everyone’s a victim here, everyone wants justice
everyone feels wronged somehow,
even when life’s fine
they carry borrowed pain—
feel for others, get loud, or quietly break

everyone wants their story out, from towers to tents
rich or poor—everyone has a sad backstory
or makes one, just to be seen because now,
pain is the loudest language, truth is twisted

everyone’s posting suffering, as if grief is a badge
people in gaza are victims,
people in israel are victims
even america has ghosts,
and in a long day of real or made pain

someone puts a status:
“god is watching. karma will play.”
and just like that they feel part of something bigger
but no one really knows what to do with pain
so they post, and scroll, and sleep

-

सब कुछ भ्रम है, जैसे ज़िंदगी कोई नाट्य मंच हो,
और मुझे कोई संवाद सौंप दिया गया हो।
जिसे मैं रोज़ दोहराता हूँ, बिना समझे कि ये मेरी आवाज़ है
या किसी और का लिखा हुआ किरदार।
मैं उस पात्र में इतना ढल चुका हूँ कि अब
मुझे और उसे अलग करना मेरे लिए मुमकिन नहीं रहा।
उस रंगमंच पर मेरे आँसू झूठे हैं,
मेरी हँसी बस एक अभिनय है।
मेरे शब्द, मेरी कविताएँ — सब एक नाटक हैं,
एक लंबा, थका देने वाला नाटक।
मैं लिखता हूँ, बोलता हूँ, सोचता हूँ — और हर मोड़ पर
खुद से ही सवाल करता हूँ।
क्या ये जीवन मेरा है? या मैं बस
किसी और की कल्पना में ज़िंदा हूँ?
अंत में बचती है बस एक लंबी ख़ामोशी —
एक सूनी सी खामोशी।
जिसके पार से लौटती है एक ही आवाज़:
‘तू सब कुछ दोहराता है… और सब कुछ, बस भ्रम है।’
मैं कोई बंदर बन चुका हूँ — जिसका मदारी कहीं खो गया है।
भीड़ अब भी तालियाँ बजाती है, पर मैं नाचते-नाचते थक चुका हूँ।
अब कोई नहीं पूछता कि इस बंदर की आँखों में
इतनी उदासी क्यों है।

-

I want to cry.
Loud. Long. Without stopping.

I want my throat to dry out,
my voice to disappear,
my eyes to burn, swell, blur—
until I can’t see anything clearly anymore.

I want my face to stay wet for hours.
Hair sticking to my skin.
Heartbeat thudding like a warning.

I don’t want comfort.
I don’t want someone to tell me it’ll pass.
I don’t want words.

I just want to cry.

Cry until I can’t feel the tightness in my chest.
Cry until the thoughts slow down.
Cry until the weight shifts.
Cry until silence returns—
not because I’m fine,
but because I’m empty.

That’s it.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.

-

तलब

वो हर बार… आख़िरी बार की तलब,
वो हर दफ़ा… आख़िरी दफ़ा छूने की कोशिश,
वो सीने में उठती बार-बार की बेचैनी,
वो उसे एक आख़िरी बार पाने का मयार।

वो हाथों पर ठहरी उसकी ख़ामोशी,
वो लबों पर सुलगती कुछ अधूरी सी बात,
हर कसम, हर वादा बेमानी लगता था,
जब उसकी याद… धुएँ की तरह लौट आती थी।

वो पल — जब छोड़ देने की कसम खाई,
और अगले ही पल — फिर उसी की तलाश में भटकते रहे।
ना खुद से जीत सके, ना उससे हार पाए,
वो लत थी, या मोहब्बत — अब फर्क करना मुश्किल है।

फिर ना खुद को रोक सके, ना ख्वाहिश दबा पाए,
सिगरेट जेब से निकाली… और होठों से लगा आए।

-

तेरी ही खुशबू में बीते कई मौसम,
कलम उठती है तो तू ही बहाना बन जाए।
ना इश्क़ रहा, ना शिकवा कोई बाक़ी,
बस एक कप चाय हो और शाम लंबी हो जाए।

-

I saw you happiest — perhaps happiest in a decade,
at least from the time i know you.

your eyes, your face, your smile — that i always wanted to see,
but i couldn’t. never in one decade.

even when i was with you,
when your heartbeat was high, when you saw me after a year,
still, this happiness i didn’t see.

it’s rare, but it’s beautiful.
you and your smile — both are beautiful.

i don’t want it to be rare.
i want you to be this happy, this smile all the time.

i always wanted to be the reason, but i couldn’t.
someone else is, right now.

honestly, i’m a bit jealous, bit of envy,
but to see you happiest, i can ignore anything.

this always tensed smile, half smile,
those lines on your forehead, your eyes always looking down —

to this fullest laugh, these sparkling eyes,
these living eyes, these wide spread lips —

i can’t tell you what this meant for me.
i wish you always look like this.

the fullest.
the happiest.

-

The Quiet Death #3

The version of you that had hope.
That still held some innocence.
That still paused before the fall.

You are the killer.
You are the silence.
You are the sabotage.

And this — this quiet, creeping decay —
Should never be normalized.

You are crossing the path.
And every step forward
Is a step away from yourself.

But if you still hear this —
If even a small part of it hits your chest,
If there’s a pause, a sting, a whisper of “this isn’t me” —
Then some part of you is still alive.

Come back —
Before the masks.
Before numbness felt normal.
Before you forgot who you were.

-

The Quiet Death #2

You know what’s alarming?
It’s not the chaos.
It’s not even the pain.
It’s doing something that shouldn’t be done —
And feeling nothing.
No guilt.
No recoil.
Just another Tuesday.

When the wrong becomes routine,
When the line between “this hurts” and “this is fine” blurs,
You are no longer surviving —
You’re dissolving.

You start to normalize what should never be accepted.
And in that moment,
You are not just breaking your values —
You’re erasing them.

Your morality,
Your compass,
Your internal guard —
is no longer intact.

And that’s when it happens.

You kill yourself.
Not the body.
The you(Cont..)

-

The Quiet Death #1

When the illusion breaks,
When the sky clears,
When your eyes open — truly open —
And you see yourself from a different point of view…

Then you will see:

The naked you.
The you that can’t be dressed in charm or clever words.
The unlikable you.
The you even you can’t stand beside.
The one you never envisioned.
The ugly you.
The fractured, silent, suffocating you.

You’ll see an insane you.
Not screaming, just… gone.
A you that shouldn’t exist — and yet, here you are.
Alive, but not living.
Present, but not whole.

And that is you —
The you that can kill you.

Not with violence,
But with normalcy.(Cont..)

-

“Just don’t die, ha,” she said.
“Will try. You too.”
“Try to live.”
“Hmm… tryin’.”
That’s what the last conversations are.

-