In a wine glass,
I drank Paris, sip by sip.
It tasted somewhat different:
Pungent at first, sweet then.
For months, I guzzled
Glasses after glasses
Of this city – of old and new.
In my stomach, it slowly brew.

November arrived,
Holding winter's hands.
The season of hot wine:
Only, I've already had mine.
The brew is acrid:
I feel really old.
The half-empty wine glass
Seems half-full, at last.

I've had enough of Paris
I want to barf now.
With every passing day, I wish –
To return to the Delhi I miss.

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तेरी याद में Paris जैसा बंदा भी लाहौर हो गया
इशारे में की थी हमने बाते, पर पूरे शहर में शोर हो गया
भूख प्यास भी नहीं लगती, खाना पीना मेरा छूट गया
और मम्मी कहती है मेरा बच्चा कमजोर हो गया

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यादें कराती है एहसास बीते लम्हों की,

कभी संगदिल तो कभी मीठे नगमों की,

ले आती हैं लब पर मुस्कान कभी यूँ ही,

तो कर देती हैं आँखें कभी नम बैठे-बैठे।

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If I fall from a tower, does it become ‘Eiffel’ Tower?

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रघुपति राघव राजा राम, पतित पावन स्वच्छ भारत अभियान

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What does a French man do when he is bruised?

He applies ‘Plaster’ of Paris.

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It is nothing more UNREAL
than
an Obvious fact in this world

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One for nothing
OR
Nothing for One
? ¿?

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Paris

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Paris

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