Yaadon Ka Sheher

Sachhe-jhoote kisson ka pitara khole,
Kuch khushiyan apne hisse ki bator ate hain,
Aao yaadon ke sheher ghoom ate hain,

Ankhon se jhankti sharartein,
Aur samajhdaaron ki mehfil me 
bachhon si beparvaah gustakhiyan kar ate hain,
Aao yaadon ke sheher ghoom ate hain,

Hasi me jo siskiyan dhund len,
Unn yaaron ke sath gehri baaton me gote kha ate hain,
Aao yaadon ke sheher ghoom ate hain,

Muskura ke, kabhi gusse se zahir ki, pyari si shikayetein,
Aur allhad zidd se doston pe hakk hum bhi jata ate hain,
Aao yaadon ke sheher ghoom ate hain,

Patton pe padi os ki boondon ko bahot din sanjoya hai,
Aj nange pairon se geeli meeti chhapka ate hain,
Aao yaadon ke sheher ghoom ate hain...

August 17th, 2015

Toska

'Toska' (Russian) is the word I was looking for...and as Vladmir Nabokov describes it; “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning."

Black

Reckless crooked love,
Empty laughs,
Soul-less talks,
Lying bare,
Frantically kissing,
as if digging to find some meaning to everything...
Clenching so tight, 
to silence the echoes of loneliness...

Craven soul, disguised as a drunk hopeless romantic...

We had learnt to fool ourselves,
Never learnt how to love...

She drowned, the soul learnt to fly...

If he ever knew me, he wouldn't wait at the shore,

he would find me in the depths....