Mother, you gave me life.
And you didn’t realize —
you were making someone just like you.
You taught me to finish homework
on time, to be the ideal child.
But not how to simply be
your child.

You taught me about people —
the sweet, the bitter, the shifting time.
You didn’t teach me how to cook,
yet somehow, my food
tastes like you.

You taught me how to love.
But never how to unlove
a love that never loved back.

Mother, you taught me how to hold on.
I wish you’d shown me how to let go.

You taught me to be kind,
but forgot to teach me not to disappear in it.
I wish you'd said, 'Don't lose yourself doing it.'

They say I look like you.
How do I explain
I carry your same heaviness —
quiet,
like a mother?

Every child has a different path,
a deviant destiny, different desires.
And still,
I became you —
in shadow and in light.

-

मुझे अगले जन्म में इंसान नहीं बनाना मेरे।
मुझे इंसान समझ नहीं आते, ना इनका रहन सहन
और ना इनके एक चेहरे के अनेक भेष मुझे दिखते।
इनके तौर तरीक़े समझते हुए एक उमर गुज़र रही
और मैं बार बार नासमझ बनके रहा जा रहा हूँ ।

हार मानना मैंने कभी सीखा नहीं पर इन मसलें मसायल में
थक ज़रूर गया हूँ , शायद थम सा भी गया हूँ अब।
कुछ बेअरमी सी है, इक ऐसी थकान जो थकती ही नहीं।
आराम व्यर्थ है, अंत: अफ़सोस जो इतना भर गया है ।
ना जाने इतने बोझ कब, कहाँ और कैसे लाद दिए मैंने खुदपे ।

अक्सर जब मैं अकेलेपन के गहरे सागर में डूबा रहता हूँ,
तब मैं और मेरी तनहाई अक्सर ये बाते करते है
कि ऐसा ना हुआ होता तो वैसा होता, वैसा ना तो ऐसा।
इन्ही ऐसे वैसे के चक्कर में शायद इतनी उलझने है
जो सुलझाये ना सुलझती और ना मुझे खुदको समेटने देती।

कुछ वक्त और रुकते है, मैं अक्सर खुदको ये कहता।
कुछ ठराओ और पाते, मैं ये बोल कर रुकता।
पल की बात हो तो महमान का किरदार पा लेना ठीक,
वरना चल देना ही सटीक। बात बस ये ही की किससे या जगह
नहीं, वो हम ही है जो उनमे अपनी जिंदगी बनाके उनको जोड़ लेते ।

कुछ सवाल आते मेरे मन में, कुछ बहस भी।
मैं पूछता आख़िर कब तक ठरोगे मुसाफिर तुम ?
जहाँ सुकून नहीं वहाँ आगमन और ठहराव क्यों?
ये कैसा पागलपन जो ख़ुद को ही ना पा सके?
जहाँ ख़ुशी नहीं वहाँ झुकाओ क्यों ? ये कैसा मोह बावले?

जवाब में मेरे मन की शीतलता दिखती।
मेरी ये गलती, मेरी ये नाराज़गी है ख़ुद से ।
ना जाने कैसा बावलपन है ये, ना लोग समझ आए
ना उनके दस्तूर। मुझे इंसान नहीं बनना अगले जन्म,
इंसानों से मेरी दोस्ती नहीं हो पाती है।

मुझे कुछ भी बनना है बस इंसान नहीं,
अन्य किसी भी रूप में जन्म लेना चाहूँगा।
जो भी मैं बनू मेरी इच्छा है की मेरा मन यही रहे।
मेरा मन हक़दार है ख़ुशी महसूस करने का,
और एक ऐसे समय का जहाँ उसे समझा जाएगा।

-

And places fill up quite easily.
Not always it’s you who vacate.
Sometimes you are replaced,
or the place itself undergoes a
metamorphosis.

We feel pain when we bear
heaviness of not giving,
or, getting enough.
We feel a grave chasm inside us,
when after giving every bit,
we still lose everything.

I feel this as a silent death that
no one speaks about.

Efforts do matter,
being good do matter.
But in the world of
‘’ I, me and myself’’,
everything fades
like nothing ever matters.

To not have a choice is an ache.
To not give a chance to build
bonds again, is cruelty.
But at-least no part of my heart
would be at stake, to get crushed
once more…

-

And when death finds me,
I hope it brings me the
promise of forever.

-

People find me different and difficult.
I tried to make them understand
that I’m different but not strange.

And I’m easy to go.
Easy to please,
easy to love,
easy to hate and,
easy to trust.

With times,
I have realised the meaning
of being different and difficult,
is actually different and easy.

Different because it’s rare,
difficult because there’s only few left
who are easy

-

Where will I go after getting tired?

All I see is restless me lost in chaos.
After an endless fight,
where shall I find abode?

A Home!? One that truly feels Home.

-

It’s been so long.
They’re all gone.
Some have reached.
Some about to.

Most days, I think of loss.
Once in a while, I embrace.
I know, I did right.
Once in a while, I accept it.

No time, I was fine.
Never I lived happily.
All I passed was broken.
None that I was in time.

It’s been so long.
Many ways they chase.
The other way that I go.
Some far, rest a little less known.

-

The clown acts,
the circus lights up.
The clown walks,
the blind circus follows!

-

Life is all about actions.
I feel it is a dramatic concoction
of different acts.

Sometimes it’s about you standing in the rain.
.
Sometimes it’s about who gets you the umbrella.
.
Sometimes it’s about the one who stands in the rain
while they have the choice to embrace the warmth
of a cozy home.
.
Other times, it’s about the one who flood your house,
ruin your peace and makes you wonder,
if it’s the heavy rain, or the universe crying
at your despair.


Not sometimes anymore, is something that I conclude.
It’s always about every time that life holds a story,
is a story.

And it’s every story that holds a life.

-

And maybe sometimes we are too harsh on ourselves
that we be so kind to others, while we bleed, only to
realize later that all this time we were the one who
suffered unkindness, few by them, most by our own self.

-