Freedom for me is,
Speaking my mind without being judged.
Laugh out loud,
Without getting nudged.
Why you always asks me to compromise,
When you know that you are the one who cannot adjust.
You ask me to keep my mouth shut,
then who gave you the right to burst.
If you cannot understand me,
Trust me I don't need your words.
For me you, your feelings, your thinking,
Everything related to you is absurd.

The first time we met, you gave me a book.
A book full of dreams and hopes, that I didn't took.
I was so lost in my pain and sorrow, that I didn't even gave it a look.
At that time, I had tolerated so much that I thought enough is enough and now is the extent of brook.
And wanted to take the revenge so badly, that I didn't realised that I have become a crook.

क्या कहें क्या दिल को चाहिए,
क्या इसको मिलता हैं।
कहाँ सुबह होती हैं,
कहाँ दिन ढलता हैं।
बिना उसकी मर्जी के,
क्या एक भी पत्ता हिलता हैं।
किस्मत पर कहाँ जनाब,
किसका ज़ोर चलता हैं।

ऐ जिन्दगी मुझे इतना ना आजमा,
की मैं तुझसे हार जाउँ।
मैं मिट जाउँ तेरी असहमत में,
और तुझसे दूर हो जाउँ।

i wanna dive head first
into a map of the night skies
trapped inside our four-walled room;
maybe this is where black holes go to die
and they can all stare back at me —
swallowing a chaos of sobs
and a chaos of all your favorite songs;
regardless, i’ll dive into the night skies,
or what it used to be
and name these stars – the ones that remain anyway,
after you.
after me.
after us;
at least they take a long time to die –
long enough for flowers to droop and fall apart
on weeds and lonely epitaphs.

and dear, i hope heaven is holding you closer than i could ever had;
tell me, did you, like sylvia
write suicide notes and call them poetry?

and god do i hope that heaven is holding you so close,
you forget all of the world’s sadness
you once took for your own.

out here, the calendula falls and
my eyes mourn over petal-covered graves
poems cannot hope to beautify.

It's that cliché half-past midnight scene:
you're reading her my poems, under the light of your cigarette, not knowing they were all written for you —


god, the words you read her —
as you kiss her,
they were all written for you.

थोड़ी अलग सी हैं मेरी कहानी,
कुछ सुनाई हैं तुम्हें,
कुछ बाकी हैं सुनानी।
माना इसका कोई अन्त नहीं फिर भी मुकम्मल हैं मेरी कहानी,
जो जी रहीं हूँ वो मेरी हैं,
और जो भूला दी वो थीं अंजानी।
ना कोई मकसद हैं इसका ना कोई सीख हैं मेरी कहानी,
बस इतना जानती हूँ के कभी बेपरवाह,
तों कभी हैं ये रूहानी।

मुझे यूँ ना आजमा ऐ जिन्दगी,
मैं तेरी गुलाम नहीं।
तू मुझसे नाराज हो जाएँ,
इतनी भी मैं आम नहीं।
याद रख जो मैंने मौत को चूना लिया,
तों मेरे सिवा लेने वाला कोई तेरा नाम नहीं।
क्योंकि तू मुझसे हैं,
मेरे बिना तेरी कोई पहचान नहीं।