The Cloth Line

How strange it is when I look back,
In loving memories of passing time,
The unwashed clothes in my laundry bag knows I am in love with your memory,
The last time they were soaked in your fragrance, drying on your cloth line.

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Puritan's of Sex:

Dated way back in the history of China and America where the government had infiltrated into the bedrooms of its people, sex lost its profound meaning.
Regulators of sex, imposing laws on human bodies started a war with civilization. Narcissistic revolution of women was the sole target because men had no control of their penis and lust. The dominance over a female's body resulted in prostitution which no government acknowledged. Abortion is a choice and not a crime. Contraceptives were for women first and men could still flaunt manliness.

A desire to sleep or a passion driven by love, a body is not a slave of constitutional vandalism. The pseudo superior men trying to hegemonize women through various atrocities as they derelish their failure in satisfying a women's desire. Legalizing prostitution would shame the men who hide their faces behind the closed doors. A women has her right to be satisfied on the bed and my inability to do so is not her fault.

Rise today, and speak! Let's empower and fulfil our desire on bed. Take control and unfold.

Dedicated to all the women who understands and desires sex.

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Every night lying beside you, feeling your nakedness in my soul,
My hands rolling through your bruised skin, caressing the ugly scars of past.
I tickle down to your waist, through your ravenous bosoms igniting our love.
Then you pull me close and roll your tongue on mine, every unsaid word that made home returns to paradise.
I feel the warmth radiating and the wetness longing in your souls.
Making love to you everynight, falling in your arms and cuddling you until daylight, takes me to a place called home.

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You sleep and I stay up, you dream and I work hard, you become perfect and I... just smile to my better half...

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"Does our distance really matter?" a faint voice asked.
"As long as your heart longs to cling on to the receiver, it doesn't," was his response.

A bond only the microphone understood.

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"Goodbye until we meet again", she said.
They met after 10 years, one in the frame the other in tears.

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Struggling to express hiding behind shadows,
And then a glance from the meadows.

Curtains! Candy floss! And fire!

Sometimes I keep staring straight,
Sometimes I fall for the bait.

(This is not a photograph, it's you!)

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क्यों मुझसे उम्मीद रखते हो
न मैं पीर खलीफा
न मैं पादरी मसीहा हूँ
नहीं धर्मरक्षक पुजारी
मैं इंसान हूँ
तुम्हारी तरह
अपने राक्षस का नाशी हूँ
न मोक्ष की कोई तलाश है मुझे
इसी समाज का दाशी हूँ
जिसने जो परोस दिया,
खा लिया,
क्योंकि भूखा हूँ
जिस्म रूह की उलझन में
साँसों का मोहताज़ हूँ
क़र्ज़ बड़े है चेतना के
गुमशुदगी में बेसुध हूँ
न प्यार की उम्मीद में ज़िंदा
न नफरत की आग में जलता हूँ
क्यों मुझसे उम्मीद रखते हो
न मैं विक्रम, न ही बेताल हूँ

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भूखो का देश

माँ तुम क्यों रोती हो
क्यों तुम भूखी सोती हो
हर इंसान यहाँ भूखा है
तुम्हारी ममता बस धोका है

सत्ता में जो ये बेटा है
बेटा नहीं माँ नेता है
तुम्हारी भूख बेचकर सोता है
हार बेटे को बहलाता है

जात धरम खिलाता है
लूट मार खिलवाता है
मीठी लोरी सुनाता है
फिर साबको भूखा सुलाता है

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Music is a privilege to the lyrics of sufferings and sorrow!

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