Quiet wrapped around truth like silk,
distance spoke what lips never could.
Silence masqueraded as grace,
until daylight lit the bruises it left behind.

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किसी ढलती शाम के फ़िराक से,
किसी गुनगुनी सर्द दिन के सूरज से,
किसी मुरझाती काली से,
किसी खामोश रात के सन्नाटे से,
किसी लम्बे रास्ते के मील के पत्थर से,
पूछेंगे हम कैसे हो तुम ......

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Once more I would,
have to find reasons enough in my heart,
have to find strength within to walk away, remember it all yet forget it,
smile yet brood silently,
be strong yet crave to be held.

Once more, I would have to pretend and start it all over to be broken again ...

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Stripping confidence in the mirror of soul one sees..
flaws as dark as ghetto,
insecurities as deep as a black hole,
and a void as deafening as infinity.


Cloaking it back with acceptance one feels ...
kindness pure like a child's glee,
authenticity like the first love,
and HOPE like a mother's warmth.

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हां माना की...
तुम नहीं हो, पर चादर की सलवटों में है एहसास तुम्हारा।
तुम नहीं हो, पर सूखी कलियों में है तुम्हारी जुल्फों की खुश्बू।
तुम नहीं हो, पर तुम्हारे आँचल की मीठी छाँव है।
तुम नहीं हो, पर तुम ही तो हो।

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For every ruined potential love story....

"Not a hopeless romantic but a passionate optimist", skipped naive heart.

"Not a cynic, but a disappointed idealist", countered rational brain.

-

Line,
decency between a yes or no,
maturity between triggering or comforting someone,
clarity between subservience and domination,
willingness between walking a mile or walking away.
Line, invisible yet existent.
Line, imaginary yet resolute.
Line, defining moments.

-

Hatred is not a solution to problem, forgiveness is.
Judgement cannot mend bridges, empathy can.
Holding on to grudges never sets you free, acceptance does.

Time favours some but time returns for none....

-

If only,
she could rewrite her scribbled history,
not shy away rather stare back those insecurities,
not curl up rather heal those scars,
not guard up, rather be vulnerable.
Live and dance again,
wished a withered autumn leaf

-

Her beauty prods me to write verses but her simplicity ravages my scripted world.

Being in love with beauty is futile when one can seek solace in her authenticity ....

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