Tuesday, December 9, 2014

TOOTE PHOOTE SE

कुछ पल जो छूटे, छोटेसे
कुछ खुशियाँ जो लूटे, खोटेसे
कुछ चहरे छोड़े रूठे रूठेसे
कुछ तसल्लियाँ पाली झूठे मूठेसे
कुछ ज़िन्दगी जीली टूटे फूटेसे 

Saturday, November 22, 2014

INKAAR

लब्ज़ जो ज़ुबा पे आयें,
उन्हें शराब मे घोल दिया

चाहतें जो दिल मे दबी हुईं,
उन्हें धुवे मे उड़ा दिया

दर्द से चिल्ला रहा था जो दिल,
छाती मे उसे कैद कर दिया

सोच जो तेरी हर पल आई,
काम के भोज से नोच दिया

गुस्सा है मुझे किस्मत पे,
जो मेरे किस्से मे लिखा तेरा इत्ना ही हिस्सा

अगर पहले ही होता अंजाम का पता,
तो ना कर बैठते इज़हारे-इश्क़ की खता

कहते है, समझले पगले यही है दुनिया की दस्तूर!
मगर साला दिल लग गया, इस मे हमारा क्या कसूर!!

Monday, December 30, 2013

THE FACE IN THE BUS WINDOW

Gliding like an angel up above in heavens,
Her face approaches me, looking through the bus window.

With one look towards me, she has resuscitated my heart
Dead by an overload of physics and math.

Time has slowed down. Noise has faded away.
As though I've been plunged into still water from the clamor above.

Her hazelnut eyes are looking straight through my soul,
Peeling off layers of propriety masking my emotions,
Flipping them page-by-page like an open book and signing off on each one.

The heat from her gaze is melting my ice cold heart,
Running streams of water in my mind, bringing spring to my deciduous thoughts.

Long black strands of hair falling over her shoulder,
Are striking each other in the wind like a wind chime,
Playing sonorous music in the back of my head.

The tense smile locked on her face,
Hints me she is singing a soprano to my tenor,
And my heart leaps and bounds with resonance.

Her dark bewitching lips are wording silent whispers in my ears,
Sucking the soul out of my body, like an angel of death.

But the song is over and the bus is going away,
She has left my mind with me but taken my soul away.
My legs were rooted thinking it would look foolish to run after,
But now when I look back, it was foolish not to.

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
I am just a lost soul, swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year, running over the same old ground.
What I have found,
The same old face.
Wish you were here.

- The last stanza taken from Wish you were here, Pink floyd.