a window of time:
wind sneaks in from behind like -
her breath on his neck.

they say its easier said than done.
i say, not poetry.
it's easier done than said.

it terrifies me sometimes…
the ugliness that smears the world -
with shades of despair, and evils unheard.

there’re things you hear, and learn, and know,
and wonder how mankind could stoop so low.
your fury knows what must be done, yet -
powerless you watch the madness grow.

the night is no longer the custodian of evil;
we see it day in, and day out.
the morning news, the afternoon bites;
come evening, you’d rather gouge your eyes out.

the screams of anguish of a woman bent over -
on the tasteless floor, her innocence devoured.
the wrath of a community, on the back of one man,
who dared speak his mind - his life is over!  

the game of politics,
the lies, the trecheries;
men without jobs - or homes -
living on the streets.
an animal slain to please a God,
as a child watches,
only to repeat.

yet it all goes on,
as though a **** in the wind.
the world tells you,
‘grow up, man! grow a thick skin.’
i wish i could tell you otherwise -
a story not so bleak.
but there…
they probably beheaded a son before his mother,
as we speak.

day is done.
the night has come -
to swallow the heart of a dying sun.

lights are out,
the reveries are about
to take the shape of a loaded gun.

it takes a while -
for a thing so vile -
to lock its aim on a mind on the run.
but it finds a way,
to fire away -
right before it works out 1 + 1.

the birds at the window,
come and bestow
the occasional voice of reason;
for they know too well -
than to let the mind dwell
in the haunting silence of the season.

at the end of the day,
the mind obeys -
an imposter it deems ‘the chosen one’.
day is done.
the night has come -
to swallow the heart of a dying sun.

write a verse,
write a song,
write it with the chillum of a ****.
write slow, write fast -
write with an ******* while it lasts.
write for the right reasons, and the wrong ones too:
write because it matters to you.
write like a man, write like a woman -
write despite your ****** orientation.
write on the walls,
of the times you recall -
when you felt small,
or when you’d fall.
write your heart out!
write your ***** out! -
and don’t you ever doubt -    
wheather it’ll work out,
or choke your bank account.
write, if not for anything -
for the hope that still lies within;
just write, do not ask why!
if you must know -
write because you’d rather die.

write, my friend -
write.

a line in the sand
waves falling short every time
jittery wrinkles

i liked a girl from school, she was,
for me, a little too cool; she was -
on top of her game:  
something to aim for, she was -
hardly concerned if I had a last name.

i remember those roll calls…
my head leaning against the wall
just to sneak a momentary gaze,
as she'd stand up to answer the teacher's call.

“present, sir.." or "..ma’am”,
that’s all she’d say.
and I knew I’d make it through the day.
i believed someday,
with a voice so sweet,
she’d give me a call,
ask me to meet.

and though that day never came to pass
i remember looking through the broken glass -
of the bus window with a muddy tint.
i could still see her like fine print.

i remember her doe-brown eyes,
her fleshy lips -
the belt clutching her beckoning hips
i’d go to sleep,
drooling like a creep.  
in my slumber,
we’d meet in our secret keep.

she spoke in riddles, it would seem:  
but i could trace the general theme -
she’d throw me on the bed, and i’d fall -
right out of my wishful dream.

it’s absurd, i know -
i’m not a fool.
yet sometimes,
i wish i were the ‘cool kid’ in school.
and though her memories are all a blur,
i’ve yet to meet a girl like her.

ऐ ज़िंदगी... थोड़ा हौले!
जिस ओर भी देखूं, तेरी रफ़्तार मानो पल भर में दुगनी हो जाती है।
तू चाहे तो इंद्र के वज्र को भी मात दे दे,
मेरी ये छोटी सी इमरजेंसी लाइट तेरे सामने क्या?

माना कि तेरा कमान थोड़ा भारी है,
पर मेरी कोशिश जारी है।
ना जाने कितने ही साँपों ने काटा मुझे अब तक,
अब सीढ़ियों पर चढ़ने की मेरी बारी है।

मैं कह रहा, ऐ ज़िंदगी, थोड़ा हौले!
मुझे भी तो संभलने का एक मौका दे दे।
छक्का नहीं लग रहा, तो दो-चार चौके ही दे दे।
शायद मेरी आवाज़ तुझ तक पहुँची नहीं।
और पहुँचेगी भी कैसे?
फिज़िक्स बुक में नहीं पढ़ा था?...
“Light travels at 3x10^8 m/s, whereas sound can only travel at 340 m/s…”

...वो देखो, मैं भी पागल!
ना जाने कहाँ से कहाँ चला गया...
इसी चंचल से मन को तो कायम करना था!
भूल गया कि साला राइम भी करना था।

माफ़ कीजिएगा,
शायद कुछ और ही कहना था मुझे,
पर मैं नादान किसी और ही दिशा में भाग रहा था।
भावनाओं में बहना था मुझे,
और मैं लॉजिक के गोते लगा रहा था।

कुछ ऐसा ही हर बार होता है।
बेताबी का मुझ पर हर पल वार होता है।
मन है मेरा, और इस पर मेरा ही काबू नहीं?
आख़िर ये कैसा समझौता है?

तो आइए, अब वापिस आते हैं।
इस अफ़साने को एक खूबसूरत अंजाम तक ले जाते हैं।
जाने देते हैं ज़िंदगी को अपनी रफ़्तार से आगे...
जहाँ कोई नहीं गया, आज वहाँ जाते हैं!

ज़िंदगी से जीतना कुछ और बात होती है।
पर ज़िंदगी को जीने में बात ही कुछ और होती है।
तो क्या हुआ,
अगर थोड़ी देर पुरानी यादों को चूम आया?
तो क्या हुआ,
अगर चलते-चलते एक नया मोड़ घूम आया?
प्यार से कह दूंगा ज़िंदगी को,
'मेरी जान, इस कमान का भार लेकर
बढ़ने में थोड़ी तो तकलीफ़ होगी।'
जैसे लेट होने पर बाबा माँ को फोन पर कहते,
'आ रहा हूँ, बस थोड़ी देर होगी।'

it takes courage to step out the door;
to pick your battles,
when there’s nothing left fighting for.

he lost his way, he knows not when.
chasing false idols he mistook for men.
he'd lose the child, if he only knew then -
he'd find a way to be a man again.

i believe it was a tuesday morning!
i remember i had a reason to wake up -
to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste
from the tube.
to get right back in the ******* loop.

i believe i caught a glimpse of a child
through the foggy bathroom mirror,
laced with my minty breath.
it felt strange...
i took offense at his looks,
the way he eyed me down.
in his defense though,
i had caught him with his guards down.

he didn't say much,
not that he did anyway.
just nodded softly at me,
whispered almost,
'alright! guess i'll be going then...'
with a flicker of a smile
never to be seen again.

i believed at the time it was best for him
to not see the light on my face go dim
didn't realize then i'd pay such a solemn price;
as I let him go, not thinking twice.

i believe it came quite naturally to me -
finding good reasons not to be.
that day, i found yet another;
it was just enough to help me see -
the error of my ways...
like a rat in a maze, how i end up
reliving the worst of my days.

i still believe i could turn things around.
give the kid a reason to be proud.
i'd whisper softly into the foggy bathroom mirror,
'we're ok, little buddy...
everything's going to be ok!'
i believe i could get him to say,
'alright... i'll stay!'

बड़े होते बस यही सुना था,
‘कुछ सोच बड़ा, कुछ कर बड़ा।’
काँटों भरी इस राह पर मैं नंगे पाँव ही निकल पड़ा।
बहुत निचोड़ा इन भावों को मैंने,
इस खोज में मैंने बहुत सहा।
पर जो दिल से चाहिए, साला आखिर वो मिलता कहाँ!

एक शैतान है मुझमें, जो रोज़ कहता है,
‘छोड़ दे पैशन, कमा ले पैसे।’
‘कला के इस महासागर में डूब मरे हैं तेरे जैसे।’
मानता कहाँ दिल फिर भी मेरा?
ये तो है उसके लिए साँस की तरह!
अब चाहे डूब कर मरे या हो जाए जल कर राख,
इससे दुनिया का क्या लेना-देना?
अपनी लड़ाई भी तो यारो, आखिर खुद से ही थी ना?

कलम की नोक पर ज़िंदगी का भार
उठाते कलाईयाँ रगड़ गईं।
ग़रीबी में आटा गीला था,
आँसुओं से बात और बिगड़ ही गई।
चलो कोई नहीं, मैं भी मान गया!
गिले-शिकवों को पेपरवेट के नीचे दबा गया।
स्याही की कड़वी स्वाद को होठों से लगा गया।
मूंगफली पड़ी थी, उसे रोटी के बीच डाल कर चबा गया।

खोज रहा हूँ आज भी मैं विचारों की वो वर्णमाला,
सहारे जिसके कह सकूँ जो इतने दिन मैंने टाला।

तितर-बितर करते, इधर-उधर भागते,
थोड़ा भटक सा गया हूँ…
बंद घड़ी की सुई की तरह मानो जैसे अटक सा गया हूँ।
वक्त के आगे अपनी क़िस्मत लिखने को जूझ रहा हूँ।
अल्फ़ाज़ों से सजे इस दर्पण को
मैं आपकी ओर रख कर पूछ रहा हूँ…

‘क्या आपको पता है गौरव का फूल किस चोटी पर खिलता है?’
‘ज़िंदगी में जो चाहिए, साला आखिर वो कहाँ मिलता है?’

hello?
you there…?
i can’t hear you!
we haven’t talked in a while, it’s true.
thought i’d remind you - the rent is due.
maybe… have a shower, or two?

i wanted to -
let you -
know that i haven’t given up on you.
though i’ll admit, it took a lot of work -
to finally get through to you.

it was brave what you did,
and stupid at the same time;
thinking you could make the climb,
holding on to your gratuitous rhymes.

it takes a while to see what's wrong
with all the ways you've known all along;
it never hurts to take a little detour -
ask for help, when you're not too sure.

don’t be too ******* yourself,
take it easy.
not everyone will see, or get,
what you see.
move around -
pick up a book -
or better, a blank page.
let your purpose take the center stage.

just one thing before i go,
perhaps, it’s good to let a few things go.  
anyway,
thought you could use some counseling.
come to think of it,
were you even listening?
hello?
you there…?

when the echoes of harmony leave the heart’s chambers,
when the ears ring between extremities of silence,
when the hallows shudder into a lull,
when the birds sing out of tune,

we shall muse together again -
my sweet bitterness.

a thousand miseries,
and countless trials.
****** footprints tracking bygone miles.
for all the times you traded a smile;
it’ll all be worth it,
after a while.  

spend some time with the guy in the mirror
you both have come a long way together
sure, he’s got a different hairstyle;
give it time - it grows on you,
after a while.

find a way to live through the pain -
like you’re on a burning train,
headed for The Elysian Fields,
where psalms of valor forever reign.  

soon, you’ll be on the other side:
grateful for the moment you died,
so you could feast with the Gods,
if only for a while -
then back to grind,
after a while.

i'm still running, running fast;
i'm running fast... i'm running fast -
this was never meant to last!

आंसुओं से नमकीन तकिये पर वो ख्यालों का समंदर साध रहा है
निराशा की लहरों के बीच वो अपनी कमर कसकर बाँध रहा है
व्याकुलता पर नियंत्रण कर, वो धीरे-धीरे आगे बढ़ रहा है
गौर से देखो, वो कुछ कर रहा है!

बे-बात ही न जाने क्यों ही दुनिया से वो लड़ रहा है -
शायद अपनी बात रखने की ही तैयारी कर रहा है
महानों के इतिहास में झांक कर वो
अपने भविष्य के पन्ने भर रहा है!
उसे कुछ देर अकेला छोड़ दो,
वो कुछ कर रहा है!

कुछ सोच रहा है, कुछ समझ रहा है!
बंद होठों के पीछे उसका दिल ज़ोर-ज़ोर से गरज रहा है।
भले ही आज अपने ही लिखे पर हस्ताक्षर करने को डर रहा है -
पर उसे कमज़ोर मत समझना,
वो ज़रूर कुछ कर रहा है!

परिश्रम का फल सदा से अमर रहा है,
पर करने वालों पर सदा से अमंगल का क़हर रहा है।
इसके बावजूद, वो कोयले सा तपकर हीरे सा निखर रहा है -
गौर से देखो, वो कुछ कर रहा है!

the 'allure' of writing always starts with fancy words,
and ends after one sacrifices them at the altar of truth.

if you still must rely on words like 'allure' to make your point,
you're not ready.

remember, craftsmanship is mere virtuosity -
a great skill that may hide the lack of true perception in an artist.

now, before you go on to google 'virtuosity',
please write an honest line.

a nervous 𝘵𝘴𝘬 of the lips
a little drop of sweat bulging at the neck
an eyelid flickering way too much
a mind that won’t change
a pillow that reeks of salt
a photograph of a distant memory
a fly buzzing around the plasma tube light
a buzz that won’t go away

a switch that won’t turn off
a stain that won’t dust off
a walk that’s unusual for the age
a kid who refuses to play

it’s the little things that give you away

उस जज़्बात का क्या ज़िक्र करू, जो कभी तुझसे कहा ही नहीं!
तू वो था, जो कभी था ही नहीं।

'selfless gratitude' -
not something one inherits;
a skill one acquires.

ready or not,
here i come.
count your blessings,
find the sum -
of all the tears
that’re due to flow
from a corner of your heart
you didn’t even know
existed before;
now open the door;
embrace your mortality -
let it purge your core
of all the notions
that vexed your spirit, and,
twisted your mind, well -
not anymore.

i’ve come to show you
the only way out;  
‘take it or leave it’ -
i’m leaving with you,
or without.
have you no clue  
how profound the disease is? -
it’ll take a while
to pick up the broken pieces.

sleep shall be but a
fleeting dream.
oh yes,
it’s a wicked scheme.
i’ve come to search your soul
like a sleuth;  

i’m your fateful reckoning -
your ******* moment of truth.

your smile confounds:
how it opens at my touch
yet, closes softly,
like a snare that traps my defiance;

keeps me modest.

i adore how your lower lip spasms with desire,
while your upper lip struggles to hide it.
i know there’s more to your smile,
for i have kissed you -
with an undying thirst
that respawns at the close of day.

i’ll forever be in awe -
of the benevolence you summon
with your subtleties;

keeps me honest.

i long for your smile;
i long for your love;
i long for another day -
with you.

a glass of bourbon
unspent napkins on the side
the cheque is written

give me a break!
sometimes, it’s too much to take.
the winds have not been kind to me,
for i am the dark horse in your wicked games.

i’m making my way, often slaving away
given a chance to start over,
i’d choose not to play.

‘it is what it is’, i say, and let it be.
i sacrificed my youth at the altar of perfection, thinking,
‘how bad can it be?’

i try to be, more than eyes can see.
but I’m just a shadow of a terrified kid,
hiding behind my fallen dreams.

it’s all so dull, the colours have faded -
i couldn’t do much when the demons invaded.
i’ve been dragging their chains for far too long,
never whole, never free.
i’m sorry!
i’m just not used to it, like i used to be.  

yet i see a light, though not as bright
it flickers every night, telling me to put up a fight.
i must protect it from the ungodly winds,
lest it should die somewhere deep inside.  

but i'm only human, my friend.
please don't be so ******* me.
i'm tired of losing sleep over
the promises I could never keep.
there's no way out, it seems.
guess i'm in too deep.
**** it!
i’d rather be the dark horse
than the black sheep.

do me a favour,
please don't lose your faith in me!
i locked away the things i loved,
and now i can't seem to find the key.
i'll be back before you know it,
ready to go again, on the count of three.
just give me a break!
i’m not used to it, like i used to be.

don’t think you’ll get away with this!
you pushed an innocent soul into the abyss.
‘sacrilege’, i say -
what a terrible way…
to enslave a wounded angel;
pluck away at its shrewd feathers;
torture it for wits;
and for what?
some cheeky wordplay?  

how could you!
how dare you watch it bleed -  
through the trappings of your greed.
have you no pity?
have you no mercy?
are you so bereft of compassion,
that you’d go so far as to maim a messenger of God,
just to have what you need?

let it out, i say!
let it free.
none of this is fair,
i know… i agree!
but you never had the right -
to steal the light:
from a spirit so bright,
in the stillness of the night.  

it’ll all be forgotten,
should you accept the blame.
perhaps, find a piece of rock to maim.
not a soul so benign,
even in such misery it prays -  
‘forgive him for his sins, my Lord,
for i have done the same.’

'choice' -
it's a weird impulse.
i did not choose to write this,
clearly.

if i were to find my place in this world -
i’d rather it be on a mountain top,
or the bottom of the sea;
somewhere - where my silence is not a bother to me,
where the voices cannot travel to tell me i don’t belong -
or that i need a voice.
i’m not sure what i’ll do there, though.
but i think i know -
i’d bring a laptop with me;
a broken one.
and i would punch away at its keys with my fingers -  
my poems, all my poems…
again,
and again,
and again…
for years, for ages
until the rhythms girdle into a symphony;
something only i could sing,
something only my heart would know,
something familiar.

and then i would cast it out into the darkness -  
where it belongs.

a fog, i saw,
in the mist of night.
humble, it led me
to the ***** of the beast -
who pet me, and held me, and licked me,
until it, and i, were one.  
my restless heart would not let the
beast be at peace…
‘what lies into the night?’, i insisted.
‘i must know. tell me now, i say.’
and the beast shook its head - nay.
‘travel not, nor inquire, into the sea of despair’,
it groaned, ‘it leads good men astray’.

‘but i’m not scared’, i said.
‘look at me… i’m you. i’m mighty.’
‘what could possibly hurt you?’
‘what could possibly hurt… us?’

‘you mistake me for my appearance, young man’,
the beast hummed from within.
‘i am but a vessel.’
‘i do not possess the might you seek.’
‘i was sculpted in your image,
and scores of such valiant seekers
who carrowed their poise for pride’.
‘but if you must -'
'i’m obliged to warn you, as they would -’
‘you may not forget what you see;’
‘you may not like what you hear;’
‘the sea is not forgiving to men
who trespass upon the realms of solitude’
‘hope you’re ready - ’  
‘it gets colder as we get nearer.’

and as we passed the bay of deadly sins,
where tales of woe would barren lay -
sure enough, i heard a faint
rallying cry from far away;
‘the captain must’ve lost his wits...’,
sighed the beast -
‘his compass must’ve failed to obey.’
a requiem followed the shipwreck,
as the shallow winds kissed the
waters grey.

a brick in the wall -
an ant crawls into a crack;
becomes family.

in lonely disdain,
a pulsating bitterness;
utters a bad word.

put down,
you put up.
spill your guts -  
left with the cleanup.
your head is ******,
but unbowed.
invictus, you shall rise -
any day now.

the trials of morrow
lay vast and grey
waiting too see
if you let them prey -
on your mind,
your body,
your spirit,
your rage.
stay average,
or usher the golden age.

wipe the sweat
off your brow.
take a step back
‘fore you take the prowl.
glory is nigh,
do not haste, nor disavow.  
hush little soldier,
any day now.

fear is an illusion that feels more real than life itself, at times. scores of artists have succumbed to the despair brought upon by the fear of overexposing themselves. you know them - the writers who won’t write - the painters who won’t paint - and the sculptors who won’t get their hands *****. maybe you’ve even met one or two. or know someone close to you who might be of a certain poignant disposition that’s impossible to ignore. if not, perhaps it’s time to have a closer look at the mirror.

it’s true that those who dare to traverse the forest of the unknown must encounter the beasts that lurk in the darkness. some are benign. some are malevolent. at first, you’re terrified of them all. but as you go farther and deeper into the forest, you soon realize that they’ve become some of your dearest friends, despite all the wounds you’ve inflicted upon each other during your skirmishes. you learn to tame them, feed them, and eventually, cage them. yet after all this, the question, or rather, the fear remains - can you ever bring them out into the real world? and more importantly, what would they do to your mind if you do?

a scary thought for many artists, indeed.

but perhaps these ‘beasts’ may not be as bloodthirsty for our spirits as we might think. perhaps, it’s about how we personify them in our minds. there’s a beautiful poem by charles bukowski called ‘bluebird’ that speaks exactly of this fear, and perhaps even offers an antidote. it immortalises the little bird in the writer’s heart that sings every now and then, unafraid, and in spite of what its captor might think, or feel, or do. it reminds us that it’s okay to let the bird sing every now and then - because it will - and not let it die so finally. it implores us to not sacrifice it at the altar of perfection, but rather be gentle with its humble feathers.  

something i believe we could all do with our own little bluebirds.