तुम यहीं बैठे हो

आज बादल गरजे नहीं,

दिल कहीं लगा नहीं

आँखें मूँद लीं खुलते ही,

मेरे लिए यह सुबह नहीं

यह दिन जी तो पाते ना हम,

मगर तुम यहीं बैठे हो

मन घबराता हुआ सही,

दरिया में गोते लगाता कई

बेबुनियाद दर्द के दलदल में,

पगला, ठिकाना अपना ढूंढता कहीं

सतह तक वापस आना तो चाहते ना हम,

मगर तुम यहीं बैठे हो

मुस्कुराना हम चाहते नहीं,

आंसुओं को तुम जो चूम लेते हो

खुश रहने की भी हिम्मत नहीं,

तुम दर्द का जो ख़याल करते हो

मगर हंसी देखो रूकती नहीं

जब तक तुम यहीं बैठे हो

 

Daydream

My legs are all tangled up
In your idle daydreams
I'm the dregs in your teacup
It doesn't make sense

I dream of being all dolled up
In your idle daydreams
But you don't dream in colour
And it makes no sense

In a corner I'm curled up
While you idly daydream
You don't smile and I'm right there
It doesn't make sense

You go down and I look up
While I idly daydream
What I had is what I'll have
I have no sense

Two Trains

Love of my life

Monster of my own creation

I think the devil’s wife

Penned a lover’s definition

Love is happiness

World’s most prevalent illusion

Frustration and helplessness

Fruits of beautiful self-delusion

Broken hearts occur in pairs

And self-abomination

Darkness juxtaposed in layers

Of pretty pink infatuation

If you and I met on a bus

And struck up a conversation

I’d have liked you and you me, thus

Free from the poison of adulation

But I weighed you against

A free woman’s comprehension

And you failed to paint

On me a picture of perfection

Is there anything left?

Not even civil words of salutation

‘Cause we cannot leave and we cannot stay

Opposite trains at the same station

Bubble

Bubble bubble bubble
Little drops of trouble
Two-day old stubble
Sex on the double
And baby boy dribble

Love love love
Me in your glove
Smells from the stove
Fire in a cove
On the wings of a dove

Meow meow meow
Ah's and a wow
Hard work with the plough
No time but now
And sweat on your brow

Blow blow blow
With breath as the snow
My skin wheat dough
White cheeks aglow
For you down below

End

I sit in front of a huge office building, all blue glass. The world is reflected in the glass, some people, some faraway houses, everything and everyone but me. Maybe I'm the unfortunate one, who unwittingly chose to sit in front of the few opaque tiles. Or maybe I'm just not there.

Little black birds sweep close to the ground, like a jubilant celebration of a funeral. I see a woman taking down clothes from a clothes-line, on the terrace of one faraway house. There's a red cloth flying against the cloudy sky, I can't say if it's a struggle for freedom or a child-like game against the wind.

I hope she doesn't take down the red cloth. I hope the birds don't stop circling around me. The red cloth reminds me of the beauty of freedom, and solitude. The birds remind me that the world doesn't end when people like me go. These are the little things that I'm anchoring my little life on.

The woman leaves the red cloth on the line. Thank you. I think I will be alright some day. Instead of getting beaten about by the wind, I will soar in it again. Alone and finally happy. Or atleast content.

I'm now walking back to enacting my life. People stare at me and then look away. Most people don't like being reminded of pain. Some stare hard and keep staring, maybe taking a morbid pleasure in someone else's suffering or maybe they recognise pain as an everyday trade. How unhappy am I? I look into the glass to find a measure. I see green leaves and people passing, but I'm not there. Maybe that's a cruel answer.

Dangerous

He saw her first in one of the indistinguishably unique, tiny, snake-like lanes of the indistinguishably unique small town of his birth. It was a sunny, dusty day and she looked far from charming with her sweat-drenched face and an expression of marked hostility. Yet he could not pull his eyes away from her. She looked dangerous in a very domestic way. And he had always been drawn to danger.

Their eyes had met and she had made a hole in his face with her scorching eyes. And then she disappeared, ducking into the black of a dingy room. He had known it was not the right time to follow her. Later that night, he had cursed himself for hours for not running after her.

He saw her a second time. As an angel this time, dancing with many children and many men. He saw her at a wedding. She was beautiful and he hated her smile, her shiny hair, her white perfection. He stared and stared at her, hoping against hope to see the wildcat that her soul was. And then like a sign from the heavens, she had twisted her ankle, fallen and cursed like the coarsest of working men. How he had wanted her then. Wanted her to fight his arms, scratch him, to spew venom. He had found out everything about her, everything except her name. He couldn't dare to kill the magic. His stupid self-created illusion.

The third time he saw her, he had ordered her to marry him. The tiredness of her prompt acceptance had scared him. Scared him badly but also exhilarated him. He'd always been a fool.

Twenty years have passed. He couldn't have guessed he would have ended up like this. So alone, and much less of a man, much less of a person. The sparkle in his eyes has gone, along with his insane ideas about life and love, along with his recklessness and spirit. He has nothing new to say, nothing new to feel. He has indeed become a boring man. Boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. It hurts. It's hilarious. His life is, each day.

Twenty years have passed. As she cooks in the kitchen for their second grandchild, humming in her absent way, he realizes she has never existed. She has consciously kept herself away from his world, from feeling, from laughing, from crying. She wasn't human. She was much more dangerous than he had ever imagined. She had extended her moonbeam fingers and turned him into a sorry figure, half-human half-ghost.

Twenty years have passed and he still hasn't found any words to say to her. And never will.

Gamble

All I could do
Was play with words
When effortlessly you could
Play with hearts

Too honest, my weakness
And stupid desire
Too silent, your strength
And a mocking smile

Refusals, relieving
I appreciatively taste
Artless devotion
You uncaringly waste

Your aloofness,
So endearing
Clueless you ramble.
My eyes,
So revealing
My all, I gamble.