काश...

कल, पल सा आया, यूँ आया और गुज़रा,
बज कर अचानक घुँगरू सा बिखरा;
आज तुम अगर, कल देख पाते,
मेरे साथ कुछ दूर तुम भी आते.

अक्सर ये सोचा अजीब हैं ये पल,
वक़्त के साथ हम भी जाते हैं जल;
उन्ही पलों को समेटे हम चलते जाते,
काश कुछ दूर तुम भी आते.

बस रिश्तों का धोका, बिखरती ये यादें,
समेटते कभी हम, वो लम्हें, वो बातें;
अगर समझ आता, तो ना वक़्त यूँ गावते,
अपने साथ हम तुमको ले आते.

आज मैं वो चेहरा सभी को दिखाता,
मेरा वो चेहरा, कभी ना पाता;
उन लम्हों के कारवाँ, कभी ना भुलाते,
अगर मेरे साथ दो कदम चल पाते.

तुम साथ चलते तो शायद सम्हल जाते,
उस सदा से यूँ ठोकर हम शायद ना खाते;
तुम रोक भी लेते तो एक पल रुक जाते,
काश मेरे साथ, तुम चले आते...

An Unfinished Request...

Let me not die tonight,
For I want to live till Sunrise;
Let me see the silver skies,
The empty roads, the fluttering flies.

Its not an excuse to delay my rest...
Or it is, isn't it?
I crave to smell the sweet, mellow Shiwli for the last time.
I want to embrace the night,
Feel the silky smooth air.

Just one more time I want to smoke in the quietness,
The calm, where I can see, clouds forming from my breath.
One last time I want to see the silver flakes fall like snow.
For, the snow in winter, I could never see,
I want this to be my illusionary consolation.

Want to whistle one last time, for it echoes,
As if someone, is replying.
Let me sing one more time,
Where I let myself out of me.

Let the minty fog, pull my spirit,
Away with them, to the land of crispy ice.
I don't want to die tonight...
Or any night.
For night is when I live.

I am dead during daytime anyway.
So kill me with the sun to witness.
Make it noon, but not twilight,
for the hope rises.

When I die, let them know how I Loved them,
But, let the people I hate, be.
For its daytime, they might be busy.
Let me hear, one last song...

Look its coming up, the sun!!!
And...

The Song of Frank Enstien

Oh run! RUN! For the monster has come!

He doesn't eat, plunder, rape or vandalise;

He just TALKS to people for fun!

(Ignore... No, RUN... Back door!)

Has he a bad breath, or does his body stink?

Did he whistle, pass lewd comments?

Did he touch-grab or did he wink?

No, hate him, for he is lonely, and wants to hear and to be heard.

But you "KNOW", he's a rogue,

A beast, and yes, he's absurd!

So what, if he HATES his kind for their savage deed?

So what if he innocently walks, smiles and stares at people?

He's one of them, hence no one pays any heed.

He doesn't want to be tagged, he just wants to tag along.

He doesn't want to be judged, and this is his song.

(But he's wrong! It's wrong! He's WRONG!)

Smudging Nostalgia

Why do you tend to forget things of the Past?
For instance you have forgotten my childhood...
Some, which have faded in your mind with time,
And some, which you have purposefully suppressed.

Why don't you remind me of the accident,
Where my stomach acted as a speedbreaker to a scooter,
When I was three?
Or that time, when I recorded my broken nursery rhymes,
Over your Favourite artist's cassette...

They are there in my mind like a buried seed lying dormant,
in a desert.
They resurface, but I don't ask you Dad...
I fear, tears would water that seed, about all the memories, and about Her.
For she was a lady who was the sense of our being, for all of us, all three of us.

Why do you see, the past, as a sad collection of memories?
Why is there a word for sad memories, but none for the happy ones?
Can't you see, that the happy ones were worth living for? Worth cherishing?
And even though the sad ones were painful, and sometimes overwhelming
To the extent I cried like a kid, but then, I WAS a kid.

You have lived through them, and I have lived through them.
Can't you see, sometimes, we both laugh at an instance
where all four of us were together,
Dining at the restaurant...
Have you forgotten? You haven't, a bit. I know.
Or would you smudge the memories too, when I'm gone?    

Impressions of an Impostor

When you seat yourself on that seat of the train, I seat over you,
When cunningly you want to hide and peek, I put deceit over you.
When you want to hide with shame and fear, I put a sheet over you,
But still you remain exposed, you do not know, you deceive only few;
But not you, its not new, still you do...

Slopping on, the rainbow mud won’t hide your pained face,
Sticking your cheek with the scarlet lips, won’t provide you, feigned grace.
Growing a beard or lashing your eyes, won’t make you look mature;
They’re just those things, those bleeding things, which a small kid wishes for.

The carefree style, “the chilled-out” profile, they are disguises too,
The lame excuse, the tame recluse, the fear of loss, it grew.
The old trauma, you think won’t repeat, so now you run for new;
You don’t realize, it never repeats, the bitter winds, they blew.

D’you remember what’s still cobwebbed, there’s still your real face,
Hidden somewhere, by the pretense, the fear, by the change which you chase.
I, the impostor have hidden it under layers, hiding you from every side;
And exhibiting myself, just myself, The Impostor, smirking with pride.

You know I will kill your identity, with the passing of time,
You will be a mere structure, under me, imitating as a mime.
There’s still time, but you won’t, I know, hence you’re mine and I, your refuge;
I love you because you’re a coward, and for you, being yourself is huge.


I humour you. I mock you. I dare you, if you can rise from my work of illusion,
And then I’ll part with you, and find someone, for my work here will be done.