कह के जब पलटी थी वो तुमसे

कह के जब पलटी थी वो तुमसे

कि तुम नहीं हो कहीं

तो उन आँखों के बहने में तुम थे

रात के सन्नाटे में जब दिखती है उसे

तुम्हारी आवाज़

तो वो टटोलती है तुम्हारे चेहरे को

बनाती है कुछ तुम जैसा

हवा में और ढूँढती है तुम्हें

उन उकेरों में

तो जब कहा था उसने कि तुम नहीं हो कहीं

न जाना था उसने कि

किताबों के पन्नों के बीच बैठे मिलोगे तुम

या फेवरेट फिल्म के किरदारों से लगोगे तुम

तुम मुस्कुराओगे धीरे से रेडियो के हर गाने के पीछे

बस वो वाली मुस्कराहट जो कह उठती है”कहा था न मैंने”

तुम्हारा न होकर भी होगा उसके साथ

न चाहे उग आये बथुआ की तरह

बेतरतीब से पड़े उसके कपड़ों में

नीले फूलों वाले सफ़ेद कॉफ़ी मग में

एक पैर में पड़ी पायल में

हर कोने में तो छितरे पड़े हो

तो जब वो कहेगी की भूल चुकी है तुमको

और याद नहीं वो साथ का वक़्त

तो मत पूछना उससे

कि चाँद को देख कर वो क्यूँ हो जाती है उदास

क्यूँ रखा है उसने आज तक तुम्हारा वो तोहफा संभाल

क्यूँ वो पहनती है अक्सर एक झुमका जो तुमने खरीदा था

क्यूँ उसके हफ़्तों में नीला दुपट्टा लौट आता है बार बार

तो कह के जब पलटी थी वो तुमसे

कि तुम नहीं हो कहीं


मान लेना उसे

Waiting for you… my November

You are my November

beautiful like the despair of autumn leaves

when the season takes a turn in deep sleep

like promises that I couldn’t keep

You are my November morning

shivers which scream of unsaid moaning

You are my November afternoons

akin to the zari border ripped of a benarasi sari

i had long kept to save up a memory

You are my November

but what am I, a question lingers

I am the winters waiting for November

in search of the tangerine hue of those cold evenings

rummaging the arid dreams in a desolate night

portraying the crimson shades of a shivery mornings

anticipating the flutter, quiver, shudder of a lone fire

i am a distracted flustered soul

a little in October

afraid of December

wanting to be ubiquitous

here and there, inside -out

i am a fragment of year

i am the sand that’s slipping between fingers

waiting for November

My November

My old home

one evening when sun painted
the sky with goodbye of orange
i passed through a familiar lane
leading to a “no more my address”
to an old home where my childhood stays

it was there my old home, old and wrinkled
for years which never trembled
perched near a dhaak tree shade
the colors that have begun to fade

our home was small and sturdy through seasons
we were happy may be that was the reason
inside we had a guava tree whose branches came
inside the rooms where the love  still flowed.

a swing hung to a porch for the children to share,
we giggled, we laughed and didn’t have anything to care,
inside that home a rickety chair and mattress lay bare,
an old dining table where meals were shared

and through all the dark nights we hid with quilts piled high,
we slept like kings through stories of kings, not knowing why.
so, today as I left that by lane and bid my old house a goodbye
inside my heart, I know I could never love my new house exactly so

and no matter on which pathways life now leads me on,
still at the sleepy town is an old home is where I belong

The Two Love………..

There are two kinds of people

Who will walk through that door

One which will make you comfortable

Like a coffee at a quaint sunset

One who will look at you with

A shine in their eyes

One who will buy you chocolates

That tastes familiar

One who will ask you out for a dance

And then will come someone

Who is like smudged words

Of a coffee spilled on your fuchisia table top

One whose taste lingers

One who makes you crawl in your skin

One whose whispers drip to the nape of neck

One whose kiss are a scar that leaves its mark

One who leaves like a bruise and still doesn’t leave

One who doesn’t seem familiar in this world

One you have known from a distant galaxy

In another time

In another place

In another moment maybe

You won’t want to fall in love

You will burn in love

You will drown in someone

Artwork by Ceasar Biojo

P.S- I am writing this post for #MyFriendAlexa by Blogchatter


Life by the window seat

This is a #WriteOverWeekend Winner post by Blogadda

Life by the window seat

I sat across a train window

Moments running behind

The green field smiling across

And waving a goodbye

Like the green pickle that maa made

And we stole it from the terrace

That time just flashes by

Came the month of autumn leaves

the teenage took a turn in deep sleep

Like promises that turn away suddenly

Passed through that open window

A breeze that turned cold in evening

speaking of incomplete desires

The zari border ripped of a benarasee saree

i had long kept to save up a memory

What are we, a question lingers

The tangerine hue of a summer afternoon

the arid dreams in a desolate life

the crimson shades of an evening in spring

or the shivers, quiver, shudder of a winter night

We all are distracted flustered souls

A little in today

afraid of tomorrow

Wanting to be ubiquitous

here and there, inside -out

We all are fragments of life

Life as seen through a window seat

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

I just want to sleep

A little drizzle lays bare

On a face with a salty tint

the naked arms which shiver

Of cold , of pain, of breathless whispers 

I try to speak and I choke of dreams

Amid the fading away of screams 

Turn by turn scars shout 

It’s Me! It’s Me! It’s Me! out loud

I dust off the demons from every corner

 the laughs that always hover

An outstretched hand that disappears

Every time I try holding on to it

I enter a dark room with pile of shit

The discarded empathy

The broken kindness

The abandoned love 

The vulnerable friendships

In a quaint little corner of that mess

I find a sepia tinted space 

Where, at this very moment

I just want to sleep

We travel away from strings that hold us back

In the dark spaces between
breathing and living
Rhythm and chaos
we all are puppets of a ticking clock
while time has no scale
it runs in anticipation
of danger
of nightmares
of an untimely call
of a scary unknown
of a sorry that has waited long
of a love that is lost and blurred
of letting go that was yours
It stays still and freezes
and watches silently
the becoming of a new life
the unbecoming of a yesterday
the moment before a hesitant kiss
an embrace when you feel the breath
 3 am nights with crazy friends
the travel that sets you free
the sun that paints the sky red
the starry night on a mountain top
In the dark spaces between
when life melts and
when life happens
we travel, travel away
from strings that hold us back

शाम गुलाबी…..शहर गुलाबी

एक गुलाबी शहर
चार गुलाबी रातें
चाँद से उतर कर जब एक गुलाबी
उतर आई थी सतरंगी दुपट्टे में
तो वो गुलाबी चमक उठी थी टिमटिमाते रंगों में
महलों से झांकती उदास गुलाबी
जब हँस पड़ी थी दोस्तों के साथ
कहते हैं लोग कि गुलाबी बिखर गया था
पलाश के पीले पत्तों सा
जैसे जूड़े में लगा दिये हों गुलाबी फूल किसी ने
दो हाथों के थामने की उस गुलाबी रात के बीच
कुछ शर्म से लाल हो उठी थी गुलाबी
जाते हुए जब पलट कर देखा मैंने इस गुलाबी आसमां को
गुलाबी चेहरों के बीच ठहरे कितने गुलाबी लम्हों में
अलविदा कह रहा था एक शहर गुलाबी

चुरा तो लोगे तुम कह कर कविता …………..

तुम बेशक चुरा लोगे खोखले शब्द
और बटोर लोगे वाहवाही
जिसमें दीमक लग चुकी होगी
पर कहाँ से लाओगे
वो सुबह जिसकी अलगनी में
पिछली रात के टुकड़े टँगे हैं
उँगलियों की चुहल
और बतियाती आँखें
जब आँखें मींचे
हथेलियों से थामने की कोशिश थी
पिघलते अंधेरों को
चुरा तो लोगे तुम कह कर कविता
पर वो जलना, बूँद बूँद
गिरना, रिसना
कहाँ से लाओगे