I wandered through the streets of my past,
Each building telling a story of my childhood.
The shop there, with maximum customers,
I remember going there,
Standing for hours, not able to out voice others,
Just to buy a petty thing!

Beyond it was a shop,
To say it a 'shop' would be too much in its praise.
Just a raised cemented platform.
A man there, sold cold drinks, different flavors.
Don't remember if it still exists.

But there is a clear picture of the man who sat on road,
Beneath the shop.
He sold ice, and I was his regular customer,
Until we bought a fridge.
Oh! How much I used to admire looking at the ice block unloading from the mini truck.

Moving further, there is a shop,
With usual hustle bustle.
I could see the owner as young as I saw him eleven years before.
There is my father, sitting at the corner eating the gujiya, while talking to him.
My father looks at me and smiles.
I move in the shop,
He hands me a ten rupee note.

It was getting dark and I had to leave,
I walked towards my old house,
Thinking that I would go back with my brothers and sisters.
No fascination was left for the house that treasured so many memories.

My brothers and sisters were leaving for home.
I stopped them, asking to take me along.
They refused, saying, 'There is no place for another.'
I saw them receding into the dark.

I decided to walk back home.
The road was peculiarly solitary.
The weather was cold and it had started to snow.
I trudged on, but cold had numbed my senses.
Feeling dizzy, I lost my balance.
But someone caught me.
Wrapping me in his warm arms.
He held immense radiance,
Like the omnipresent.

As I passed away thinking that there wasn't any tomorrow,
I heard him say,'I will always be there for you.'

चर्चे हों कुरबानी के दुश्मन ललकारे घर में घुसकर
तो प्रेम दिवस की बातें करना कहानी सा लगता है

जब तिरंगे में लिपटकर वापिस आते वीर चवालिस
तब चॉकलेट और तोहफ़े लेना मनमानी सा लगता है

जब शहीदों की चिंताओं पे सौ सौ फूल बरसते हैं
तब ग़ुलाब की आस लगाना बेमानी सा लगता है

बारूदों की आग लगी जब झुलसे देश धमाकों से
मोमबत्तियों में दावत खाना क्या रूमानी सा लगता है

जब माँओं की गोद उजड़ती लावारिस हों नन्हे मुन्ने
मेहबूब की बाहों में छुप जाना नाफ़रमानी सा लगता है

जब हो जाये सीमाओं पे कितने निर्दोषों की कुर्बानी
तब बेमतलब के जलसों में भी वीरानी सा लगता है

चीत्कार हो वीरों का जब करना हो कुछ काम तूफ़ानी
तब चैन से सोना भी वतन से बेईमानी सा लगता है

समक्ष युद्ध की शक्ति नहीं
ये कायरता का वार है
शांत सहृदय वीरों को ये
दुश्मन की ललकार है
समय नहीं अब निंदा का
अब बातों का ना सार है
भूत भगाना अब लातों से
देश की यह हुंकार है

हमला करते मासूमों पर
नर जात नहीं ये सियार है
रक्त बूंद के बदले को
अब हरेक सिंह तैयार है
रक्तबीज के संहार को
माता अब तैयार है
वीरों को अब कोई न रोके
जन जन की ये पुकार है

चैन से कोई सोये अब न
वीरों की चीत्कार है
अंगारों में हाथ है डाला
अब मचेगा हाहाकार है
सीमा पर अब होगी होली
पास में ये त्यौहार है
तब जाकर के मने दीवाली
अब तो आर या पार है

Love holds so much exuberance,
Driving crazy the beholders.
Life changes thereafter,
And no day spend without reminiscing about their love.

'Oh! Those intoxicating black eyes,
The brightest smile.'
Makes the day.
Ears long to listen the cuckoo voice.

When finally meet,
Long hours of blissful silence,
Basking in warmth of love,
Passionately exchanging love.

But years have passed,
The passion dies.
They don't speak anymore.
The same love makes them cry,
Considering separation is destiny.

Few years after,
The same spark returns in life,
In form of another.
And they call it 'again'
True love.

But, is it really love?
There is just one heart,
And one soul,
Then how can something more than one reside in it?

It's been an year,
Since I had a crush on you.
Each day my likeness for you
Has strengthened more,
Though I don't know you.
Never have spoken to you.
Just have looked at you.
I cannot change myself,
Wear what I don't like,
Act differently,
to draw your attention,
'cause that's not me.
I could have told you,
But I fear if you reciprocate it
In a way never expected,
mock at me, or dislike me.
I have liked you,
And want you to like me too.
I can never speak of it,
Nor can express it,
Just can wish for you and me.

from rough, tattered to freshly scented pages,
I've read words, applauded for ages.
No, they haven't touched souls,
for then graveyards would have been shrines,
of these wise, elite men,
who lived the life at deep.

Innumerable scribblings,
gaining shiny molds of clay that make good decors.
all life's struggle praised for literary skills.

Wonder is a poet's life.
The greatest poem of all times, his own life,
'cause he imagined his music meltings stone so hard,
but the truth lies far beyond.

We are devils, made of dust so rare
that rains so fragile
cannot wash it offshore.