Monday, May 28, 2007

Painting Desires

Let me try
painting my desires
with my eyes.

There you go!
Love is your wardrobe
& pain, your accessory.

It goes so well
with your smile-
teasing & taunting!
there,yet not there!

your nose is my playground
& your thought is my home.

To hell with poetry-
You are brutally hot
I am fatally horny.

Ah, what are you,
but a desire of my making!

What are you-
My mistress
or my master?

Friday, May 18, 2007

Chaand ko maar do!

Chaand utaar do
chaand ko maar do

is ziddi se kaafir ki
sadiyon se ek si aadat hai
ab to marna hi ibaadat hai
isko marne ki ijaazat do

yaa to ab kuch aur chadha do
yaa to ab aasmaan hi uda do
baandh-ke kheencho zor lagake
chaand hata do, chaand chuda do


roz uth-uthke gira karta hai
yeh kat kat-ke mara karta hain
bas ek din marne ki nautanki
phir badh badh-ke bhara karta hai

routine to bahut hi pheeka hai
kitna boring kaheen-ka hai
mere kamre me jhaankta rahta hai
batao, yeh bhi kya saliiqa hai?

yaa to ab kuch aur chadha do
yaa to ab aasmaan hi uda do
baandh-ke kheencho zor lagake
chaand hata do, chaand chuda do


har shab chaand ke chulhe pe
gud-neem se sapne pakte hain
apna pakaya yeh chakhta hi nahin
na ham kabhi inko parakhte hain

har roz chulhe se paala pada
jal jalke chaand pe chaala pada
kabhi chulha jalaake bhula de ye
to chehra poora hi kaala pada

yaa to ab kuch aur chadha do
yaa to ab aasmaan hi uda do
baandh-ke kheencho zor lagake
chaand hata do, chaand chuda do

Chaand utaar do
Chaand ko maar do


Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Faceless Intruder

It wasn't until that fateful day
when an innocuous greeting
turned everything around,
that I noticed things
living, unseen by my eyes

It wasn't until then
that I noticed
the futility of attempts
to fill bottomless wells
with dead consonants & long vowels
& punched punctuation marks

I noticed
the caprices of oracles
who make dead-ends into highways

I noticed
that emotions had no nativity
& how pain can be forged into smileys

I noticed
that all stories are but the same-
just that the narrator tweaks the narration
blurring the imagery

I noticed
that there are no questions
but one -

I noticed
that faces are but pseudonyms
to gift anonymity to the world

I noticed
restlessness can be reasonless
& unreasonable

I noticed
that Apollo is apologetic, all the time
for leaving smiles, unsolicited

I noticed

Now I wish to go back
to what I was
before I noticed

So kill yourself
& stay dead until dawn

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Incandescent Metaphors

An angel stopped at my door step

Give me a little of your tomorrow
without cabs with neon lights honking
without screens with virtual windows blinking

Write me down in pieces
of incandescent metaphors

How do I dress her up in words?

She has found a home in some lazy moment
or maybe, is still scouting for one,
in pieces of yesterdays & tomorrows.
There are always so many.

She flows along turbulently
wearing reflections of the sky.
The sky does not understand;
she does not explain.

She flows down truculently
with banks on either side, dawn & twilight.
The banks-
are they wings
or are they anchors?

Naive, she forgives mirages
for being abhorrent & arrogant;
but follow them, she does.

There is so much to her
& just too little that one can know.

How do I make her up
& let her out of herself?

An innocent angel
still waits at my doorstep;
or is she a conniving witch?

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Bematlab...yahaan kuch to hua hoga!

kuch khaab jale honge
bas khaak nazar me hai
yahaan kuch to hua hoga
har taraf dhuaan sa hai

masoom si aahat bhi
mahfoos nahin hain yahaan
mahroom si kismat hai
mayoos si baithi hai

kis kooche me utrega
uski marzi to na thi
yeh naam-o-shaql uska
kisi raat ka purza hai

iski khataa kya hai
jo maut ke tohfe mile-
bas naam liya rab ka?
tera khudaa kya hai??

bekas si yeh berahami
bevajah kyun pahne ho?
nafrat to viraasat me
har shaqs ko milti hai

zindagi meri, meri nahin
teri jaan bhi teri nahin
tu qabr banaaye meri
kal tera janaaza hai

We inherit so many prejudices.
Did we ever stop to think if they are worth while?
Are they?

Thursday, May 03, 2007

My Taj Mahal

Why do I write of love?

It is neither pressing
nor impressing
nor depressing

Why do I write of love?

It knows no grammar
It holds no glamour

Then why do I write of
the skies in his eyes on restless days
the storms in my gasps on turbulent nights



I keep moving on
from one story to another
leaving tombs on dead ones
in faceless times
in nameless places
about the next tombstone.


He had waited
I had too.
We thought-
Love is not a slave of confessions
Ah! But then,
silence is an insidious assassin

& we did not know that

Lights adorning the walls
The sound of shahnai
Girls giggling over floral designs of mehndi

In the courtyard next to mine,
they are celebrating.

Another love story died today.

Time for yet another Taj Mahal
a tomb
not for a lost lover
but for a love story
dead & dusted.

So tonight
I write of love
I write my last Taj Mahal
until tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007


zarra zarra ab zaar zaar ho gaya
zara zara si baaton se pyaar ho gaya

baaton me pahren palatna, kasoor hai tera
tere sang main bhi gunahgaar ho gaya

besabab guftagu se gila karta hai dil
isi me har lamha jo giraftaar ho gaya

aakar, saari umr rakh di hai ulatke
nasha utar gaya aur khumaar ho gaya

naakaam sa mafahoom talaashta hoon main
ab to har maayna bekaar ho gaya

parda gira diya to shuruuaat hui
daastaan aakhir me aebdaar ho gaya

jab buni thi zindagi tab to tu nahin tha
ab achanak kaise ek khirdaar ho gaya?

mareez nazar aata tha par khud marz hai
main bas bekhabar sa beemaar ho gaya

ekhtiyaar me the arzoo, to magroor tha
tum mile, to guroor gubaar ho gaya

din bhar khwahishon se bach-bachke chala
raat hui! shikaastaa, shikaar ho gaya

aaj phir naye tukde jud gaye chehron par
aaj phir soonaapan faraar ho gaya

aadatn sannaate jeete the lab par
ab begharaz lavzon ka dayaar ho gaya

kal maine chedi thi to bas baat thi
tumne chhua to yeh ashaar ho gaya

Dedicated to HippO