Sunday, 28 September 2014

~ Ji Jenaab ~

~ Ji Jenaab ~

Surkhroo iss dard,
Aur iss dard ki jadh,
Tabiyat e dil,
Ka koi haal nahin … Ji Jenaab …
Nazaron mein ghar karte hain,
Der tal’k,
Guzar hota hai,
Jab aap ka,
Yun hi bas rukte, sambhalte,  guzarte hue …
Aur jiss roz, nahin guzarte hain,
Phir hum kya bolen … Ji Jenaab,
Bas yahin makaan hota hai,
Saaton peh’r,
Phir bhi,
Sirf aap ka …
‘Garche batayen toh,
Kaisa laailaaj marz hai?
Ki bina ehkaam e khareed O farokht ke,
Hawaas O malkiyat pe koi,
Yun qaabiz hue jata hai …
Hum bhi hum hua karte they kabhi,
Yaqeen jaaniye,
Aap ke yak guzar se pehle … Ji Jenaab ……

Saturday, 27 September 2014

~ Hunger of something … ~

 ~ Hunger of something … ~ 
Stabbing like a blunt rusted knife,
Cutting me deep,
But with ‘extra’ weighing pain …
I’d just elegantly fold my bleeding wings,
Cocooning my hurt-self,
From the din of the throbs,
Of the ugly-faced expectation’s blobs,
Mirth, fair-skinned, shelling me from outside,
Petulant nee, going green, puking, culling inside,
And, look, I’d still smile, smile, smile,
Smiling until,
My lips learn to stay upturned,
Forming into a sunny, gentle, true curve … elusive of any dimple …
And something would happen … then,
Felt such closely,
As if filling my little going-blue pouches with bounty air —
Touching an apparition — classily,
That, the blunt knife was nothing,
But, an honest delusion,
Of my famished, fretted life …
Now, the question that fester is —
Am I really so, so hungry,
To feed myself on such sincere, beautiful-eyed lies?

Friday, 26 September 2014

Long Gone …

Long Gone …
A pause ago, ah, I breathed,
Pollens of perfumed breath,
Taking in, obsessively,
That ‘ought’ to breathe,
Forsaken … Long gone …
Such late, even after twilights,
Caressing, fondling with,
My dull dab yearns,
Your warms words,
Snowed under … Long gone …
Your eyes, on swirls, hearth,
Kissing my flushed face,
Setting me thus ablaze,
Yes, that fiery blush,
Bricked … Long gone …
Vines, shrubs, shading a folly,
Bower of my rustic love,
Arboured gate, for you,
A boudoir, my heart,
Ruined castle … Long gone …
I, an unruffled subservient,
Incarcerated in your eyes,
Slave of your raw smile,
‘i’ from simply besotted,
Forgotten … Long gone …
Traces of our numbed longings,
Whispers of trembling lips,
Lingering to glassy edges,
Evanescing misty curls,
Frozen … (Sigh) … Long gone!

Sunday, 21 September 2014

~ Mujhe nahin pata … ~

~ Mujhe nahin pata … ~
Bheed mein ghutan,
Becheni akelapan si,
Kho dene ka darr,
Dhoond laane ki kul’bulahat,
Ek lamhe mein simt’ti,
Bikharti saanson ki tapish si,
Zarra zarra ho jaane ki chahat,
Zyada, bohot zyada, khilti muskurahat,
Har sheh pe bhaari hoti,
Ghulti hui ‘kuch nahin’ mein,
Woh ek cheez,
Jiska naam, mujhe nahin pata …
Ek arrse se dhoond rahi hoon,
Tumko? Usko? Ya, shayad, khudko …
Mujhe nahin pata …
Qalb ki gumnaami ko kuredti hui,
Bas ek zidd si taari hai,
Muqammal karne ki,
Uss adhoorepan ko, jiss ki jaden gehraiyon tal’k hain,
Jiss ki maujoodgi, kab se ehsaas dila rahi hai,
Khud ke hone ka,
Par, ziist ke kis kis goshe mein,
Woh qayam karti hai,
Mujhe nahin pata ...
Main khoti si jaa rahi hoon,
Jitna dhoond rahi hoon,
Kya dhoondti hoon?
Sach, mujhe kuch nahin pata ……
Ab lagta hai jaise,
Bohot door nikal aayi hoon,
Khud ke ehsaas e maujoodgi se,
Aur wapas bhi nahin jaana hai mujhe … Khair …
Kabhi jaan paayi, khud bhi,
Toh yaqeenan bataungi,
Jab milungi tumse,
Chai ki pyaali si garam, nazuk, aur kareebi,
Mulaqaat pe,
Guf’tugu theh’regi, zara zara,
Boondon si, saanson ki,
Jism ke mehen’ge maheen kaanch pe …
Tum toh mera intezaar karoge na?
Tum ne ek dafa kaha tha, mujhe yaad hai ……


~ Woh manzar,
Jab ek sendh lagi deewar,
Munh utha kar,
Dekhti hai,
Uss tezz chamakte taare ki taraf …
Ya wo' guzar chuki bahar,
Palat kar dekhti hai,
Beete kal ke paar,
Jab aam ka pedh phalne to tayar tha …
Donon ka hota hai,
Bas ek hi unkaha sawaal —
Kya koi tarkeeb hai, ki
Main phir se bhar jaoon?
Aur, main wapas aa paoon? ~

~ My eyes would sing of a pain,
A silky song of bleary disdain,
Of nights stolen of their sleep,
And of dreams, maimed vain! 

Ek nagma hai rista ankhon se,
Nazar pe ho jaise resham lipte,
Nagma wo’ neendon ke chori ka,
Aur khawaab, jo gaye kuchle! ~

~ Words so alive in my crafty ruby satchel,
Enduring the torture of slow melting
All wet, kind and delicious,
In your temperate mouth,
So often but longingly sweet,
And sometimes, oh so bland!
The innocent flesh of your thirsty tongue,
And yes that ever-so wandering mind!
A wild, pretty witch I am,
Riding your serene senses high and fine …
Good or wicked,
May be ‘later’ you would wish to decide —
Held prisoner to the words of a poet —
Bewitched, when you are not! ~

~ Zakhm itna gehra diya,
Phir na usse bharne diya,
Aaj agar who nasoor hai
Kahan, kiska kasoor hai? ~

~ Neeli deewaron pe,
Jab sannata,
Ulte paun
Rengta hai …
Ye jaane
Kis kism ki neend
Mujh pe
Ungliyan pherti hai …
Makhmali tanhaayi,
Ki godd mein sir rakh ke,
Apni becheni
Dhak leti hoon
Aur main ankhen
Bas band kar leti hoon … ~

~ Vengeance is best served cold,
Much alike a dish of home-made salad,
And so is the icy hatred, at pure behest …
You hate most whom you love most, they say,
And I know of none but you, this and every day,
But the more I try to hate you now,
Casting away all, in tandem with ‘how’
I keep losing my ends,
My wit, my bends …
Hate is the emotion, never meant for you,
Say now, what do I do? ~

~Who plays ‘The Mistress’?

A huge belly, jelly like, making my knees go week and feet wobbly, I carried arrogantly in my last month of pregnancy. I liked, enjoyed a hell lot going out with it, flaunting it to the world, saying it out loud through the keen glaze of my eyes, “Look! I am going to be a mother soon, very soon!”
Going out with that overly swollen belly, with my husband holding my side, did become one daily affair, you know, for the love of street-food and late-night movies, despite the havoc-salsa the weathered minds danced around our happy programs. Though we were not totally and specifically careless, you see, for we loved our approaching baby more. We used to hunt down the most hygiene adhering place to let me devour in my newly found love for food, spicy to mention least. My devoted husband would dutifully drive me to the places. I loved him so much for that and more. It was pure fun, in the face of how oddly heavy, funny, and almost balancing at the edge of some wacky crag I felt. I loved it all. I really did.
And while I would sit, or even stand at times, waiting to be served and fed well, or for the movie tickets afterward, my husband fussing about and around my pregnancy-driven-desire at a distance from me, everybody passing-by would ogle me. I knew, I was not some beauty then with inflamed skin patchy and blemished, pocketed further with super-bouncy adipose tissues. Apparently then for my belly size? I must have looked out of place, or rather misplaced. So, they just stared. And then simply walked away.
They have got my baby now, three years old. They took it from me, my in-laws did. My husband changed from dutiful to cold, very, very cold. Today, they showed me out, leaving me no home to return to. And it’s getting dark, so dark outside, and inside. Night is all I can see and feel overhead.
My belly is not flawlessly flat but has deflated with time, with little stretch marks to remind me of the private time I took with my three years old, for absolute delightful nine-months. I look no beauty even now. 
But people … they still are staring, and then simply walking away. ~

~ Salaam arz hai, tauheen e parda na kahen,
Rukh unka, haye, chilman be'imaan ho gaye … ~

~ Uljhi hoon yun tujh mein,
Ki suljhan se koson door hui … ~

~ Usool’n mujhe, tujh ko, yun toh kab ka bhool jaana tha,
Kambakh’t ishq, be-usooli se hi ishq e waabasta kar baitha! ~

~ With age,
 And countless falls,
 With hurts, sores,
 Wounds and bruises,
 With many more lessons to earn,
 I shall learn a better Poetry …
 Death enduringly endearing,
 A very sick life,
 Patiently waiting ……………
 Cut me deep, let me bleed now,
 Ergo, I may become a Poet,
 A very real one … ~

~ Sukhan asal wahi jiss mein haqeeqii hawalah rahe, aur,
Haq tum nahin, iss ki bayaani ye’ kora safha phir kare!

Writing on facts tends to be the most profound, hence,
Blank page remains an alibi, to an illusion of You! ~

~ Crackers,
Colors, squashed and stuffed,
Like a kid gobbling up all the jellies, caramels and nougats …
Candles standing taut in candelabrum,
Sky lanterns spilling light all around,
Little pure candela,
Licking oil sodden wick,
Self-gratified, dipped and bathing in an earthen Diya …
Sweets, blithe smiles,
Illuminated, mirth radiating, this night,
Again more and more, a little more sweets,
And … ah, such weight gain ……
Melody is in bits, and also abounds …
Happy Diwali to all my happy faces! ~

~ Ek muddat hui, dar O darwaze khole baithe hain,
Suna kiye ki band dar, aahton ko pii sa jaate hain …

Zaaya na jaye, koi lamha, humare intezaar ka yun,
‘Aah’ hum har shab-sahar, do dafa bhar lete hain … ~

~ Tujhe na dekh kar,
Kahin zyada dekh rahi hoon main …

In a way immersed more in you,
Whilst seemingly I look away from you … ~

~ Love,
 … You may have,
 Million reasons,
 To ignore me,
 To let go off,
 What we have,
 Left in bits,
 Tired, torn moments,
 Albeit dried, molded crumbs,
 Lying between us …
 But, I would always know,
 Only one, that,
 You wanted me …
 … no more... anymore!
 Would you still leave me?
Stay … if you can …… ~

~ Am I loved? ~
‘You are no more loved’
Becomes my favorite door for a fateful, unripe exit …
Before it’s too late for you or me,
Say it, all that you wish to be,
For I hate breaking promises,
Especially those, I made to you,
When Sun was keeping its,
By lingering nearby,
Of being close, though not in sight,
While the long fingers of wild-blue,
Swathed in lovely, studded, dark night …
Since sun was not to leave the moon, alone,
As promised … you see …
You remember ours, yours or mine?
Or, were they been sheaved then,
Only to be stacked, left … to be forgotten?
As earnestly as forgetting me!
But … before I step outside this unkind door,
Just tell me once, will you please,
Am I loved still?

~ Love,
Yes, I have been the extremities of two, of smiles and anger, of indifference and possession, of sweet and ugly, of truths and lies, of hatred and then inanely in love again, of sleeps and impatience, of raw and serene, and also of being myself and none of myself for You!
And at times, only a vague remembrance, left of both ends.
No doubt … you call me mad ……
Am I not? Mad? ~

~ Khawaab ab sote nahin, raat jo theh'rti nahin,
Kahan se dhoond laaun, neend bhi milti nahin,
Qaid bani khawaaish, sayyad si khud hui main,
Ek jaan, ab udi ki tab udi, phir kyon udti nahin? ~

~ At times,
 I feel my voice,
 Going shallow,
 Sinking deep,
 Filling the cavity, in my shriveling chest,
 Like hiding surreptitiously,
 Even from myself ...
 It happens mostly, when,
 I'm afraid of losing you,
 When afraid of losing,
 Myself to you ...
 Let me hide,
 This only time,
 And may be, sometime again! ~

~ Adna sa dil, adna si hi iss ki ye' haqeeqat,
 Shuru tum se, khatam tum pe, ye' rafaqat!

 **rafaqat - closeness (companionship) ~

~ Kehte hain,
 Ye' sab hi,
 Muhabbat ki,
 Koi tang raasta umar nai hoti ...
 Bata do mujhe,
 Kis umar mein miloge?
 Ussi umar ke muntazir,
 Muhabbat karoongi,
 Tum hi se! ~

 ~ They say,
 Falling in love,
 Doth fall not, for any taut age ...
 So, would ye,
 Tell me now,
 The age, I'd have,
 Ye, as mine?
 For, whilst I'm waiting,
 I can still love thee,
 Unto then, and may be,
 A little more! ~

 ~ Lies ... I ONLY hate ...
 Something You also know,
 And still --
 Ah, how well you lied to me,
 With innocence,
 That too a lie ...
 Now, what you're to me,
 (You know well),
 And 'cause I no more cry,
 Yell, or say bye,
 I will ONLY smile ...
 A smile,
 To You,
 My first lie! ~

~ Riway'ti zarooriya't ki godd main, mujhe kab tal'k beh'lna hai,
 Kis kadar toh sambhal chuki hoon, ab zara zara bikharna hai ...

 Mere marz ki dawa, uff, hakeem e jaan ka bhi ye hi kehna hai,
 Har ek 'ah' se pehle aur baad, ahiste ahiste, saans bharna hai ... ~

~ Saans aur tum, donon mein zyada munafiq(hypocrite), kaun sa raabta raha,
 Uljha inn masaayilon(ques) mein, tamaam raat, kal main jaagta raha,
 Waabasta(related) shayad meri marzi se donon hi, chorha phir bhi tum ne,
 Malaal(grief) mein araasta(adorned) der raat, qurb(near) saanson ko main kosta raha! ~

~ Kaisi girho'n main uljhe jaati hain, ye surkh palkhen tumhari,
Kastoori dhoondte ho, ya bhula de usse phir, aisi khumaari?

Wherefore, thy weary eyes hath entangled, to lose their sheen,
Searching for thy musk, or to forget it, an intoxication so keen? ~

~ Kaash, ki ye pur’tapish saans, hui hoti naseem,
Kaash, ‘gar jo ho paati main, tujh se, marasim …

If only, this charred breath, could become breezy,
If only, to woo you till I breathe my last, was easy … ~ 

~ Shadeed sunne waale qayaam kiye, par Gul murjhaya be-awaaz hi,
Bhanw’re be-araam jo aaj hain, kyon Guncha masail e bazaar ho?

Flower wilted without a moan, howsoever keen ears homed around,
If, Bumblebees drone today aloud, why should a Bloom astound? ~

Thursday, 11 September 2014

~ Anguish of (something) unrequited! ~

~ Anguish of (something) unrequited! ~

Gratifying your notorious self,
Indulging into larceny,
Of breaths, and also heart beats,
(So tawdry, yes, indeed)
Literally …
And all such, and much same,
Echoing in a class-room, within a small picket, on guard,  
As, when the most beautiful creature on this Earth and also the other,
‘Oh, my Crush’,
Would ‘walk away’,
The small dingy corridor,
(Not slipping on the mucky water spattered greenish floor)
Opened to the senile off-white door,
Of possibilities of a ‘no’ (with a slap) more than a ‘yes’ (ah, so shy) …
Sighs …
And batting eyelashes — more edgy than before —
Would wait for the ‘return’, lest missing, if any …
For, it’s so darn easy to get sassily drenched, when it pitter-patters,
Mess happens (is felt as a lump, clogging the words-parched throat),
In the wake of staying thirsty, and so unwillingly, dry … 

Wednesday, 10 September 2014

~ How to die? ~

~ How to die? ~
An easy, silken death …
Let’s daub a little silver-cold light, as a matter of fact …
A simple pleasant death, should it be,
Sans any piercing pain, brunt, or wrath …
No venom ricocheting against the red-walls,
Strangling oneself, suspended, is neither fun,
Knifes and blades, Oh God, are so blood curdling — Gross
And, rusty stains are left on the rug … Oh, so, truly clever …
Being sadistic to breaths, alas, has no masochistic flavor …
Now, how to make your life —
Silently, crudely breed with an untainted placid, elegant end,
Fawning (delivering) a nixed ‘nix’ — delicate delectably sweet yet suave …
Stab your colors, mirth, laughter, and those dreams that winged …
I did slay mine, too … living now, a crafty ‘immortal death’,
Ah, such ‘unwisely alive’ … I was … a long, long moment before!

~ Brittle me, I wait … ~

~ Brittle me, I wait … ~

Wintry northern wind doth blow,
Blowing, so straight from heaven,
Pinching, pricking, piercing, of me,
Pieces of warmth, beholden, leaven …

Oh, tell … would thou come too?
With the icy breaths of November,
Rubbing cheeks against the wall,
Of the noon of my sultry slumber …

Like a shriveled veined last leaf,
I’d look out for thy silent arrival,
Lynched on lone branch, so corny,
Where a prosaic gust doth gravel …

Tread softly, on my brittle terrain,
For I’d seek, a secret soft wedlock,
In the heaths, away from a coven,
Wearing solitude, a whitish smock …

Come as thee wish to … gently to me,
Doth hurry, up the hill, would ye scurry?
Wait await in my plain mournful eyes,
 Dry northern wind shalt pluck to bury!

Thursday, 4 September 2014

~ My innocuous Poems … ~

~ My innocuous Poems … ~
Each a typical prototype,
Of any, of many,
Analogous gripes …
They simulate,
The uncertainties, same as in wuthering moors,
The bogging down,
Tinglings, those in my spine …
Biting nails,
Fidgeting feet,
Modest goose-bumps,
On the skin of fidelity, so ripe,
Fingers combing,
Getting tangled in the knots,
Of hair, twisted, tousled, unknowingly,
Grumbling in the pit,
Of hunger, lost an eon before,
Peevish, puckered, a need … 
A yen, ever so undeniable, ever so insatiable …
Jibbing, snarling,
To the ruffled sheet,
Fringes, loosened, so happy,
Batting childishly, on the dark Mahogany wood …
Pretend of a Cougar, as if they are,
Demanding for more,
More than I can defray,
With each fickle of my misty wrist …
At every fold of the page,
Tethered to my spatting, leaking, puzzled pen,
Hitchhiking at every possible concord,
Posing with jutted thumb, in all directions,
Every night … such flaringly cuspid, yet so benign …
And all I can offer them, is nothing, but,
A synthesized ‘beginning’ … a capricious ‘flight’ …
For the ‘end’ … is for them … to choose ……
Then, I’d just lazily sit back and … Smile!