after few years, same fire within…

Agar meri tadap ka bayan farmaya gaya…
to sirf yahi lafz niklenge…

ki, wo to kayar tha…magar umda shayar tha…
uska dard to asan tha…par uske lafz bhari the…

har wo waaqia jise wo zulm kahta tha…
wo ya to subah hoti thi, ya fir zindagi ki koi zimmedari…

sapno ko sach wo kahta tha, kyonki unme wo akela rahata tha…

kitna dekha, kitna dikhaya, kitna barbad kiya aur kitna sanwara…
kitna kaha, kitna suna…har wo jo raah me mila…

kuchh saal seekhne me lagaye…kuchh sambhalne me…
kuch bhulne me aur kuchh badalne me…

zamane ko nahi, apne aap ko…

par aaj bhi agar ye tees uthati hai ki bahut kuchh baaki hai…
to bhagana nahin…

bas waqt par muskura dena aur samajhna…
abhi aur bhi jalna hai…
nahin to waqt ne raakh bana diya, jo jal nahin sakti…

par har taraf udati firati hai…

dragging time

art of saying, isn’t experience bound

or, there would be billions of poets

and poetry isn’t work of laborious

astute thinkers

or else, many wouldn’t even make a sound

they sleep in pain

and are diseased

over burdened and waking up is next in their mind

I think of poets inspirators

they live in less oxygen

 

poets existence of parasites

we suck aesthetics of least expressed minds

we steal their diseased life’s pleasure

and

with chest pounding

with these texts, we claim the world

but, there is nothing

that is mine

we live on leaked moments of others time

we live in social garbage bins

our time is drag

it lags behind the reality’s time

and we realize again and again

others mistakes, we see their actions in reasons

and lack any strength except to opine

 

poets don’t die thats why

death isn’t a gift for dragging time

death is a release

only for real, fathers mothers and warriors their children and verbs

 

death doesn’t exist for sorry nouns…

 

 

 

 

some ever unfinished drafts

They are bricks of the imprint
built everyday of living

…
but when we leave a place in time
only thing people remember is built on those words
now if we choose silence as our words
it must become a mold to hold up our intents

…
words do matter, this is all they remember
rest is all in vain
basic thing is life is not to speak whenever we felt so
but to speak as if you are seeing dawn
now its our choice to speak or be silent
as it must be our expression of intent

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

human positionally…inhuman

justified…on each other

borned…somewhere…took first step

learnt some words…

and honesty was fevourite one…

so many words…so much of insistance

built raised…on pile of words

it still carried on…and built looked beautiful…

it went upper…skywards…

….

so many stones melt…

just on honesty of those words

so many stones…became river

its built skywards

….

words inherited…a trick

a trick to expose the hidden core of stones

and depths of oceans

but themselves they lacked the content

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

and clouds coloured grey

streets are mushy

and its raining dismay…

days are passing without names

coloured grey

I am house arrested

but my creator wants me to run away

tempting me

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOW

time grew

while i was asleep

everyone was away

my house leaked…

insecurities…

…

my brother is eighteen

and he lives angry and foolish

when house leaks…for him

it doesn’t mean insecurity

it just leaks

….

and so on…I accumulate so many

sorry, its always me and my pities

….

when you are younger

say younger than me

you never conclude

you dream

but never try to forsee

change is not what is necessary for you

but everyday is a possibility…

failing to get angry

so easily…

I just stop, hear my exceptional heart beats

and feel pity…

there is an expensive watch inside me…

…

everything is liable…to change

just talk, negotiate…and picture would emerge

reality cant be rendered, but if you have seen enough

reality can be talked…

….

few days back I was on the same road

I cycled…

and obviously someone asked you remember…

and I was like, I feel dead…

…

I remember my teacher, he is getting old

I can feel

he is older than me…

…

I’ve no passion

and no motives

I just love some people

…

my life is many people

who mostly smiled on me

…

never ending

they said again and again

you are very lucky…

allergy…and dark glares

give me more of white

and i’ll show you what is colour of milk

give me more of black

and every night will be coloured

give me more in hands of condradictions

and richness is all, everyone will experience…

….

i don’t claim of knowing

but instincts and contradictions prove to be suffiicient…

…

that is why…

dreaming is never sufficient…

hopefully you and I understand…what i intend.

Brothers…they leave

brothers, they leave

mother knows

fighting teenagers

affection grows and then we hear

brothers leave

…

ask my father

he is a brother or was

ask everyone elder

they are or they were

…

brothers leave

boundaries made

peace is future

when walls are drawn

…

walls are guardians

of love

Mother knows, why walls must be drawn

as mother worries

love be there or not

hope…

peace must be brokered

ground must be tilted

walls must be drawn

…

dream poet dream

light candles

but we must build

because mother of brothers knows

with every child

walls must be drawn…

rest of…

word don’t suffice

sometimes, with so much of happening

and actions…

and hence all the world do not write…

people who write only write

and i do nothing

when i am writing…

otherwise i am rest of the world…

who don’t write…

inconsistensy

small unseen errors

changing the system

the form is waiting to be affected

as details will differ…

…

had a choice

since the errors were minuscule

but correcting them required

overhauling of the whole

more time and patience…

but

since they were unseen

i carried on

and adjusted the details in correspondence

of errors…

now what i see…in aftermath

inconsistency

of complete system…

…

and going back is possible

only if time gets reverse…

beauty structure…

look at those shoes

some unexpected lines

in the defined form

look at her…

intelligence

plus some flowing belly lines

look at that car

some utilitarian curve

plus some curves which defined scale of utility

that tree is so humble

sky is so vibrant

this song is so structural

her voice has grains

the writing is so modest

his life was zero

that food was so delicious

why this hunger brings happiness

…

are we searching beauty still…

layered beauty

that tree of car in the shoe print of the girl

who sings that deep song with her grainy voice

is it beautiful?

…

is layering tangible?

so deep grainy voice…

like water flowing behind the hills…

….

intelligence of frills on his face

of a decade…

….

blues of greens, yellows of whites

pink in blacks…when lights falls on them…

travelling far from moon…

….

does burning of a oil lantern creates prettier light

than burning of coil…

is it because it accompanies smell…

….

so would you like to watch full moon

with “full moon sonata” playing

accompanied with drinks…

….

does beauty belongs to occasion

or it was always true

it only lies in our vision…

…

whatever way…does beauty beholds

a cynical mind?

…

does beauty has form?

architecture and life

hit by self righteousness

obviously i must be wrong…

did we ever see a drunken man

not behaving like a drunk…

…

when one drinks

one gets drunk…

…

so which teacher(human) doesn’t talk

which reader doesn’t express

if someone is moving in a direction

something must be reverse…

are directions also right and wrong?

given god is everywhere and sane…

…

hit by self consciousness

so we know who we are…

does it changes “the definition of life”

or happiness is new ritual

now “I do what makes me happy”

and what makes me happy….is….

broadest life

…

but i was talking architecture to them

and they talk life…