What to do
if not love?!

-

उसके दरवाज़े तक जा के, ना दस्तक दूँ, ना सदा,
बस उसकी छुई हुई हवा में ढूँढ लूँ अपनी वफ़ा।
उसे बदलना नहीं मक़सद, ना साँसों का सिलसिला,
वो जैसा है, वैसा ही रहे — यही है मेरी दुआ।
मैं रहूँ चुप, दूर ही सही, मगर उसका एहसास बनूँ,
ना पास जाऊँ, ना कुछ कहूँ — बस ख़ामोश प्यार बनूँ।

-

I am in pain, I couldn't differentiate intimacy from love,
I couldn't tell love away from the need to be understood.
No one to speak to—so when one soul listened,
I believed it was love.

He says he wants me in his life,
Yet he weighs me against society, not beside him.
He respects, he values—yet not me above all.
I longed to live love, just love—deep, pure, raw.
But my dull eyes, falling hair were noticed— not the nights I cried.
He had many missions, one was I so He took me to merge with his other all.
I found losing myself when he constantly tried to change my appearance by terming it as "evolution" but
I did not see him evolve much.

-

I got my period —
and that’s okay.
It doesn’t mean
I have to change my way.
Some might say
I’m meant to be a mom,
But I can choose
what makes me calm.

It’s just my body
doing what it does,
It doesn’t mean
I need applause.
Whether I raise a child
or not,
I still deserve the love
I’ve got.

-

क्या तेरी याद मेरे दिल के दरवाजे की घंटी है?
जिससे मिलती हूं, कुछ भी करती हूं, धड़क जाता है|

-

I wouldn’t borrow words from the famous to post,
I’d borrow them from him —
the deep, ego-free man who walks softly through life,
yet leaves thoughts that echo for days.

He doesn’t speak to impress,
he speaks to free.
No labels. No noise.
Just wide skies, gentle truths, and a middle path
where you don’t have to be this or that —
you can simply be.

-

It’s not the role,
it’s the rule that hurts—
when I cook, not from love,
but because I must.
Not minding the task,
but the tag it brings,
like being a girl means
I owe certain things.

Love isn't a trade,
not keeping score,
not judging who’s done less or more.
It’s two people giving,
not to prove or win—
but to build something soft
and strong within.

-

Hey, can love work if we’re always keeping count?
Like who did what, who messed up more?
Isn’t that just another way to fight?
Isn’t love about giving, not keeping score?

-

our made-up love story, you know?
Like something out of a novel,
where two people fight, feel too much,
but still choose to stay.

We’ve had our hard days,
words that hurt, silences that lasted too long.
But we try—really try—to understand.
And somehow, that matters most.

When I told the moon, she listened quietly
and then smiled, like she knew.
Because now, with him here, it’s real.
What I once imagined—we’re living it.

-

He called,
but the warmth never reached her skin.
She asked gently—why only an emoticon?
He explained, again: "I was busy."
She heard, again: "You’re not important enough."
He asked, "What’s the benchmark of enough?"
She didn’t want numbers—she wanted presence.
They turned quiet,
two hearts exhausted from trying to explain love in different languages.

-