मां का आंचल आज भी ढूंढते हैं हम,,
मां की गोद को बहुत तरसते हैं हम,,
काश मां के साए से ही लिपट जाते,,
अपनी मां के पैरों की आहट ही सुन पाते,,
ऐ ज़िंदगी तू किसी पे तरस नहीं खाती,,
काश मैं अपनी मां को जाने से रोक पाती।।

The snow crunched
Underneath my sandals
As I walked along the seashore.
It was there a grove of birch trees stood
Ever since childhood, I often swore
Yet I saw them stand tall no more
White as ever
And as banded as any snake
Yet their branches had broken and withered
In the time I had gone.
Ice had split the trunks in half and no matter how I tried to glue them back together
It was far too splintered and cracked
Winter had taken it's toll
On this Birchwood heart of mine.

I don't want to love you anymore
I don't want to miss you anymore
I don't want to think
Or cry
Or beg
Or dream
For you anymore
I don't want
Anything with you anymore
Yet here I am
Doing all of that
Wanting all of that
And more

What was once lost
cannot be explained in long poems.
No amount of stanzas
can hold the silence it left behind.

It can only be heard
in the breeze that presses gently against you
on an evening walk—
that soft resistance,
echoing a voice
that used to be
your favorite sound.

Or
you’ll see it
in places you once held sacred.
A room.
A bench.
The shadow of laughter against a wall.

It will reach for your hand
like nothing ever went wrong.
And her arms—
they’ll still wrap around you
in memory
as if they planned to stay forever.