Usually.

"तू मेरे गीत का कौनसा लफ्ज़ है?

मैंने तुझको कभी, हाँ लिखा भी नहीं। "

No.

Not in these places.

I find you in spaces

of me,

that I don't usually traverse.

And see you building hamlets there.

Lets build a boat.

And sail away

to those places

those spaces

of you

you don't usually traverse.

"तू मेरे गीत का, कौनसा लफ्ज़ है ?

मैंने तुझको कभी, हाँ लिखा भी नहीं। 

गुनगुनाता भी है ,मेरे एहसास में ,

कागज़ों पर मेरे, दीखता भी नहीं 

तू मेरा कौन है ?

मै तेरा कौन हूँ ?

कौन अरमान है ?

कौन अनजान है ?

 ए खुदा , दे बता 

दे बता , ए  ख़ुदा.."

ps: To Unworldly.

Beyond reasons...

I am a human of reason.

But, reasons are heavy, like words are.

And my words can never explain some things.

Their meanings are too bulky to travel to you that far.

So, I do not have a reason to explain why

These times at dusk, and at dawn

I once again like a child 

want to be heard, seen and known.

And I just need you to be there, 

that other side of the horizon in that far away sky

just to ask me once how I had been,

Just to hear from you, that enchanting 'one hi'.

I know its too much to ask for in words.

So, every-time, something in me decides to stay quiet.
You know what it is?
Its that 'I' in I.

picture source https://www.pinterest.com/pin/429390145701717466/

Essays on journey...

सच क्या है ,और क्या दर्पण-सा? 

है भी जो, है भी नहीं, भ्रम सा 

सागर सा नीला तो लगता है, 

पानी है या रेत सुलगता है?  

वो जो है भी नहीं 
है कहीं न कहीं 
बहता रहा है ...

इन धमनियों में,

जो जुनून-सा,

बनके मेरे सफर में...  

तू कौन है जो समंदर-सा? 

छाया है मुझपे, तू अम्बर-सा

सूरज-सा बातें तो करता है

हाँ डूबने से भी डरता है..

तू अकेला नहीं,

मुझमें तू कहीं,

रहता रहा है...

इन हौंसलों में

तू सुकून-सा,

बनके मेरे सफर में। 

picture source https://www.pinterest.com/pin/253327547766434060/

The business cycles..

Seems like my life has become a business cycle.

Its like, you start with a boom,
inspired and ignited.

By, the evening, a slowdown sets in.
You have to go out, searching for some happiness on the streets,
knowing that its not where it'll be found,
and you'll come back home empty- handed.

By dusk, there is a recession in your heart,
and something within you is crying.
Still you are constantly trying to fool the crying child,
with 'the stimulus' of inspiration.
But the stimulus doesn't work now,
for your macro-economic fundamentals
stand shaken.

Nights, breezy or calm, moonlit or dark-
you are in a depression.
You hallucinate.
You get lost.
Nothing works.
You gaze at the far away moon and the stars from your window with a longing in those two brown eyes,
but you fear talking,
so the depression doesn't spread,
so there are no 'competitive devaluations'
You fear them- people
No, you fear yourself.

Insomniac.
You sleep just before the dawn,
with a hope, 
of another morning,
and of some morning when
the cycle would end
and you would live 
'happily ever after'.

Seems like my life has become a business cycle.
picture source https://www.pinterest.com/pin/491525746809235608/

Empty..

Empty is this vessel, my body

But its sound is not

It still rustles, throbs, warbles.

And to this world,

its sound can be music.

It can be noise, turbulence, chaos.

And it can be deafening silence.

Empty is my soul, my mind.

But its core, its foundation is not.

For it still knows to love.

And to this world,

its love can be sacred.

It can be ugly, wanton, sinful.

And it can be casually indifferent.

Empty is my word, my song.

But its meaning is not.

And I will still keep humming it.

For if this world understands it a little

It will become full, my word.

And if You, that someone somewhere in this world,

can understand it full,

I would make You my world.

picture source https://www.pinterest.com/pin/549087379540068999/

The paradox

  
You were a soliloquy.
I was the abode.
One day You found Me.

I would tell you.
Do you remember?
I would tell you.
the best thing which happened to me was that
'You found Me.'

The paradox.
Today you have a home.
Your abode.
And I become,
The soliloquy.