़्त की
याद आ ही गयी है,
तो ज़रा ज़िक्र भी कर लेते हैं,
उन लम्हों का जिन्हें
तुमने बोया और मैंने सींचा था.

वो सुबह जब तुम आसमान
को देख कर उसकी गहरायी
में बस यूँही खो ज़ाया करते थे
और मैं उन पत्तों को निहारते हुए
तुमसे पूछ रही थी की
ऐसा भी क्या है इस सुबह में
जो आज ना मैं काम कर पा रही हूँ
और ना तुम, बल्कि तुमने तो
ये तक कह दिया की
अभी मुझे निहार लेने दो
उस आसमान को
कल जब में छूँ उसे तो
हम दोनों को अपनापन लगे.

मुझे भी तो सामने वाले पेड़
के पत्तों की गुफ़्तगू ने भी
मंत्रमुग्ध किया हुआ था तो
अब मैं तुम्हारे और उस आसमान
के बीच आती भी तो कैसे?

आज जब वही आसमान
ज़रा सा लाल और वो पत्ते शांत हैं
तो तुम और मैं भी आज अलग
किसी कोने में अपने अंदर
के सैलाब को शांत करने की
आड़ में लगे हुए हैं.

वो रात जब तुम ये सोच
कर परेशान हो गए थे
कि वो स्थिर चंद्र ऐसा
भी क्या ख़ूबसूरत है,
जो हर रात कोई ना कोई
उस को ऐसे देखता है
की उस चाँद से ज़्यादा
सुंदर कुछ और कभी देखा ही नहीं.

ख़ैर, वो वक़्त बीत गया
तुम भी अतीत बन गए
चाँद वही ठेर गया
और रह गयी हमारी यादें.

ख़ूबसूरत. आज़ाद. क़ैद.

Thursday, 13 September 2018

Out of love - 94!

Strands & pieces,
Never crave to be whole
Who gave the right
To those shattered dreams
To pounce & agitate?

What’s shattered will never be whole
Flow so erratic yet so fragile
Display of furry with a simple smile,
On some days you scare me,
On the rest your softness intrigues me.

What are you, Ganga?
Mother? Destructor?
Or are you just some,
Raw poetry, which seems to
Be incomprehensible for mortals?
All we had to lose,
Was each other,
Now that it is done,
Are we back to being
Your ability to un-love,
Mesmerises me,
Your love left me awestruck,
What’s with your games of love,
My love?
How I wish you’d be a drug,
I could at least be okay
With being addicted to you.
Let no heart be broken,
No soul be shattered,
No mind be rattled,
Unfollow, un-chase, un-accept
Whatever comes in way of this.
I’ve seen you laugh & smile, how do I not believe in magic?
There are stages
And not phases
Of war,
The beginning is scary,
Injurious, painful, obnoxious,
With time when it becomes
A routine,
The wounds stop hurting,
Fears stop mattering,
You become irrelevant
And thus the war
Becomes a

Comfort zone :))
Your words were like
Aloe Vera gel
On my burnt self.
Burnt joys, enhanced sorrow
Ash of dreams, dash of wounds
Painful you ask, hurtful I reply.

Wednesday, 12 September 2018

One day when you...!

One day when you want
To listen to me I will tell you
How it feels to sit in a gas chamber
When your body boils at 101 degree celsius
And your head splits.

One day when you’re ready for it
I’ll tell you how it is
To not sleep for nights
For your own mind is too
Vicious for you that it recounts
Those words by them
Who know, they’ve power to ruin
Till the very end.

One day when you’re waiting
For your breakfast at the dining table
How it feels to sit on the dining table
Expecting a fluffy omelette
But being served a brutal lecture
On how irrelevant your dreams are.

One day when you choose
Your ice cream flavours
I’ll tell you why I always
Chose a double scoop
Of a certain flavour
Not because I liked,
But because it controlled my anxiety.

One day when you’re
Craving for a hand on your
Head to put you to sleep,
I’ll tell you how it feels
When you’re rejected
Because you refused to surrender
Surrender before the dreams
That weren’t woven by your
Threads of passion.

One day....I actually hope
That this one day
Doesn’t become a reality,
You don’t deserve it,
Nobody does.......

Tuesday, 11 September 2018

Out of love - 93!

Everything you & I have been
Taught about beauty,
Lies in the death of a broken dream.
Touch my wounds,
Make love to my scars
Hug my pieces,
Make me feel
What a combination of
Warmth & love
Can do.
You couldn’t have been wrong for me in any way,
Look what the pain of your memories did to me,
It forced me to build a memoir more gorgeous than your memories
And our dreams.
Let me hurt till I get rid of the fear of pain,
Allow me to sink in the tides,
Test the ashes of the shattered dreams,
What else am I, if not a combination
Of some legitimate pieces
And illegitimate expression.
Burn each strand of hope,
Destroy every ray of light,
Convert those dreams into ashes,
Breathe, then
Embrace the guilt of inhaling,
Exhale all what’s yours,
Choose to survive,
Even if that’s not,
What it is to be alive.

Those who love,
Will hate,
Sleep will certainly escape,
Death wont kiss,
Let’s see how far
Do you get
While you miss
Each part you
Burnt, again and again.
One day when you are free, at ease,
Just put me to sleep, without the noises & notions,
How do your eyes continue to reek of magic, even after they’ve killed my faith in it?
Same faces,
Similar verses,
A dash of fresh hurt,
A dollop of joy.

Routine, everyday.
Maybe in the end,
What doesn’t stay,
Isn’t yours.
If I don’t love you
Across borders,
Despite differences,
Beyond expectations.
Will I even have the
Right to call it love?

Monday, 10 September 2018

Dear Grandpa!

Dear Grandpa,

I am sorry for not writing to you in a while. I think it’s the sky this morning which wants me to pen this down for you. So, I will. It’s golden-ish-blue-ish-grey-ish in colour, reeks of acceptance.

I’ve been managing life okayish-ly, or so I believe & want you to believe too. Tabla practice isn’t very regular but, I sort of manage to play the beauty once in a while. Been a while since I had apples, nobody cuts it the way you used to do it, you know. The world is doing fine with me in it. It’s huge, I feel tiny at times, but the moon up there makes it beautiful at all times.

I’m not sure how much grace is left in my expression or is there any grace in it or not, in fact I’m not sure if it exists in me anymore or not. On some days, there is a hurricane in me & on other days it feels like a manageable cyclone, on my good days I impress myself & during better days I out to do myself, on some nights I ensure my mind is at place, functional-logical-dutiful but on some unending nights I let bits of my heart & soul takeover sometimes it’s stunning to feel what the heart can do, but usually the heart at the driving seat messes it up, reminds me of voids & pieces of my own.

Video game collection is being maintained. Stationary is well kept. Your lemon yellow kurta still sits in the corner of my wardrobe & sometimes I embrace it too, I’m told it looks nice on me. The golden watch that you wore is the most stunning watch, till date, I haven’t seen a watch as gorgeous as that till date.

Umm....I think that’s all for now. Oh yes! The promise remains as is, I will protect myself from what is not mine & not let go what is mine. Till we meet again!

Your favourite :)

Thursday, 6 September 2018

I love this hour!

I love this hour,
When the moon
Makes love to the night sky,
Stars chat with each other
And I get comfortable with
The loneliness & hurricanes
That continue to rattle me.

I love this hour,
When there is
Just blank longing
For a reply from you.

I love this hour,
When the sun goes down
And the sky,
Romances with the colours.

I love this hour,
When children are taught,
Incomprehensible equations,
In the name of success
And not passion.

I love this hour,
When dreams are,
Put at stake
Under the fear
Of making ends meet.

I love this hour,
When the clock strikes 12
And the date changes
Without an ounce of change.

I love this hour,
When screams are validated
For injuries & not wounds
Where tears are legitimate
For sorrow & not for heart aches.

I love this hour.