The World Where I’d Be Free

The world where I’d be free, I would have
one strand of blue, perhaps one of red in my hair.

I might even keep black roses, just to my liking.

I would eat as many sweets as my belly allows,
and paint my nails in the colors of light.

I would not worry for days turning into nights,
for I’d have no one to feed, no one to carry high.
I would live by dancing,
sing with all my might,
talk without end, and sometimes
keep silence in sleepless nights.

I can still do all of this, no one can stop me.
Yet the world is not so free,
not free for the freedom of my might.

-

इतने ऊँचे शब्द बोल कर
ख़ुद को ग़ालिब ना समझ।
जीवन, सिर्फ़ शब्दों का नहीं,
अर्थों का भी खेल है।

-

Praying for someone’s safety
sometimes carries the
weight of selfishness.

-

My talks to myself

It’s not out of loneliness,
but out of sheer courage
that you talk to yourself.
So praise it, don’t suppress it.

-

I jumbled the letters of ‘words’
and made a ‘sword’.
Unintentionally, with the power
meant for warmth,
I wounded a soul.

-

Unnamed Tiredness

I am tired of thinking it’s not going
to last long—the mind and body giving up.
I exist somewhere beyond this, but
I see them: the faces around, the people
I loved and nourished but did not
give enough of me, myself, to them.

I wonder—will we ever meet again?
For we know a leaf fallen is not
the leaf hanging on the tree again in the next
bloom.

Finding myself helpless,
I wonder if I should accept this reality
or leave in the agony of unspoken words
and ungiven love.

I wonder if only I could have cherished
more what I had, lived more freely—
then I would not feel so tired, at least
not now, when I have nothing else to do
apart from lying down.

Indeed, a tiredness that cannot be named!

-

I see the cravings, the longing, the desires
To keep more, to have more.
Where should I store this hoard?
Sit and relax, I tell myself,
For I am perishable, but these things are not.
I cannot be hoarded, no one wants me,
Only the things I have,
Yet none will get to keep them.

-

(Un) Familiarity

You notice the traces
of childhood impressions
only when you find yourself
acting in a way so familiar,
yet undefined,
in a moment unknown.

-

Lately, I forget the words I’ve spoken,
the faces I’ve seen, the hugs I’ve given,
and the smiles I’ve received.
I wonder, is it because
I’m living in the moment,
or because I am the moment?

-

Lately, I forget the words I’ve spoken,
the faces I’ve seen, the hugs I’ve given,
and the smiles I’ve received.
I wonder, is it because
I’m living in the moment,
or because I am the moment?

-