http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/58565759/

Aadat si ho gayi hai...

Jab jab moondhi ankhion pe koi hawa ka jhonka chalta hai
Dhadkan ab bhi rukty hai ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab paid ki oot se koi khawab chura ke jata hai
Paayal ab bhi bajty hai ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab nadi ke shor mein koi deed lagayey rehta hai
Paani ab bhi bharty ho ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab lafzon ki aad mein koi chaid chaid ker hasta hai
Nazrein ab bhi jhukty hain ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Jab jab ek muskaan pe koi hasna bhool sa jata hai
“Naz” ab bhi kerty ho ya aadat si ho gayi hai

Does a supernatural power exist? A deity which controls several universes from beyond…A God? Many a times man debated on this issue, and still does.

Belief vs Logic? Immortal vs Mortal? Lots to argue about, but once a man decides his path, his faith, What then? Does being a believer of “The Unknown”, makes one responsible for following “The Rules”, and “Acceptable” vs “Unacceptable”?
What after being “The Believer” one experiences a choice? A choice to choose not between what we want to do or not, but between who makes the choice for us…

the choice to pick, to live, and love..even die..

Life is not the game of choices, but the game of one we select for the play.

.......

Gumshuda hai samundar yun seep ki perchayi mein
Talaash ho jaisay be-asar kisi shab ki tanhayi mein

Berang hai manzar yun shama ki khudnumayi mein
Tareek ho jaisay aaina kisi rakht ki bewafayi mein

Saakat hai qayenaat yun jurm ki duhaayi mein
Tairta ho jaisay toofan kisi mauj ki khudayi mein

Tajusus hai qatil yun aansoo ki sunwayi mein
Kehtay ho jaisay ghazal kisi sha-ik ki ruswayi mein

Denied

ever strained
to hear,
when expectations
and fulfilment
take a joy ride?

One ring,
then another...

obscure
blank
silence

the ten dials
propped
in
figures that surround..
my tremble
and my temple

popped eyes refused,
though pen still carries
a desire

cure
nor do I seek
for the aphasic charm
that i hide

The dinner was eaten long ago...
Let me lick the void

The Illusionist

Light condemned
In my hole today.
As a cycle follows
In forty nights.

Inch by inch,
The earth sucks me in,
Like
A Dracula drinking
The orgasmic plight.

I clip my claws
Again and again,
But still they find
The papered walls.

Seven colors in the
Rainbowed eyes..
Sip me once,
Before the twilight.

Packed already?
You wish you’d leave!
Constellations follow
Your hasty strides.

I write my verse
Letter by letter,
So it stays where
The Plath died.

Smoked pieces
Of deserted inn,
Remind me of
My scissor veins...

Once a stranger,
Made love,
To a mourning voice
Of a concubine.

Neither a puzzle,
Nor a story,
A rotten waste that
That you leave behind.

O caricatured smile,
I talk to you today,
Don’t unlock me on
The forty-first night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
When mirrors are the only illusions that die when we close eyes..!

A Substituted Life

Can alternatives substitute notions in our lives? what about colours, people, relationships?

Perhaps they can.

Its a forced action, if taken immediately, and probably just happens by itself if given time.

But the question is, do we want them?

Humans like change, but not all the time. Sometimes, we do want to take a backseat and enjoy the neverending weather. Yes, it depends on what are we having, but i guess we all crave for stability, and having a good weather with a cup of tea in some dazed evenings is all we would care about, so that the rest of the world sleeps at the back of our minds.

A monsoon breeze with some pitter patter once a while, when we sit in our balconies sipping the love of nature, and then the clouds leave their place to give way to the sun. So, do we like it now? ummm..perhaps yeah...till we get sunburnt...then perhaps we take away our teacup and newspaper as we go back to our shaded room to curse a bit on the weather.

Did the change prompt the frowned face, or the sun?
(Probably the sun..it took away the wetness that we were enjoying.)

What about the ones who touched our lives and left us? Do we crave their existence, or enjoy the change! Do we miss the best, or look for the better. No, nothing is being implied.
Perhaps, the issue is whether we had the best, or thought we had, or probably we already were waiting for the change.

The ones who would have touched our hearts must be our choice, then do we substitute them while we nurture a void? Is that lack of presence horrible enough to push us to make another choice, or when we know that we cant have a better option leaves us makes us live with a hollowed existence till the time substitutes the void itself.

We all try substituting being and relationships, concioiusly or unconciously. Having vegetables for food is probably not such a good subtitute when we love chicken, but perhaps its better than staying awake all night due to hunger. Yeah it certainly was a better comparison, but the easiest one.

But a forced substitution? Is it worth the hunger? or would it make us crave even more vigoirously for what we lost? Yeah, it keeps our mind away, or atleast tries to distract us for sometime, but what if it doesnt. What if we crave for The One even more than we ever thought.

Problem arises when we have no alternatives to substitute. What do we do then? Do we sulk in the emptiness or move on? Move on to another part of the being, that silences that craving, or atleasts turn it into whispers. Even the thought of letting go of our "only" options takes away our breaths. How would be life with those special people not around, and no other being take that place? Yeah, now probably we crave for a substitute when there is none in sight.

Some fundamentals question our being, and the only substitute is to "move on".

Paper Cuts

“if I could only listen”…sometimes such thoughts wag in our heads pushing us to feel guilty about what we missed in life…those rare moments where we could have prevented those only “donts”..but we just couldn’t..

Whats and whys follow our reasoning long after the ship is lost..wow..a deadly chaos..
Those moments..which are followed by even more rare moments..where a tear drop, an apology, or a blushed heart are not enough to “undo” thoese single lines..like we do in “word files”..
Ahhh..its easy to achieve perfectness..and harder to keep it..

How long does it take to grow a thread from a cotton seed..and a just a while to break it..
And all that we are left with, are hollow ponderings and a keyboard to type with..!

Scribbling...

Creativity and sensibility don’t go together. At least not in my case. You flaunt one, and the other leaves, making one feel like a painter who has the canvas but not a brush to stroke with, or a paint bucket but a blankness to fill in.
“If only this lampshade could stop moving!”. The intermittent noise of the paper lampshade would always cut my thoughts exactly at the point where I would be on the verge of sorting out myself. But perhaps I had synchronized my brain impulses with the cling and creak of my surroundings, so that every dream would just continue till I can bear it, and then save the rest of it for the next night. Sorting out office files is relatively easier and much less absorbing and the best thing is: I get paid for wasting time.
So tonight I leave my randomness to solve the chaos of world waiting for me in the next room.
Don’t get me wrong. I am neither psychotic nor disoriented. I am both at the same time.
Professionally a therapist, hierarchally a social animal, and emotionally a virtualist. Well yeah! I know you have never heard this term. That’s right. I just coined it. A virtualist is someone who lives at the interface of what is felt or denied, what she materializes or imagines..someone who surrenders to impossible, while living with the possible.
Yeah that’s the shortest story of my life.
“Honey I am home!”, the voice that had been clinging to me since the last half decade resounded once more. “Mom!!! I am hungry, and dad is home too. Come out..I am waiting”. Don’t know why I never liked this voice, at this very hour of my silent evenings.
The spoon was so mechanically automated to go into my mouth, with a peaceful expression on my face, so that no one could hear the paper lamp inside me.
Some live to stand and face those cutting intricacies of self, some live to nurture them.. I hereby wait to see if anyone exists, who can hold onto a single dread all this while. Someone who would stop the clock every hour, and reverse it, so that the time would never reach another while.
It’s a charm to live in the past, and dream about history. Walk today, and nourish your yesterday.Wow!Another creative thought!
Life has never been more smoother…the bright days, the dark nights, the happy family, the grateful smiles..all submerged into one lampshade that tries to hypnotize me whenever it moves. Ah but you are late my friend..too late..I already have been hypnotized by virtuality of my name. For some it was enticing, for some it was boredom intonated, but what still lingers in my goose bumps is the stranger who held my clock all this while.

Indeed…creativity and sensibility do not go together :)

[In A Vacuum]

There is something stony
About the sun kissed sky…
It rains and shines, and
Withers down to bloom again..
I could never ask why?

I am the yellowed remains
Of every wound…
The ones hiding under
Every brown scar..
Fuming to exhume, yet
Scared of a prick.

I have a face,
And a full set of teeth,
Four limbs installed,
And still I crawl.

[knock knock knock!
Good morning Madam,
We have been called
To build you a metal hall].

The Show That Never Happened

[I give you the Phantom of Opera tonight]
-------------------------------------------------
A glass of gin,
And the beaded face
Reminds me of
Pitter patter of falling lies,
Once it was called rain,
Today it sounds like a
Dieing fire.

Sand and water
Share the same path,
Through my fingers they
Head for another drain...

‘Wish I could wet my palms
With mud again...

Shrieks that mocked some laughter,
Sighs that silenced a losing hope,
The show witnessed by a thousand deaf,
Still plays to strangle another hope.

Every flash forms a name,
Every thunder sings a rhyme,
We all pass in the maze of storm,
The fated one is a black wine.
-------------------------------------------------
There is a flower in every hand,
And birds chirp of the dry leaves,
I am flowing since the earth broke,
Every drop has a seeker behind.

Let it be history,
Let it be divine,
When Flora will meet theTethys of time.

May it be shored, or drunk in eyes,
I await the lily beyond tonight.
-------------------------------------------------
[The curtain falls]

My Paper Hut

I am toiling against the wind
Of crooked chins and open arms.
Tell me another way...

Tell me what it takes to be the
Whale in a pond of seasons,
And lust of fruits...

My hiding is wet in the
Monsoon breeze,
But the metal hut shrieks in
The calmness of my threaded dreams...

O Mommy I want to go home,
Where barbies talked of mirrors
And colors,
And words were all the same to me...

I am walking towards...
I am running behind...

One drop...
Just one...
In this desert night.

A Cave With A Sunbeam Hole

I am born with a red eye,
Which sleeps in a purity’s parasol,
I play hide and seek,
When colors toss the pea.

Through the lid of my gaze,
I have sensed it burgeoning,
Seducing it to sleep for the
One it’s not meant to be.

Scarred it maybe,
But of one lone hand...
Who will recite the prayer
Of the unspoken fertility?

Your scribes over the maiden
Have engraved a cave...
Who will peel off a banana
Without a cherry’s vitality?

On A Sabbatical

Silently I waited for you to glow,
For you to let go of the big N show,
Nothing was created but a closed road,
And the world hushed to witness the corrode.

Silently you sung the strings refined,
Restrained in self, the symphony sublimed,T
he blankness of the slept still screams,
O you just cuffed the flowing dreams.

I break the law today you hear,
I cross the boundary you’d fear,
Be the caged, be the choice,
No I quit the rhymed rejoice.

A histogram bellows a moving tale,
It doesn’t stop on the ends so frail,
A legend made, another died,
Why did you let the seasons come by?