Perfume

Aaj wo almirah mein rakhe purane baste ko tatola.
Ek file mili..
jismein kuch kagaz, marksheet vagehra the.
Kuch khat bhi the,
lifafon mein lipte hue,
apni khushbu sanjoye hue.

Un tamaam khaton mein ek khat tumhara bhi nikla.
Kuch muskurahat si aayi..
aur maine us lifafe se khat ko nikala.

Wo zara ka rose wala perfume jo shayad tumne us khat pe chhidak ke usko post kiya tha..
aaj bhi un beete lamhon ko bakayakt sanjo rakha uski khushboo ne.

A Little Bit..

Suddenly, its this lovingly hated song on head.
A night, getting away from
what I formed of myself..
that night.

I gaze at the sky to find you,
at place where i last located you
and sobbed.
You weren't there.

I smoked down to save you of it.
You hate the smoke.
I hate you for going away.

Tree

Man and his tree of thoughts.
He moves around, carrying it.
Some blossoming thoughts,
some on bloom and,
some withering like leaves that have had their share of sun.

And then he seeks a listener -
a diary, some air or a lady's ear;
to empty his brimming vessel.
Awareness of a brimming vessel -
an abstract station on road to addiction.

Catastrophe

Anant said that I was at the right place.
May be I am.
I feel smug drinking this concoct of lights and dark.
I would never be at peace in woods,
nor would I be complacent in this hood.
I would carry on with my way of life,
with revolting pragmatisms and gut-felt rights.
O'Hara called these as catastrophes of one's own personality.
I'm with him there waiting for them to seem beautiful again.

Parallel Rails

The teacher in my soul is not accessible.
Who do I turn to and where should I look ?
The parallels have grown further,
the societal brain and the man's heart are at war.
I feel seen through,
judged by the Eiffel in Waterloo.
Why do I read about managing the coffers,
when all I care about is the spark that they fund to smother.

Mother

Anxious about how things will turn out,
at age and time when Mother could't tell
as she could in '79.

The questions were essentially the same -
calming the worried heart, building the wall,
alienation in far land.

Answers about being trusting and righteous
when it all seemed like a walk,
on ice so thin.

A piece each kept with the past muses,
mother, will she understand your baby
could live no different.

Mother do you think they'll like these words?

Them

For them it wasn't about acquiring one another.
It was about co-existing in harmony.
It was miles from the contemporary ways of the society,
and there lied it's twinkle.
Breathing her, feeling her, living her and with her.
It was a love that didn't wane.