I hear the electricity passing through the wires, beneath all the cemented wall,
The ticks of the wall clock amplified, synchronized with my pounding heart.
Its one. Or probably two. The concept of time doesn’t make sense anymore, at all,
I’ve left this body in the hands of present, while pendulum-ing between future, and to where it did start.

There are questions. Tougher than the last time. There is grief. More hurting than the last time,
There are floods of emotions, and loss of soul, and anger and fury and so much more. Much more than the last time.

As the fingers move on to next word, poor keys on the board bear the burden of my pain,
My legs move slowly, or my head, is it my head that’s spinning faster than it should, I can not make the difference anymore.
Its numbness, overall, in general, all over, and confusion and chaos, being tied next to the barn, thinking about a grand escape from my slain, but in vain,
I rest here now, with palms folded, to whoever above listens. Give me reason to believe in you, damn you, give me reason to have faith furthermore.

There must be a reason, as a part of Your grand plan, they say. Oh now, but, is there?
Show some honour, show some respect. Show that you care, show that you hear. Show that there is love, show that it wins. Show me why you messed up, how things from here would spin!


Last mile

Standing there, right there, in front of me,
In front of me, in that crowded hall, that’s when I first saw you.

Oblivious to my presence, you kept mumbling,
Mumbling a song, and tunes, when you’d forget the words and added  new.

You tried to look sharp, oh but I could see,
I could see how you fought the sweat, and the nervousness, yet looked pretty, oh! What a view!

Two summers, two winters, and in between twice of each seasons have passed,
Twice of each seasons have passed, over 700 days have gone by, but how did we happen? I’ve got no clue.

It is not a story written in the heavens but on this very Earth,
On this very Earth, where the platter of our being is garnished by thorns, we less knew.

I am sure, oh yes I am sure, I tell you my pretty soul, there’s more,
There’s more, to this story, more to us, more left in us to fight for the stories we drew.

One last lap, left to run together, hold my hands,
Hold my hands, let’s walk that last mile, ’cause the ones up above know, I love you too.



Read more poems at Poetry Category!

Stoned Eyes

The spark was lost.
From her life, from her eyes.
Her eyes, stoned eyes.
The mascara rubbed off.
Like ashes scaterred on the grounds of a lost war.
Lost. Lost into her stoned eyes, I saw,
Her soul lost into far away lands.

The ghost inside her came out, and life hid inside somewhere,
One life, two souls lost.
It wasn’t a sight you see everyday, not a sight you can bear to see anyday.
Dementors ruled the skies, the black evening skies
Cries. Of lives around. So many cries.

A rose about to end its bloom,
I try to water it. Try to soil it. Water it some more.
But it is night time, there is no sun, there is no light.
It shall pass. This too shall pass. It must. It has to.
The rose must bloom. The morning must knock the doors,
For her eyes can’t remain stoned forever,
Her soul can’t be lost, must not be hurt,
She is a one who must be taken care of, nurtured,
If she holds on to life, souls around shall only then come back to life.

Must hold on to her, bring her back, as her emptiness, creates emptiness in lives she has touched.

Who You Are To Me

You are not just a day that goes by,

You are a complete book of emotions I write each time the clock strikes 12 twice.
You are not just the one I go for dinners,

You are the moments I store in heart to replay the nights that follow.
The holding hands is not just our fingers entwined,

Holding your hand means playing with the speed of my heart beats.
You are not just somebody I wait to see every day,

You are the coffee my lips need, a scene my eyes savour. A touch my skin wants.
In this lifetime of a turmoil and times of whirlpools,

You are the peace to my breath, that brings the calm in me.
You are the poem my hands write, you are the song that YOUR lips sang last night, the taste of the pasta your hands made, smell of you that I want to wear. You are more than just you.

शाम से…।

शाम से कुछ अंदर से खा रहा है,
शाम से मन्न कुछ छटपटा रहा है।

हुआ यूं तो कुछ भी नहीं,
परंतु लगे भी कुछ न सही।

कदम आज आगे बढ़ पड़े हैं,
पर मुझ वृक्ष कि पुरानी जड़े हैं।

तन चल चुका है अब आगे की ओर,
मन जुड़ा रहा पुरी ऊन की धागे की डोर।

लौटते वक्त, दफतर से, याद आई पुरानी गलियों की,
जब वक्त था मासूम, बौछार फूलों की कलियों की।

बहुत दूर आज आ खड़े हैं हम,
शांती की चाह है बस अब। न ज़्यादा न कम।

ले चलो मुझे एक खटिया पे,
सोना है अब शांती में, ऐक तकिया पे।

तलब अभी भी उसकी बाकी है,
यादों का ज़ागिर हूँ, वही मेरे साथी है।

शाम से कुछ अंदर से सता रहा है,
शाम से यह दिल छटपटा रहा है।

हुआ यूं तो कुछ भी नहीं,
परंतु लगे भी कुछ न सही।