चाँद

जब ये शाम तबाह होगी,
शायद अंधेरे के कुछ चीते
मु़झपर भी गिरे।
इजाज़त है ना?
अगर अश्क बहे,
अगर दर्द हो,
कयोकि एक पता शुकुन का,
खो सा जाएगा;
पर हाँ,भटकते निगाहों की बेचैनी भी,
कहीं ना कहीं कम होगी,
जब ये शाम तबाह होगी।
ये तबाही भी मंजुर है मुझे,
तारे टुटेंगे,जमीन बिखरेगी,
हाँ हाँ पता है मुझे,
सिर्फ ये चाँद महफूज रहे,
ये चाँद महफूज रहे।

~सौरभ शुन्य






़

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फासले

नज़दीकियाँ यु तो काफी है,
इतनी कि
तेरे सांसो की आहट भी,
मेरे सीने से गुजरती है;
परछाई तेरे सपनों की,
मेरे नींदों तक पहुँचती हैं;
पर देखोगे तो शायद दिखे दूरी ही,
मगर फासला बस दो लफ्जों का है,
ये फासला रहने दो।

~सौरभ

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Riding a Bus

In the fog of faint murmurs,
Behind crowds keen yet aloof,
Wheels are turning,
At the fore,below and beyond;
With time, the road moves away,
The sights shrink,
And what stayed are
Green and gray and gone.

~Saurav

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Laughs, Smiles and Chuckles

With grace,they descend the pearly hills,
The way along which music swells,
Ascends unhitched from earthly tides,
And outreaches crests where the crescendo bides.

Emerges the crescent lips to start with,
Below eyes,glittering,
Cheeks,plump,filled with warmth;
Further fades the glowing half moon,
Gently moves apart,
To give way to spirits of impish glee,
That'll roll over a youthful tongue,
And drizzle some dusts of hope.

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Epitaph

A Sun would rise as i sleep,
When the blues aren't dear anymore,
Mine is the fertile Earth;
Of all places,one just to find me,
Wherein peace ceases to be an illusion
And retires all tiring emotions.

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Is it quiet out there?

Is it quiet out there?
Have the mortal screams ceased?
The howl,the groan,the whimper,
And air just passing through the throat.

Dried up the blood and the dust to it,
Of men,women and children,
The red,brown and the black,
All alike yet eyed so different.

Even so,the shells,gun powder and smoke,
Seem so fresh,
As does the anger and hatred,pain and sorrow,
The eternal futile hope against today,
Till morrow.
Dying among deaths,beneath deaths,
Till death.

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The window

Through a window of imprecise oblivion,
Unmarked and unmended,
A familiar smoke sneaked in;
From a fire,once exalted,
Until doomed by an ill-timed shower;
Hence smouldered a cloud,huge and white,
Against my walls,mighty yet morose.

Everything,within reach and afar,vanished,
My Books,my Chair,my Clock,my Stairs,
Even Myself in the mirror disappeared,
And the Mirror itself;
Seen a window mere,of imprecise oblivion,
Unmarked,unmended.

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//Angel//

Beside the flame,rising far behind,
Stands an angel;
Who blows the light to me,
Burning her soft velvet wings;
And lifts winter with her soft hands,
To bless me with golden spring.

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A German Oil Lamp

A german oil lamp,
Emerald tint,with rusts just as fair,
Flat wick and a curved glass ware.

The oil,stinks like dead,yet
Amidst blame of two conflicted stones,
Rises and casts into a nebulous flame.

Climbs the gleam,
Gloom of a stealth yellow,then unholy grey,
Beneath demented smoke,a spurted flame.

A screw though was turned withal,
Yet,what did yield the moor another nightfall?

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A Creviced Satchel

It's a satchel,on my shoulder,
Carrying,since a time uncertain,at least,
May be when my tears
Came to have meanings,
Or when steps roaming around,
Accrued addresses to walk through.
Those addresses,labels piled up in there,
In that satchel,
Atop were souvenirs,
A lot snowy and enough gray,
Bestowed by each one I called on.
Though with it,tensed up the stitches,
And someday succumbed unbeknownst,
Dropped ample labels itself,piece by piece,
Down some oblivious lane once trodden by.

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