Arvin Stark   (ऋषभ)
9.0k Followers · 591 Following

I write Hanging Metaphors
Joined 22 February 2017


I write Hanging Metaphors
Joined 22 February 2017
1 JAN AT 2:07

In a loop of
Good or bad
I struggle, knowingly
Thinking the bad
Will turn to good
Or maybe the good
Will match my expectations
But the oil dipped tobacco
Does not provide
The expected relief.
And smoke filled lungs
Do not falter
Other than the
Occasional heavy breathings
And I keep going
From one to another
Puff with eyes
Hazier than paper
That I burn.
And the loop
Continues.

— A love Poem

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18 SEP 2023 AT 21:04

तेज़ी से ईंट-दर-ईंट खँगाले जा रहे हो
मेरे गिरे मकान से, उजाले जा रहे हो

इतनी बेग़ैरत तो नहीं होती हैं ख़ुशियाँ
मरे मन का बोझ क्यूँ सँभाले जा रहे हो

मैं उठ के निरा बैठता बिस्तर-ए-मर्ग से
जो आश्ना मुझसे कहते, साले जा रहे हो

मैं जो था वो जल के राख हो चुका कभी का
तो क्यूँ शय्या पर शक्कर डाले जा रहे हो

वो आएगा जनाज़े पे एहतिराम करने
मिर्जयाँ भला कैसा भ्रम पाले जा रहे हो

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25 AUG 2023 AT 21:58

A Letter Without A Quote— % &Hey Nish,

To be honest, when I thought about writing a letter a while ago, I didn’t know that I’d be writing to you. I wanted to write something on reading and writing but as my fingers had a go at the keyboard they stopped only after Nish. I haven’t written to you in a while, and I don’t really have the intention to write one even now.

Yet, I am not able to stop myself from putting word after word. I am not able to stop myself from thinking about what to tell you. Shall I tell you everything that has happened between the last letter and this one? Or shall I only tell you about the despair that has engulfed me like a liana? I must tell you something. Otherwise, this letter will not have a point. Unlike my life, I wish this letter serves a purpose.— % &So, let’s talk about why I didn’t want to write to you, shall we? After all, I was the one who proclaimed I would never stop writing to you. But here we are. I didn’t want to write to you because I wanted to write a letter to someone else. And that could be anyone. I wanted to feel reciprocated. Someone who would not just listen but say things that would comfort my heart. Things that would make me feel safe. Someone who could make all kinds of pain go away just by their words. As I’m tired. Tired and all bled out from the knife that love has become. I don’t want love to be a knife anymore. I want it to be a flower. A sunset. A hand that’s warm and soft. A memory so beautiful that it never changes even after umpteen revisits. But that’s not possible with you. After all, you’re nothing but an imagination sprouted from a broken heart. And that’s why I didn’t wish to write to you.
— % &Yet, I’m still writing to you, which only implies that I haven’t found anyone. Yes, I haven’t. I thought I did but I was wrong on the reciprocation part. In fact, it didn’t just happen once; it’s been quite repetitive. People have stopped listening. Even I have stopped listening. However unpleasant it may be, I can’t deny the truth. I even don’t know when I stopped listening and started hearing. I don’t know when I became the person who wants to turn every topic and every story about himself, anyhow. I wasn’t like this, was I? Maybe this is because the writer who wanted to listen to people and turn everything, he has heard into stories is slowly dying an unnatural death. Or maybe I’m suffering from a satanic hunger for being heard. And when the hunger overpowers my body, I sit back and write to you.

An ex-listener,
Rish— % &

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22 AUG 2023 AT 23:30

As the cigarette rests in between 
my fingers and then lips, 
I stare at the poised yellow dots 
Not far away in the sky.
They’re not stars, 
the colour gives it away, 
Or fairy lights.
Too big for that, in fact.
“What are they?” I ponder
And as I breathe out my death, 
I remember the new skyscraper
They’re building 
in the middle of the city
And the cranes they put up.
The bulbs in the sky 
make sense now.
While I inhale the remedy 
For my shaking hands and 
Wandering mind
I look at the half-done 
Two story building on my left street. 
It’s still the same since I moved here.
Not even a brick, as I remember
Has been added to it. 
“Will they demolish it?” I wonder
And move for another puff,
A loud thud knocks down 
The building on the street
And the cigarette in the creek.

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28 MAY 2023 AT 0:43

Before I met you
I was water.
Now it feels like
I'm drowning.

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5 MAY 2023 AT 15:15

तुम कहो तो एक और ख़त
लिख दूँ तुम्हारें नाम
मेरे रोने या चीखने
या मेरे गिड़गिड़ाने
का कोई हो मुक़ाम
तो लाओ एक और ख़त
लिख दूँ तुम्हारें नाम— % &आँखें जला चुका हूँ मैं
इस मुर्दे प्यार की तलाश में
दर्द बे जान बना दूँगा मैं
मेरे फ़िराक़ से तेरी ख़ुशी की आस में
जो कसर रह गई हो दबी कहीं
तो मिल लो और दाग दो
मेरी उँगलियों को भींचो वैसे ही
और फिर से मेरा नाम लो
जो लगे तुम्हें ग़लत
ज़रा सा भी ये काम
तो लाओ एक और ख़त
लिख दूँ तुम्हारें नाम
— % &अब दावा करवाओ
या दुआ में मेरा नाम लो
मुझे ख़ुद से बचाओ
बस इतना सा इल्ज़ाम लो
मेरे पैर धँसे है ज़मीन में
ग़ुम जाऊँगा किसी रात मैं
थोड़ा ढूँढ लेना ख़ुद में
जो मिलूँ ना पास मैं
फिर आयेंगी कई हसरत
और जो निकले नये काम
तो लाओ एक और ख़त
लिख दूँ तुम्हारें नाम— % &

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5 MAY 2023 AT 14:55

you have found someone else
to get you through the night
to help you fall asleep
While I stay by the phone
hoping for a call
Or a text
Dreaming
Of the days that never
Came true.
But when the night
Refuses to leave
And I stay awake
with eyes that
long for you,
I run towards an app
That will let me
Converse with you.
I type everything out,
And then hope,
You'd somehow read it out
Without me having to send it.
Unlike others,
I don't erase it, I cut it and
Paste it in the notes.
Hoping one day,
When you reach out
I'll tell everything
I have felt
All at once.

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25 APR 2023 AT 18:04

I still remember,
It was around my last birthday,
When we talked
For the last time.
And i made a promise
To never write about you.
I had already written for you
And somehow,
Given the narcissist that I am,
Somehow surprisingly,
I've still kept it under wraps.
I guess, it was more personal
Than I thought it was.
It's also not like
I haven't written after that.
I have and I will
Keep doing it.
Yet, I want to write about you
to bring out the pain,
One more time.
Through my words.
To dig the nip of my pen
Deep in my veins,
And take out the pain
Only to turn the paper
Into those that are coloured
Yet eating dust.

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25 APR 2023 AT 12:36

Even if I was
your hand’s puppet,
your fingers must have
suffered the pain and
the obvious bruises
from the threads
which were tied
around my hands
to make me dance.

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17 APR 2023 AT 13:45

इश्क़ की तिजोरी से हर किसी पे सब कुछ लुटा रहा हूं
ये भूल कर कि उसे भरे रखने के लिए इश्क़ भी चाहिए।

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