इंतेहा हो गई पर सहती रही
उम्मीदो की दरिया जैसी बहती रही

कभी अपनों के लिए
कभी अपनों के सपनो के लिए

चाहे आखो में हो अश्क का सागर
होठो में ओरो की मुस्कराहट लिए

पथरीली रहो पर चलती रही
शाम की तरह ढलती रही
उम्मीदो के दरिया जैसी बहती रही

अस्काम के तराशे हम खुद्गरजो के लिए
मतलबी दुनिया के मकबरों के लिए
हर दर्द सहे उसने हँसते हँसते
जो मुड़ कर न आये उन पलों के लिए

औरत है वो देवी जो बुझती रही
मुरझा गई पर जीती रही
जाने कैसे वो इम्तेहा सहती रही
जाने कैसे दरिया बन बहती रही

||पुत्रवती भवः||
वो मासूम अक्सर पूछा करती थी
क्या लड़कियाँ ईश्वर को भी नापसंद है
जो यही कहते है .....पुत्रवती भवः
और मैं हस कर उसे गले से लगा लेती

वक्त गुजरा ओर उड़ने को बेताब थी वो
अंधियारों में नजर आती मेहताब सी वो
कुछ कर गुजरने की चाहत उसकी आखो में बसती थी
की नजारे जुदा होते थे जब वो नन्ही मासूम हँसती थी

पर जिंदगी को उससे कुछ और ही मंजूर था
सोचती हूँ आज भी की उसका क्या कुसूर था
की जी भी कहा पाई थी वो तेरी दी हुई जिंदगी खुदा
इस तरह तो ना करता तू उसे हमसे जुदा

की रात के अंधेरो में इस तरह नोचि गई
दे दुहाई भगवान की हर जख्म पर रोती गई
दया ना आई जालिमो को ना रूह कपकपाई
तड़पी बेतहाशा कितना चीखी चिल्लाई
लड़ी कुछ दिन जिंदगी से , ओर एक दिन थक गई
अलविदा किया और खुदा के मुल्क में बस गई

जाते हुए मेरा हाथ थाम एक ही बात बोली थी
की आज समझ आया कि क्यों कहते है

पुत्रवती भवः....................

It's painful to read lines
That once meant so much
But now mean nothing at all

Hello
We haven't talked in quite some time
I know
I haven't been the best
Of sons, hello, I've been traveling in the desert of my mind
And I
Haven't found a drop
Of life
I haven't found a drop
Of you, I haven't found a drop
I haven't found a drop
Of water
Water
I try desperately to run through the sand
As I hold the water in the palm of my hand
'Cause it's all that I have and it's all that I need and
The waves of the water mean nothing to me
But I try my best and all that I can
To hold tightly onto what's left in my hand
But no matter how, how tightly I will strain
The sand will slow me down and the water will drain
I'm just being dramatic, in fact, I'm only at it again
As an addict with a pen, who's addicted to the wind
As it blows me back and forth, mindless, spineless, and pretend
Of course I'll be here again, see you tomorrow, but it's the end of today
End of my ways as a walking denial
My trial was filed as a crazy suicidal head case
But you specialize in dying, you hear me screaming "father"
And I'm lying here just crying, so wash me with your water
Water
Hello
I haven't talked in quite some time
I know
I haven't been the best
Of sons, hello, I've been traveling in the desert of my mind
And I
I haven't found a drop
Of life
I haven't found a drop
Of you
I haven't found a drop
I haven't found a drop
Of water

Songwriters: Joseph Tyler Harris
Addict with a Pen lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

it was 9 november
when we last met
and it was 9 october
when we promised to
stay together
forever
and it was 9 december
when i realized everything
is faded
all are chats were deleted
few archived
all our pictures were burnt
all our forever(s) were lie
all our memories were faded

we both burnt in love
we both died for each other
having rooms reserved
somewhere in between
i started fading
i started hating
and i decided to die
die to
everything that made me cry
to everything that made me hate
to everything that stops me from moving on

anjali

If you saw
yourself
in my lines
then
yes,
that poem
was about
the
fictional
you
in the eyes of a
Writer

Poetry, for me, is like ****.

I get to watch events unfolding in front of me on my computer.
I can imagine how something will play out.
My imagination can run wild while viewing it.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something to enjoy on my screen.
Something to give me a thrill.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something I like to dabble in alone.
Something I fill my phone and laptop with.
Something I consider intimate.

Poetry, for me, is like ****.
I like to imagine myself in a small part of both.

But in both situations,

I'm getting ******.

I'm drawing inspiration from the negative,
my attention biases towards certain phrases,
they leap out to me and I thought by now they'd be the ones to represent happiness and hope;

But still internal unrest is at the forefront,
And I still feel incongurance.

Because to relate to the positive I may as well take a syringe to a dry sponge,
I draw nothing but air,
but I guess at least im drawing now and that's progress.

But there's only so many times I can ventilate the same air without questioning,
why my head magnetises certain stimuli in a world so far from bare?

I can't explain, but to use optimism, hope, love and success as my muse feels unnatural, it's strained,
l am unworthy of it.

I let my mouth take the lead,
bypass my brain so I write how I feel, it flows without me.

And maybe its a Fruedian slip in the form of a sentence,
but im scared if I slip too far i'll drown and in my sponge I will suffocate.

So I speak without thinking let my brain take the stage and im back,
back circling the same topics again,
maybe in life I repress them and this is their escape I just dont know.

Because when I write about my excitement for the future or how I dont want to leave your arms or how you personify comfort I feel obnoxious,
 I feel niave
What is it about me that feels so uncomfortable,
so exposed,
so vulnerable,
to say i'm happy?