हमनवा

ज़िन्दगी मुकम्मल हो भी जाती
गर साँसें चन्द होती पर तेरे आगोश की
तेरे सिवा ये सारा जहां
गर मिला भी तो क्या मिला।

वही दुनियादारी का शोर है
वही दिल की तन्हाई का सिलसिला
बस तेरा ग़म इक हमनवा है
तुझसे गिला हो तो क्या गिला।

True Love

Every great love
Is a beautiful tragedy
An everlasting feast
Of moments in memory

A kaleidoscope of futures
Painted of 'what ifs'
The liniment, the Hashish
Numbing out what is

Every tale of love
Becomes a grand story
Only when it ends
In an unfinished glory

The siren song of true love
Knows only the heart that's broken
For to yearn is to love
And to love is to yearn.

Chetaavni

मत गुहार दो मेरी लेखनी को
क्यूंकि ज्वालामुखी की आग में  रोटियाँ नहीं सिंकती। 
क्यों चाहते हो बेवजह सनसनी हो?
समाज के मद्ध्यम भाग में क्रांतियाँ नहीं टिकती।

गांधी के तीन बंदरों के आज जब मायने बदल गए हैं
आँख, शब्द, कान ये मेरे, बाकायदा सम्हाल गए हैं।

तब बातें कड़वी सच्ची थी क्योंकि अक्ल ज़रा सी कच्ची थी
अब बोली नमकीन और टुच्ची है, पर बटुए में गर्मी अच्छी है।

मेरा आक्रोश आजकल ज्यादाकर एक ट्वीट बनता है
बचाकुचा फेसबुक स्टेटस या दिमाग का कीट बनता है।  

मैंने ही कलम फ़ेंक दी है कहीं
क्यूंकि बाग़ी शब्द सिर्फ पन्नों तक नहीं थमते।
मत जगाओ सोये आवेग को मेरे
ये मिजाज़ महासागर है, इसपर  बाँध नहीं बंधते।

Walk Wayward

Walk wayward
from the straight line.
Scoop a few moments
from the river of time.

Whisper to the falling star
wishes insane.
Plant a kiss of dew
on hardened pain.

Row the nightboat
along with the moon.
Sip on a story
with a bite of the noon.

Bottle a few drops
of the smell of rain.
Hear the lore of castles
from grit and grain.

Gulp a mouthful
from the cup of dream wine.
Savour anew
the taste of sunshine.

Woman

Its my angst that the wave crashes
Fierce, yet futile as the sea lashes.
Its my sighs that the palms weep
Endless agony, eerie and deep.

I am the daughter's tears
And the mother's pain
I am the submission of a wife
I carry the harlot's bane.

I am the womb that brought forth the men
They grew up to call themselves 'mother-fucker'
Suckeling on my teats they grew up
To be the wife-beater, daughter-killer, the raper.

I am the torn hymen forcefully taken
To them, between my legs was the door to some heaven.
I am no saint but Sccubus, others debate
And accurse my cunt as Hell's gate.

I am the Eve and the Forbidden fruit
I am not a Life but a thing to loot.
For I have a womb and the organs to give birth
I am condemned forever in this Hell called Earth.

इंडिया Inc.

दुकानों में
टमाटरों के चढ़ते और कारों के गिरते दामों में
globalized free-market की चमत्कारी लचक है
और मंत्रालय में
बड़े बाबू के टेबल की आब-ओ-हवा में
lisence राज की राजशाही ठसक है.

मुंबई की अपील

मैं मुंबई, लहुलुहान लाशों से लथपथ
पर सी एम कहते हैं धैर्य धरो
पी एम ने की है शान्ति की अपील
दिल्ली कहती है सब्र करो

टी.वी. पर खबरें गर्म हैं
जिसपर उबलता है ऐड रेट का  बबूला
न किसी को कोई लिहाज़ न शर्म है
प्रोग्राम बना है- तेरह नंबर का आतंक
और 'देखते रहिये'- घटना का ज़िम्मा किसने कबूला

गृहमंत्री गंभीर-धीर करते हैं मुआयना
लाशें गिरने, धमाके थमने के बाद
नपुंसक और मौकापरस्त व्यस्त हैं निंदा करते,
कहते, भारतीय सहिष्णुता, मुंबई की जिंदादिली, जिंदाबाद

भूल जाते हैं की वे लाशें कभी जिंदा थी
चलती है तो बस स्वार्थी, आहंकारियों की राजनैतिक चौसर
भूल गए हैं अशोक, अखबर, शिवाजी की ललकार
वीर भोग्या वसुंधरा का नारा, शौर्य, जौहर

आज सत्ता पर हिजड़ों की टोली
अपील करती है शान्ति का
पर तुम मत भूलो वह इतिहास
जब वृहन्नला भी अर्जुन था

Forest-fire

Forest-fires must have blossomed somewhere
That’s where I lost my heart.

Drowsy noons, Gulmohar dreams
Hide-and-seek
with sun beams
Bronze and gold, crimson and sapphire
Forests of Autumn
and Forest-fire.

Forest-fires must have blossomed somewhere
My long lost heart calls me to that Autumn's fair.

Judgment

Judge me by my poetry
I might be a tramp or priestess
But heed what you see in me
For its your eyes you bare at best

Spammed

What happens when
All your world is a spam
No one that you care about
Or give a damn;
The things that you learnt
Are no longer true
Moments when you felt alive
Either none or too few;
When you wrap that cloak of indifference
And yell ‘I am through’?

My Salad Years

It was rebel poetry
And Ayn Rand.
Kipling, Kafka
The whole clan.

Two Ts and a denim
Train ride second class
A little went quite a way
With Saki and Richard Bach
The world was pink
And veins were green
Dreams were doped
With adrenaline
Today’s patience
Tomorrow’s pleasure
Illusions real
Love forever

Yes, it was reckless
And I couldn’t care less
There was always another day
To clean up the mess
It was adventure into pain
And tryst with failures
Restitution, resurrection
And deep-swigging fears
Introspection, exploration
Sandburg and Freud
Of first kiss and inhibitions
And moments celluloid

It was Howard Roark
And choked tears
Angst and attitude
My Salad years.

Chase

I keep searching you amidst a thousand faces
And it is foolish but love is a strange thing
Every passing car and every side-walk
My butterfly hope, everchasing

Solitare

I sift through the pebbles of time
And pick the emerald in your arms
I weave it in your thoughts sublime
And make a solitare for my soul

To My Failures

Is it that I failed a lot?
Or did I want too much?
Is the zero all I got?
Or what I have doesnt count as such?

They said 'emptiness is just the begining'
Each void to fill a goal
But I know what is like to never stop dreaming?'
And never have a dream become whole.

When all you get is a string of failures?
Do you cut your dreams to the scale of winning?
I dont know which is the bigger of fears
To fail a dream or let go of dreaming?

I have a million desires
Some of them never to be fulfilled
But burn me on a thousand pyres
My hopeless yearns would not be stilled.

Did you ever fear losing something
That you lack and would never have?
That void is what gives meaning to my being
The hope I hold on to when it's all I have.

Portraits

Love is the sand etched words
Drenched in thoughts of Seagull cry
Where the Ocean lies down to sleep
And beach kisses her foam-laced skirt.

Pain is the Ten Watt feeble light
And its one swarm lovelorn moths
The passion that wakes at purple dusk
And fails to burn to end of night.

Kiss is dew on half closed buds
And forest-fire on summer night
Seagull cry on a purple dusk
And thoughts of those sand etched words.