Dear Reader of Mine!

Dear Reader of Mine!

I … was … a … chapter,

And I end today!

Breathing out the dirty-yellow puff of

Cheerless wallowing parlance

Fouling the page— named twelve—

Your sleepless finger lingered once

Where to my voiceless being …

My tired voiceless being that molded

Mutely in the thick cosseted book

That you kept beneath

The ponderous mattress

To leisurely read the morrow …

Morrow, the lazy morrow,

Always failed to turn up

And forgetting me became your habit …

And your old habit, dear reader of mine!

Should I tell you now?

No more, if you’d muse,

Dwelling on my phrasings,

Tasted by your tongue— a long ago—

My remembrance too may

Fade away soon …

And I shall perish within my banal confines! 

For My Portrait!

For My Portrait!

A blank A4 size paper will do just fine,

And one glass ruler, to draw a line

Four margins, one each on a side

Precincts for me — to so abide

Sketch me then!

Sketch me in your words, flowing sweet

Write my face, and a nose thus so neat

Then write my lips, and kiss them deep

Write my eyes — awakened from a sleep

And when it is time; if you ache to stop,

Thence, my artist, let ellipsis … there flop

And someday from now, when I may not live,

In a little room, you shall sit with a mate,

Enfolded in a threadbare book

On the paper

Breathing in that ellipsis …

Unfinished sketch,

An ongoing poem,

I — by my artist — was never made to end!

I live …

In a hiatus!

Listen!

Listen!

My love,

Hold my hand

Come,

Let’s walk together!

We have a long distance to cover …

To cross these lands, and swim those waters

Climb that moon, and to suckle on its nectars

Then brushing the cheek of dusk, ever so light

Sneak barefoot thus, into the nascent night

Riding the back of galloping forever …

I want you to write symphonies in my sweetest depths

And when you will—

I shall silently slip out of this quiver …

To dissolve as one soul,

For this night and ever!

And this delight, my love, be our nest

We have but a thousand dreams to raise—

Together!

  

A Black Swan …

A Black Swan …

Poetry,

A dark emotion,

Scarred,

Swanning high—

Should unfurl its sanguine wings,

Unashamed,

In the wet nudity of thy soul …

Come here,

Let me bare this being,

Taking off

The absolute true farce,

Of thy garish clothes,

Erring skin,

Flesh

And bone …

Behold, could thee?

Incandescent is the nothingness,

Beneath the ennui

So grey,

In thine eyes, afloat

Since a sinless life! 

~ Ek baat bolun? ~

~ Ek baat bolun? ~

Unchi heel nahin hai pasand mujhe,

Mere paanv dukhte hain bohot

Tabhi toh ghar aate hi

Utaar phekti hoon

Aur thande paani mein daal leti hoon kuch der

Paanv apne …

Mujhe jism se chipke,

Chust kapde bhi nahin pasand

Saans lena bhi pahad sa lagta hai

Aur yaad aata hai apne ghar ka araam …

Mujhe toh pasand hai,

Nange paanv ghoomna

Jis wajah se roz daantte ho tum mujhe … hain na?

Pehenna chota, phata, gulabi-peela pyajama apna,

Aur hari wali ghisi-purani dheeli kameez tumhari

Do din na nahana

Aur baal na banana

Sirf munh dho ke mast rehna

Mujhe toh ye pasand hai

Khud ko khud sa aayine mein dekh pana …

Aur tum kehte ho, tumhare liye main sanwarti nahin

Ye kyon nahin kehte,

Tumhare saamne main koi aur banti nahin?

My Sketches

~ Speak! Please! ~

~ Speak! Please! ~

Your silence …

Knowingly fetches me this pain,

I fail to comprehend …

To see your lips dancing,

Sloshing and rippling the liquid sounds

I am miserably greedy for this wine alike

And if you speak now—

That should you, please

It will scorch my long wait

Floating down my parched throat

For I haven’t had wine for days

And yet, I will wallow and devour

For I am thirsty more and more

Your sweltering sweet voice thus I need

More than anything needed before …

Quench the craving of my empty glass,

Pour me your scant words, so

My sentence is ………………

…………………….. incomplete!