We always want the expectations
The dreams and wishes we have
We set our path and preparations
To achieve these promises in hand
We try to avoid reality
The unwanted truth
We build a wall for actuality
To achieve our desired youth
“Expectations are perfect”
But what does perfect mean
Is it just getting all your dreams come true
Or is it to get what you see on a screen
Maybe it is just to make it through
“Reality hurts”
But with pain comes strength and wisdom
If we are always sitting pleasant
Getting what we want in our kingdom
Then what’s the point of going to heaven

"Metaphors are Dangerous"
is something my mother said
To me recently while hovering breathless above
her calendar; waiting carefully between the spaces of functions, appointments, and birthdays. Blank.

I asked her why she had me.
What became of my first calendar,
my genesis, the foretelling of my arrival?

What was "god's plan" for that lifeless heap of events she threw away in an afternoon, after everything within it either happened or didnt? Was it whisked away to trash island, with the other spent husks that had the audacity of limited use?

Does it still exist?
Stained and useless, wretched paper
sprawled out in the sun. Has it been completely reformed? Sent out as several paper cups, a newspaper,  a birthday cap, a kite?

What would god think of "used" calendars? Would he? When he reached our day of being in the cosmos, did he look at us and say "you will be used or you will be nothing" and pin us to the wall? A useful but temporary tool?

Why do we begin something at all? Why must we blow the balloon up just to let it go? Is it still a "balloon" when it's lying limp in a stranger's field a mile away?

In my mother's silence I knew she had no answer for me, except that "metaphors are dangerous" as her hands full of paper-cuts flattened the page.

As a writer,I try to
Write write and only write.
Just to spill my thoughts on the board white.
I have no expectations for future be bright.
No tantrum no act of fight.
I just wanna potrait a world right.

He asked me to confess expectations
An open dare to my emotions
My heart clanged against ribcage
Shaking the sturdiness of my spine
And I cried, each tear
Their own confession
As my expectations trailed down my cheeks
And I couldn’t tell him the truth
Or deliver him my hope
In a careful created box of words
I could trace the exit wounds of each exe
And the pain lingered, small phantoms
I wasn’t ready to let him go
So when he asked for a confession
I didn’t give him my emotions
Because how could I expect him to stay
When everyone leaves?

my dear heart,
it's flying
flying aloft
it might reach nirvana .

in the deep sea of desperate
you fell and scattered
i'm in the verge of expectation.
hoping for you would come back one day

Naye Dashak ki shuruat thi
Ek hichak mere sath thi
Kuch acha hone wala hai
Ek sapna sach krwana hai
Nayi ye shuruat hai
Thame sab mera hath hai..


Par kuch or hi ghatne wala hai
Saya ek kala ana hai
Na khabar mujhe na duniya ko
Ab sb kuch thamne wala hai...


Tum rok lo Isko hone se
Tum rok lo khud ko khone se..


Parlay ka alam ban gya re
Tufan ghanna ye chaaya re...


Insaan kaide mein band hoga
Panchi khuli hawao mein
Anjana sa dar hoga
Bekhauf khuli in raahon mein...


Prakriti fir naya rang legi
Dukh apne sab har legi
Jo jakham die insano ne
Ab kalam nahi un hatho mein
Prakriti ka lekh nirala hai
Naya khel wo rachne wala hai..!!