Like the pages of a book
are you and I.
Intimately close
when the book is closed.
A glossy cover is what
the world judges it by.
But when the book is opened
and on our paperbacks we lie,
glued by our edges,
wanting to be read,
we look all around,
just never eye to eye.

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Of Job And Life

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What To Write About?

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‘You’re a good writer.
What happens to you while speaking?’

‘I can think on my feet alright.
But I need to sit on my ass
to express those thoughts.’

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with whom we cheat on Today,
leaving the imperfect reality
for a perfect fantasy.

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‘Weren’t you writing a book? What happened?’

‘It got shelved.’

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इस बाढ़ जैसी दुनिया में
तुम इतना क्यों बह जाते हो
सब कुछ पाने की चाहत में
खुद खुद को खुद से चुराते हो

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‘home’ and ‘try’.
You leave the former to do the latter.
You do the latter the rest of your days,
to return to the former.

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All The World’s A Lab

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वो अफ़साना जिसे
एक खूबसूरत मोड़ तक भी
लाना न हो मुमकिन
उसे जैसे-तैसे
जान बचाकर
छोड़ना अच्छा

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