Sorrow!

Sorrow
It is, that un-warm hug that you refused to give as you lay dead on your favourite carpet
It looks like, that jammed window which I know I can open but I don’t know when I will
It sounds like, my boss giving un-ending deadlines to the deceased
It tastes like, a combination of spinach and tulsi, healthy, but oh so awful
Sorrow
It is, unlike this moment, right now, I timed it is 8:51pm

Out of love - 110!

But reflections are a part of you,
Not all of you.
————-
And then each bit,
Every part of it,
Was picked up,
Put together,
Stitched all over again,
Rebuilt, recreated,
Renewed, relived.

Catharsis?
————-
The choice was clear,
It was always you,
This time and that
And a hundred million times over
————-
You don’t have to
Sprinkle that smelly kerosene,
And light a match stick
to burn my heart,
and set my love on fire
you just have to ignore
To convert it all into ash.
————-
No bit of you should ever be forgotten,
I must immortalise your being before I perish.
I must.
————-
For the likes of us,
Rain will always be that one thing
Which opens up all ignored
Pores of our being
Making us want more of our own.
————-
Have you ever imagined how would it be
If the sea and the rain meet each other
In those moments of intimacy that’d reek of honesty,
Have you felt the urge to see your own love story
In a way like that, seemingly unreal
Being the only reality you’d ever want to see
————-
It felt as if one was first asked
and then told
to lodge a blunt knife in their chest,
pull out the heart
cut it open
watch it bleed profusely
do nothing about it
and also be okay with it
————-
When you look at sky of your unfelt dreams
Do you remember how to be?
When you live through an excruciating scream
Are you reminded of the unholy scenes?
When you bleed from places unseen
Do you aid it with the power of being?
————-
In absence of death,

they found some damaged breath

with these un-rhythmic breaths they were declared alive.
You see the likes of us so used to rejection,

exist because much like others death too rejects us.

Have you ever felt like Kashmir?

Have you ever felt like Kashmir?
Burdened by the feeling of paradise,
while you’re just torn from places?
Has your Jhelum like soul ever felt
It will one day be under curfew
And you will not know if you’d
want to long for death or for another breath.
Does your body feel like a Chinar tree?
Ignored normally, but on losing leaves
that beautify their streets it becomes desired
as probably and hopefully, you too would be on leaving your body.
Like red apples which are left to rot in dungeon godowns.

बताना चाहती हूँ!

बताना चाहती हूँ
की तुमसे बेपनाह इश्क़ है मुझे
जताना नहीं है, बस बताना है
मालूम है मुझे है की तुम्हें
इस बात का इल्म मुझसे बेहतर है
पर फिर भी बस बताना है मुझे

बताना चाहती हूँ
की इक रोज़ जब कोई पूछेगा
की अपनी आख़री साँस या
उसकी बस एक और मुस्कान
के बीच चुनना होगा
तब भी मैं वो मुस्कान चुनूँगी

बताना चाहती हूँ
की तुम्हारे होने या ना होने से
फ़र्क़ नहीं पड़ा है.
जब तुम थी सब बहुत खूबसूरत था
अब तुम्हारी याद का सौंदर्य
जीने की वजह सा बन गया है

बताना चाहती हूँ
की तुमसे इश्क़ की चाहत
मेरी ताक़त रही
इसलिए कभी ज़रूरत नहीं बनी शायद
और तुम जैसा कहती हो ज़रूरतों से
हम रिहा भी हो जाएँ
चाहत हमेशा रहती है
दिल के किसी कोने में
मिठास और कड़वाहट लिए
ज़िंदगी का अहसास समेटे हुए
तुम्हारे इश्क़ की चाहत
बनी रही.

All things life prepared me for!

All things life prepared me for, included wars, but not failures
As if men and women only failed on Mars
And on Earth they were only meant and programmed to win.

All things life prepared me for, had me drool over dreams that they saw,
As if my imagination was incapable of imagining sun make love to water and turn the entire ocean into gold
But, you see on Earth, dreams are made of concrete, desires are components of unwanted ties and emotions are always considered as fatal as cyanide.

All things life prepared me for, were not meant for me,
I just wanted to be,
in a home not house
in Delhi not Noida
in ecstasy not cage
in bandages not heavy drapes
in trans not senses
in college not school
in ocean not balconies
in being not body
in atoms not chemicals
in rhyme not whine
in life not trap.

All things life prepared me, was for a house
Made up of four walls and a ceiling only,
While I was meant for home,
a place which would possibly be
A cross between passions and unfinished novels.