My heart is Caesar.
It doesn't listen to me.
It goes for battles, uncalled,
painting itself in the blood
of friends, now made foes.
"Et tu Brute" it does whisper,
at forked roads and at
forgotten footprints.
It doesn't own an armor,
yet clashes with a sword.
It bleeds in poetry, and
sounds like the gasping
prayers of a distressed Calpurnia.
And of course, it died.

It died.
It died, not because it
didn't stop at home.
It died because it did,
but not at home.

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PERJURY Kills Sooner Than An INJURY

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वो मूड जितनी नाज़ुक़,
वो प्यार जैसी पागल,

और लोग हमसे उनसे मोहब्बत करने की वजह पूछते हैं?

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Love is like a Sharp Blade,
The more you hold on to it,
The deeper and more painful your Wound is...

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How many plinths do I need
To stamp my success
Oh! that I can't say
Yet I suggest to call in a tiller
To count his sweat-drops
See how many swellings
He has in his tired muscles
To grow his crops
Yet a cyclone can ruin his effort
Before harvesting .
Fallacy and hypothesis
Are two junk pleas
And I shine like the northern star ,
'To strive , to seek ,to find and no to yield' .

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Work in Silence let your lamborghini make the noise

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मोहतार्मा है वो मोहताज नहीं !
तुमसे कम वो आज नहीं !
क्या करते हो तुम मुक़ाबला उनसे ?

उनके बिना तुम्हारा कोई निशान ही नहीं !

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Though people leave with many reasons,
Caesar stays with my write-ups.

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