Ghhhhgh

-

Problem is the second name of life.
Struggle is the first.

-

I miss you...
I don't know... Why my heart is acting like it's beating without blood,
And eyes have got no sight
And my soul is lifeless...
I don't know why,
Why I am still acting like the new one in love?
Why I am still in love?
Why...
Why you are still the one breaking hearts?
Why I am still the one broken?

-

You are the chills of my mornings,
Shiverings of night.
The smile of the dusk,
The laughter of dawn.
A sweet dream night,
And a happy good morning.
A tale told in dark
A story read in light.

-

"Rain, rain, go to her
And tell her what I feel,
The clouds dark, move back a bit
And let my love reveal.

Rain, rain, return back then
And tell me what you hear,
Come and tell me how she is
This distance being tough to bear!"

And off the rain
It took so long
For everything was gone so wrong,
And when the rain
Returned after setting it right
Found he had died,
Only last night.

-

Next time you bite a piece of my heart
Remember to hide away yours

(Read in caption)

-

मित्र,

आशा है सकुशल होगे। आशा है सुरक्षित होगे। आशा है ... तुम होगे। और होना क्रियाओं में सर्वोत्तम है। इसके बिना भाषा-व्याकरण लिखी-पढ़ी सारी बात, सब गौण हो जाते हैं। अब मुर्दों को राख के राख कहलाने से क्या लेना देना? उसको चाहे अमृत बुला लो। न होने वाले को तो नहीं बुला सकोगे। और यही बात है कि मित्र, आज मैं तुम्हें यह ख़त लिख रहा हूँ। मुझे लिखना नहीं आता। शब्द खेल करने नहीं आते। सो तुम्हें मेरी बातें हो सकता है कच्ची लगें। उसके लिए माफ़ कर देना। मैं चाहता तो भाषा सीखकर तुम्हें एक काव्यात्मक, साहित्यिक पत्र से सम्बोधित कर सकता था, परन्तु ... मुझे तुम्हारे न होने का डर था। सो मैं बिन सीखे ही लिखने बैठ गया।

मित्र। मुझे नहीं पता तुम क्या कर रहे हो, या कहाँ हो, या कौन हो? मुझे नहीं पता कि तुमने पूरी बात पढ़ी भी या नहीं, या बस इग्नोर मार कर चल दिए। सही भी है। ना तो मेरा कोई अदबी नाम है, और ना ही मैं कोई कन्या। बातों का गुम हो जाना लाज़मी है। पर मित्र, आशा करता हूँ, तुम इसका ज़वाब दोगे। नीचे कमेंट में हाँ लिखोगे तो शायद मैं एक ख़त तुम्हारे नाम लिख पाऊँ। बे-नाम से ख़ुश हो तो यही सही।

पर जो भी बात हो। ख़ुश रहो। आजकल दुनिया में दुखी होने को कई ख़बरें हैं। पर तुम ख़ुश रहो। बहने से पहले समन्दर होना सीखो, जो बहकर भी हिलता नहीं है। कई बार मुझे पता है, तुम बहक जाते हो। पर इतना बहकना ... (बाक़ी नीचे) ...

-

Smoke. Smoke. Smoke.
Rising from the chimneys
Of the houses in foreign lands,
Too far away, to exist,
Only in my dreams
With red, blue, yellow, and green rooftops.
Rising from the cigarette
Of the buffoon leaning against
The broken shop. Smoke.
Pulsing out through the vehicles
Puff. Puff. Puff. And getting inside
The lungs and veins
Of wary unwary alike.
Smoke. Like a snake settled down
A blanket of mist, above
The sleeping town.
Smoke. Like a cat prancing through
The night sky. Like a dog
Barking. Whirring. In the noon.
Smoke. Oozing from lungs
Like sweet juice. Like fire
Spreading, and then leaving an after smell
An after taste.
Smoke. All that remains.
After we die.
After we live.
Smoke. Smoke. Smo ...

-

Mind is a strange place. You lose control over it, and it breaks you into pieces you can't even imagine. I saw someone drinking ‘solution’ on the bridge. He was confused. Yet he was finding himself belonging to everything. In those grossed out looks, in those ewws, and fuck offs he found his reflection smiling a drugged smile back at him. His clothes were tattered, perhaps he didn't had enough to score a room for his own, but he had enough to stone himself until the open sky became his room and his hunger became just another unjustified need.
Perhaps he was hungry, perhaps not, I can't tell, for the auto rickshaw went on. Crossing him. Like another landmark, the driver pausing and joking about him.
Somewhere, not that far, his brother died. Drinking the same thing. Somewhere, at quite a distance, his sister injected herself with hallucinogens; somewhere he readied himself to carry his corpse until ashes.
But everywhere in the middle I saw mind smiling. Everything men have conquered or not, it's all it.
Maybe Men are nothing but tools of parasitic minds, slowly killing them from within.

-

Does that moment hit you with poetic expressions
When that stranger was brutally beaten
Completely alien to your thoughts as you were alike
Does that moment hit you with piercing iron rods in your chest
A burning bubble cuddling the inside of your stomach
The blood of the stranger colouring the scrapes of the brittle knees
And bile frothing forth for an expulsion
Is this the price of expression, this banishment

Each word, where logic counts, is blamed
Chains are brought for people who question
Whips are cracked on the backs of the people who talk and quote
Hands are twisted around wooded planks
And blunt swords are pulled up to the groin and rapidly blasted
This is what they said when they talked of freedom
This is the real independence:
Of action, not of speech,

For you are independent to safeguard your faith
By attacking, looting, burning people and property
But others have got no chances clinging to theirs
There is no life if no conformity
And no leaders will be allowed except you

The divisions is not based on the colour of your face
Or the flag you bear
Or your tongue
But slowly your heart has got stained too
A shade of red, saffron, blue,
A darker shade of white too.

-