ये जो झिलमिल चमकते तारे हैं,
कभी मद्धम, कभी तेज़ उजाले हैं,
दूर उस दुनिया से शायद ये भी टकाटक हमें देखते हैं,
कभी एक, कभी अनेक, कहीं हममें भी ये तारे खोजते हैं।
“To the people who look at the stars and wish"- Sarah J. Mass

Our Story

From the iron cage of my fragile illusions, Just like that, one day, I set you free, To let you soar out into your own being, without me,   And, disillusion every vein of our story …

An illusion like a feeling that shoots down the spine, When, out of the blue, plays a familiar song and fills the air, In between the ever expanding distance that we’ve become, When above the din of everyone’s chatter, it’s each other’s silence we hear…

An illusion of whispers that a dry riverbed of rustled leaves make, Which you choose to listen to, while escaping the chaos in your head, And, secretly wish that the wind that drifted you so far away from me, Could carry back those letters unwritten and those words unsaid…

An illusion, that the way I am is the way you are, And while I am thinking of you, you are thinking of me, We are reminded of the verse we read in that room together, When we thought if love is another name for the pull of the moon on the sea…

And so, from the iron cage of my fragile illusions, Just like…

मुझे नहीं पता

महज़ एक अलफ़ाज़,
या हवा को चीरती हुई एक गूँज?
सावन के पत्ते की कम्पन,
या मेरी स्मृतियों में चढ़ती हुई बारीक धूल ?
मुझे नहीं पता ৷

कोरे कागज़ की सूखी स्याही ,
या डूबते सूरज की आख़िरी ख़्वाहिश?
सांझ में दो दिलों की उठती-गिरती तरंग,
या  किसी मरुस्थल में टूट के पड़ी झमझमाती बारिश ?
मुझे नहीं पता ৷

मेरे ज़हन में कोई पनपता एह्साह ,
जिसका अस्तित्व भी शायद है एक कल्पना,
अलफ़ाज़ दू उसे , तो वो नश्वर,
रखु  गुप्त, तो एक अप्रत्यक्ष  वेदना
मुझे नहीं पता ৷

जितना मैं  तुम्हारे करीब हूँ ,
उतनी ही तुम मुझसे ओझल हो,
जिन आँखों ने तुम्हे तलाशा उम्र भर,
आज उन्ही आँखों को तुम बोझल हो ৷

शायद मुझे है पता  कि  तुम कौन हो,
बस दीदार करने की चेष्ठा नहीं है,
आज एक मदहोशी है , तुम्हारी खुमारी है,
और इस खुमारी से विचलित होने की अभी इच्छा नहीं है ৷


 “… I close the door after they leave… " She managed to say, after resting her palpitating heart.
“What has happened?”he asked calmly
“I don’t know ... they told me something and then left … I don't feel anything now… I am numb …"

"Who were they?"

"Some men in uniform... I do not know them"
“Can you see yourself?”
“Yes”, I am young and am wearing a pinafore”, “and… I  feel heavy and am in physical discomfort…” she follows soonafter.
“Oh! Is there anyone around you?”
“No… I am alone … all alone… there is no one around me…”
 “Can you tell what year or what place is it?”
“Okay. Go out of the door and see where you are”
“I am too weak to step outside … I am now sitting on the floor of the house… I feel a sense of betrayal and abandonment…I dunno why though”
 “Okay, no problem. Go back in time. I know it’s hard but please try…”he asked her.
Slowly, her facial muscles relaxed and her breathing became regular.
“What do you see now?”he asked. 
“There is food and wine e…

I wonder

At the end of it all, I wonder, Why do I do what I do? And with every second passing by, Something inside me dies and, something brews …
They say we have a mind and that it’s beautiful, They also say that its one cold beast, But then why does it conflate with emotions? And in the face of you, all reasoning cease?
And still wondering, I do ‘cause the mind continues to defy all rationale, And I wonder, if it's really the end? When the loop of the dawn and the dusk never runs stale?
And I wonder again, If it's death if you go insane? And with the multitude of seconds that have gone by, If what is dead today will ever brew again?

And, that's the Thing about Feelings

This post now also features in the Tangy Tuesday Picks at Blogadda. 
Dear You,
It’s been a while since I have written to you. But then it’s also been a while that I’ve spoken to myself. We are sometimes mirror images,you see. I’d forgotten that it is important to write whatever you feel, whenever you feel it. Even when there is a void staring at you; especially when there is a void staring you. Even if it means to write out of that vacuum that you have been in for so long. Because while this vacuum can make you feel special in moments when you may not be so special, it can also make you feel deserted and worthless even when you may be scripting history. But you still write, because maybe, if ever you have the time to look back from the gung-ho your life has become some years down, these moments will smile and remind you in hushed whispers how defining they were, whilst they were disappearing into thin air. So write. 
I have been jogging daily instead of writing, and that’s not because I …

With or Without You

With you, it is a waking dream, Of a story dormant since eternity… And without you, this story feels unreal, And everything in it, illusionary. And I lie suspended between the two worlds.
With you, I’m sceptical, Perhaps even terrified, to face the tide… And without you, there dwells a solitary peace, But it’s one meaningless, vacuous ride… And I lie suspended between the two worlds.
With you, my heart palpitates in anticipation, And the Earth tremors under my feet. And without you, my heart sinks into an abyss, And I can’t stand still, I can’t breathe. And I lie suspended between the two worlds.
 I bring out the best in you,with you, And you bring out the worst in me, without you,  And in between an entire spectrum of these conjectures, We lie suspended between our two worlds... With or without you.