बहुत दूर तक का सफ़र तय कर लिया है तुमने,
वक़्त हो तो कभी ठहर जाना
अर्श में बिखरे पड़े बादलों के भीतर

लेकिन ये मत कहना के
अब यहाँ अंधेरे से परे कुछ बाकी नहीं रहा|

मैं कहानी के उस हिस्से में
अभी भी हूँ
जहां खाली पन्नों पे गर्द टहलती रहती है
तुम्हारे एक नूर का इंतज़ार करते हुए|

क्यूंकि असल में कुछ ख़त्म नहीं होता,
कोई एक उस खालीपन का बोझ
ढो रहा होता है|

और यदि अंत ही सबकुछ है;

तो तुम हर रात अपने ही बदलते वजूद को
समेट लेना,

वहाँ तुम्हें खाली बादल,
कुछ बिखरे पन्ने,
और कहानी की पहली गर्द;

ख़ुद ही पड़े मिलेंगे|

-

War, much like love,
blooms on the same battleground.

It either leaves you
dead
or lingers to wreak,

until it dies in you.

-

You are the ocean
that brought cyclones
for the moon
I was just another river
waiting to flow
into you

-

I have seen death
sharpen its beak
on the deserted land
and life hovering over
the starved bones
becoming one with the wind.
If bones and thirst
can persist this abandoned space
I too, could dig out
a pulse through these succulents
as if they might dive beneath the water,
and re-emerge breaths
into mine.
In desert,
the heart itself turns dense
when Sun heats the sand -
which in turn - heats the air,
just above it.

In this way, who was I
to misinterpret thirst, for love
and mortality,
for an opportunity to survive?
What are you
but a mirage
that couldn't reflect itself,
no matter how deep I dived
into death
to dig out life; spine by spine?

/
I have seen your claws
thawing,
one with the wind.

-

It's not the pouring exactly, 
not the bareland either. 
The water rising up 
to quench your thirst. 
No. 
It's not what drove 
your body here
like a stolen heap 
Why did you abandon it
on this unreasonable ground? 
Not that you dove in
the oceans,
singing 
their perfect punctuations. 
It's not the last moron 
who turned you down, 
or turned you out 
or kept the mask on. 
No.
It's never the love,
it is the dark
escaping its last rays.

-

Stop writing endings
before beginnings
and wonder why
nothing lasts forever.

-

I'd always loved roses,
but I am scared of them now;
specially the ones
that mysteriously appeared
on my table,
minutes after I scattered them
over the cemetery of my dead lover.

-

It's okay Mailbox,
I am empty too.

-

"It's startling how shadows can tell stories",
once you said to me nonchalantly.

Maybe that is why
I do not let the light in anymore.

-

Pain swing ruthless summer
reaching winter hearts and back
dreading fall, even now.

-