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काश उस दिन उसका भी कोई भाई होता,
आज वो सितारा हमारे बीच ज़िंदा होता।
काश कोई उसे जाकर बचा लेता,
कम से कम उसका तो ख़ून न बहता।

नरभक्षी भेड़ियों ने ली थी उसकी जान,
छोड़ा था उसे वहीं तड़पता, लहूलुहान।
चिल्लाती रही वो उसी जगह पर,
न जाने कितने ही जुल्म हुए थे उस पर।

नारी को निर्वस्त्र करने का परिणाम –
इस भूमि ने महाभारत देखा था।
धिक्कार है ऐसे समाज पर –
उसी भूमि ने आज यह अपराध देखा था।

जल रही हैं मोमबत्तियां शोक व्यक्त करने,
आंदोलन कर रहे हैं लोग और दे रहे हैं धरने।
क्या इस बार होगा उन दरिंदों पर कठिन शासन,
या फिर एक बार उभरेगा एक नया दुःशासन?
यह कविता १९ अगस्त २०२४ को लिखी गई है
शब्द वापरून वाक्य बनवली जातात,
वाक्य वापरून मनातील भाव मांडले जातात.
एकेकाळी मी ज्यांच्याशी तासंतास बोलायचो,
ते आजकाल फक्त कामासाठी phone करतात.

Priority नाही आहे मी कोणाची,
फक्त एक option म्हणून उरलोय आता.
आयुष्याच्या झाडाची टवटवीत फुलं
कोमेजलेली दिसतात येताजाता.

आजकाल काही share केलं जात नाही,
WhatsApp ग्रुप्सला कधी add केलं जात नाही.
लोक भरपूर आहेत आजूबाजूला –
मित्र तर नाहीत, पण आठवणी उरल्यात काही.

मला मान्य आहे की मी आहे एक failure,
नाही जमल्या मला काही गोष्टी करायला.
आयुष्याच्या या सांडलेल्या कचऱ्याला
मला एकट्यालाच लागेल भरायला.
ही कविता १३ नोव्हेंबर २०२२ रोजी लिहिलेली आहे
काश वक़्त को थामना संभव होता,
मैं हमेशा के लिए वक़्त रोक देता।
ज़िंदगी के उस पल को, मैं
थोड़ी और देर जी लेता।

काश अपने दुख बाँटने को
कोई अपना साथ होता,
ज़िंदगी का यह सफ़र
थोड़ा आसान बन जाता।

हमेशा अपने सामने की आवाज़ सुनो,
सामने हर कोई अच्छा बोलता है।
पीछे की आवाज़ को सिर्फ़ अकेले में सुनना –
दर्द का अहसास एक झटके में मिलता है।

कभी अपने कर्म को मत रोकना,
लोगों का काम तुम्हें बुरा-भला ही कहना है।
अपने खराब नसीब के लिए तो
हर कोई भगवान को भी कोसता है।
यह कविता २२ जनवरी २०२२ को लिखी गई है
जगात एकटेच येता,
जगातून एकटेच जाता,
मग आयुष्यात तुम्ही कोणावर
कशाला अवलंबून राहता?

इथं कोणीच नसतं कोणाचं,
"तो आहे माझा..." असं फक्त म्हणायचं,
मदतीला मात्र कोणीही येत नाही,
सगळे बघतात फक्त आपल्याच फायद्याचं.

जग आहे अतिशय वाईट,
सगळेच म्हणतात "नो मोअर फाईट",
मग समोर येतात वाईट बातम्या –
"... वॉस किल्ड लास्ट नाईट."

बायकांना दिला जातो त्रास,
लोकांना मारणं समजलं जातं खास,
कधी वाटतं संपून जावं सगळं,
थांबून जावा एकसाथ सगळ्यांचा श्वास.
ही कविता १८ मार्च २०२० रोजी लिहिलेली आहे
Lisa 20h
I have these…childhood memories.
I remember;

Tears.
Fear.
Raised voices.
A broken windshield.
A singed curtain.
Broken hearts.
Broken vows.
And so, so many broken promises.

A room that was mine and also not mine.
A door that never felt like it closed.
Walls that learned to listen.
Drawers that held their breath.
I learned silence like a second language,
and tried to follow your lead.
Your voice became my voice.
I smiled when I wanted to frown.
I made myself smaller
in places that should have been safe.

                      “She’s my favourite.”

So I escaped
to where you couldn’t reach me—
in the corners of my mind,
to stories that never knew your name…or your kind.
Places you could never follow.
Worlds that felt like mine.

                    I remember your hands—
                    not where I want them.

I remember the sharpness of footsteps in the hall.
The sound of keys—
how even that could make my stomach drop.

      "Is this going to be a good night,
                        or a bad one?"

And I remember his voice,
too close again.
I hoped, stupidly, he might’ve changed.

But he hasn’t.
He never will.
And when he spoke, I trembled.
Not because I didn’t know—
but because I did.

Because I’d heard it all before.
Those saccharine words,
dripping—
sickly sweet…empty.
"I'm sorry,"
falling out of your mouth
like it cost you nothing.

And I used to hope you meant it.
That maybe this time
you’d keep your word.

But you didn’t.
You never did.
Another promise,
broken.

I trace the shape of the memories
only when I choose to.
Some still ache when I touch them.
Some don’t belong to me alone.

But I am still here.
And this room—this one—
is mine.

You haunted everything.
But not this.
Not now.

This part of me—
is yours no longer.
Not in this room.
Not in these walls.
Not in me.
This one’s hard to summarize.

It’s a poem about remembering—on my own terms. About carrying what happened, but refusing to carry the blame.

I wrote this to reclaim something. A room. A voice. Myself.

If you’ve lived something like this… I see you. And I’m still here, too.
I was confused when you said
I always made up problems
I couldn’t understand you didn’t see
the only thing I was struggling with
was you leaving me in uncertainty
I needed truth
and all I got was blame for asking.

L.C.
M Groen 1d
Worth comes from that which is done with passion, intent and or emotion.

Something that tries to express the most abstract thing about humans.

Something that is hard to explain in words.
The purest form of truth is that which you believe in with heart, body and soul.
It may not be correct, but nothing may fault you for a wrong if it is the only thing you know.
A drunk is forgiven for wrongs while drunk, and so should you be forgiven.
dee 3d
Let my love be a lighthouse not a leash.
In silence I find clarity.
In an ocean that rations tenderness I chose to love fully;
in standing because I shall not drown.
I honor the confusion surrounding cowardice.
in liberation because finding the correct lenses to help you see clearly is senseless.
I am silenced
anchored.
restricted.
You are fear itself,
eating yourself whole
Because in your silence ego is more powerful than rejection.
Refusal that has no room in our lifetime.
You fear the narratives made by your declaratives.
In recalibration
In indecision
In soft invocation that anchors do not move unless the ocean calls them too.
In intuition, I observe
I shake the water down to the sea floor
where everything hidden is now bare.
In declaration,
I know everything you feel
In realization you may come to find;
that alignment takes time
Let my love be a lighthouse
In presence and you’ll learn to come correct
In reflection.
In strength.
In truth.
In silence.
by the time it clicks I’ll be gone :)
Nosy 3d
Ripped jeans,
Stripped means,
Why is it you want me
But only in the evening

I dress up I play nice
I smile wide, my lips say "sure"
But you bend my spine a little more
Is this living, or is it war?
And what am I even fighting for?

Am I just the price tag for love?
A discount in the corner of the store,
The half-off story of love you never pay the price for?

But now no more,
No more half-love store
No more spark to take-
When the lights are low

Enough of your mouth-
Whispering your empty heart
I'm no longer your midnight show
The use of my skin you always tore,
I don't want the 'maybes' anymore.

I'm done being the puppet,
Put on the shelf, with a disguise
Not really a lover but not a stranger
I'll take what mine, I'll speak my truth
And from here on out
I am the only one dependent of my mood.
In honer of walking through a clothing store.
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