Happy Dhanteras to all of you
🙏🙏

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~Her Chair by the Window~













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Light stirs like breath recalled—
not born, merely remembered.
Between rise and fall,
a secret burns:
dawn is only the night
learning to forgive itself.

So let the rise be birth,
and the fall—continuance.
Let what dies in us
keep dreaming.
Even the sun,
in its last ember, prays.

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bears ancient weight—
heart
an urn
of unfinished gods,
their murmurs
unhoused.

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So much kept,
so little endures.
Grief reuses
its shapes—see,
how neatly it folds
absence
into décor.

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बदन नहीं —
रूह की तहज़ीब है इश्क़,
कभी इबादत, कभी ख़ुदा है इश्क़।

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heart of a ghost

he left me like a sentence
that lost its verb—
still haunting the subject.
the mirror remembers his breath
better than I do.
grief, rehearsing itself in lowercase.
love was the softest kind of vandalism;
I kept the ruins because
they matched my walls.
sometimes I still write him letters
just to prove I can end a line
without him.

the past doesn’t die;
it just moves into the attic
and keeps rearranging the dust.

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Wo lamha jab sab ruk gaya,
na aasman, na zameen baaqi.
Bas darmiyan do khayaal the —
ek tera, ek ibaadat.

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