The horizon touches the sea,
but never truly connects,
a gentle kiss just out of reach.

Life feels similar,
floating between the feeling of loneliness and connection,
always looking for a shore that seems far away.

Yet sometimes,
people act like the wind,
lifting us up when the waves are rough,
coloring our challenges with shades of gold and pink.

They help us remember we’re not alone,
but in the end,
it’s up to you to steer your own path,
navigating a sea that you create,
with the horizon forever waiting for you.

And so, you travel on,
discovering light within yourself
and realizing that you are enough,
even when the shore feels out of reach.

क्षितिज की तरह, हम करीब आकर भी अपने ही समुंदर के मुसाफिर हैं,
हर लहर में अपना ही आफ़ताब डूबता और निखरता है।

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... पर अब, हवाओं को थमना होगा ...

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The Winds Must Settle


{poem in the caption}

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He begins at my fingertips,
where desire bloom in silken whispers,
his breath kissing my skin
like the dawn's first light.
We shed our shyness,
our souls bend towards eachother,
the air hums with divine energy,
as we fold into each other,
like silk on the curve of yearning.

(Captioned...)

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बंधन वही अटूट है जहाँ स्वतंत्रता का आकाश हो,
स्वर्ण पिंजरा भी बेकार है जब उड़ान की चाह खो जाए।

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an ember,
glowing slightly in the dusk of time.
Its heat lingers,
but only for a moment,
a trace of something brighter once burned.

Birds take flight,
leading their way towards unknown skies,
yet the promise of return vibrates in their wings.
Endings are not final,
just breaks in a cycle
where every Ember dims to give way
to a Nova,
a burst of new beginnings,
a brighter dawn after the night.

November leaves,
but its lessons endure,
telling that even in the quietest endings,
a new star is born.

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तिनके बटोरते पक्षी की तरह
धरती से, मूक होकर देख रहा है ईश्वर,
जिस दिन से मनुष्य
अपने ही पंखों से उड़ने लगा है।

उसने मनुष्य को
स्वयं के भीतर आसमान दिया था,
पर मनुष्य ने
हर ऊँचाई को सीढ़ी बना डाला।

अब ईश्वर,
एक किनारे बैठा मुस्कुरा रहा है,
जानता है,
आसमान छूने वालों को
कभी न कभी ज़मीन चाहिए होगी।

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I steep the tea,
pour gently into waiting cups,
cookies lined beside.
The bell rings,
a knock at the door,
a pause,
a return to my cup,
cold now,
a thin layer resting on its surface,
another on my lips,
both forgotten.
The used cups arrive,
soft clinks in the basin.
Mine, untouched,
still holding the warmth of absence,
I sip through the layer,
feeling another form inside me,
never fresh,
always waiting
for someone else.

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~ हारने की कला ~

मैंने जंगें हारी हैं,
एक के बाद एक,
जैसे नाज़ुक पंख,
बेचैन हवाओं में उड़ते हुए।
लेकिन मैंने छोटी-छोटी जंगें जीती हैं,
वो खामोश, रोटी के टुकड़े जैसी जीतें,
जो मेरे रास्ते पर बिखरी हैं,
मुझे अंधेरे में आगे बढ़ने का हौसला देती हैं।


( शीर्षक पढ़े)

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I have lost battles,
one after another,
like fragile feathers,
carried of by the restless wind.
But I have won the small wars,
those quiet, breadcrumb wins,
scattered across my path,
guiding me forward
in the dark.

(Read full poem in the caption)

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