When you have places to go,Miles to walk,And sometimes, more often than not,You stumble and fall.Find your wayOut of the hole,And somehow, you always,Get pulled down.Remember—Down is only a direction,And it’s okay to go there too,Just as you move left and rightOr row through lifeBack
It’s okay sometimesTo show your tears,Know your tears,And the place they come from.It is what makes youWhat you are.How long do you planTo rest in a bottle?Let everything outSmash it to pieces— Fall to the groundMake a mess,Vent it all out.Your boat is caught in a
A torrent of tormentWhen it passes through life,It leaves behind a rare calm,For you to gather the piecesAfter the storm.The drumming and howlingOf last nightHave died down,Along with your hopesFor the familiar sun.The wind has droppedIts gears of introspection,To count your deadAnd find the breathing.Go!
Ticking clock,Loud breath,Heartbeats,Wet eyesStare at the door to open,Waiting for my saviourTo emergeAnd save me from –An empty room of solitude,And a heart ache.What’s a few more days,When you have waited a lifetime?Every hourGrieves your painful absence,And curses the time spent without you.These empty arms
An old man walks with his experienceAnd his adorable paunch, With an ailment in his pocket,A newspaper ‘neath his arm. Keen eyes for the steps ahead,Not so much for the drunken path, Chained to the table of time,Where he finds his daily bread, A life
This body might’ve embraced many,But nothing compares to your warm caress,All the cells in my body affirm,They sing love songs of yoreWhose tremors are felt underneath the layersRight where the soul lurks –It feels at peaceThat it often forgets exists,Every organ prepares to mergeTo unite
“रुमाली रोटी! आज फिर तेरी याद आयी रे!” मन अचरज में पड़ाकी इतनी पतली हो कर भी तू कैसे भर देती पेट मेरा?रूमाल की हरकतें देख कर है तेरा नाम पड़ा, कई बार तो मैं धोखा खा कर जेब में तुझे ले चल पड़ा। न
When a flower wilts,It hurts the bee,So does it bother the thirsty,When the last drop of the river dries,Oars are no longer worthy,Does the boat forget its journey?Does the plant remember its child?Or the bee forgets to rueThe loss of a good thing in its
घर न जा परिंदे वहाँ ताला है बदला, तेरी चाबी से अब न खुलेगा,वापस कहाँ जाएगा?इतने दिनों तू था एक अजनबी, अब तुझे क्यों कोई गले लगाएगा?जिस युद्ध में था तू डूबा,वहाँ जाने से तुझे था रोका ,तू फिर भी लड़ने था दौड़ाकी तेरा रक्त
I often miss our communication,When we would speak so muchThat the world would evanesce,When we would hold each other’s gazeFor so longIt would unveil our longingTo be with each otherSo closeThat our breaths would mingleAnd fail to make out Yours from mine.What’s mine is yours,What’s