Coming Back To Life

I met her on the stairway to heaven

And thought that I’ve already reached

And there began

My descent to Hell.


I loved her from the bottom of my heart

And she became the reason of my life

And there began

My march to Death.


I saw her everywhere, in my thoughts, in my dreams

And in the air I breathed, the food I ate

And there beagn

My insomniac Dyspepsia.


I bought a vial of cyanide

And her love my love no longer holds her captive

And here begins

My road to Freedom.


Alag alag shahar me rahkar bhi paas the kabhi
Na jaane ek hi bistar par yeh kaisi doori ho gayi.

Aankho-aankho me karte the hazaaro baatein kabhi
Na jaane kyun nazrein milaana bhi jaise mazboori ho gayi.

Mohabbat ho jinse, ladte hain aksar unhi se
Par yaad me unki, ashko me raat poori ho gayi.

Ishq unhe bhi hai beintahaa, jaante hain yeh hum
Raunak chehre ki unki bhi, hum bin kuchh adhoori ho gayi.


अलग अलग शहर में रहकर भी पास थे कभी
न जाने एक ही बिस्तर पर यह कैसी दूरी हो गयी.

आँखों आँखों में करते थे हजारों बातें कभी
न जाने क्यूँ नज़रें मिलाना भी जैसे मजबूरी हो गयी.

मोहब्बत हो जिनसे, लड़ते हैं अक्सर उन्हीं से
पर याद में उनकी, अश्कों में रात पूरी हो गयी.

इश्क उन्हें भी है बे-इन्तेहाँ, जानते हैं यह हम
रौनक चेहरे की उनकी भी, हम बिन कुछ कम हो गयी.

Dreams From My Weird Self

Ah, what a serene moon-lit night
The sun, like a politician’s son, smiling bright.
Drops of rain glistening with the morning dew
The stars dazzling the night skies, phew, what a view.

The eerie-death like silence drowning my voice
I feel a wee bit lost in the maddening noise.
The opiated crowd trampling me under
The loneliness in my heart tearing me asunder.

I board a train to fly somewhere far
The Tyre gone flat, I let you drive my car.
Never tired of each other, we go to a bar
Where we relish the Italian dosa with a Cadbury’s Five-Star.

All night long, we make out at your place
In the morning, we fight over privacy and space.
You are excited having won some stupid race
While I ask, “Why are there so many pimples on your face?”

You, my dutiful girl call me at the office
But I am busy making out with Chris.
Hey, just a second, isn’t my secy a guy*?
I wake up, all perspiring, my mouth suddenly going dry.

My dreams, like my poems, are all messed up
Where the ugly facts of life are all dressed up.
But even in this chaos, there is one constant, that’s you
So, here is a four word ode to you, “Sweetheart, I love you.”

* The ‘poet’ would like to re-assert that he is not a homophobe.
The title and the theme, come form Barack H. Obama’s ‘Dreams From My Father’. Now, you know what inferences I draw out of reading all these books. Lol!

Move on…

Five bottles of beer
Mixed with a drop of tear
Is ALL it took
To forget her look

My tears all dry
Whistled at a girl passing by
She responded with a kiss
Oh my my, what a lovely miss.

I took her out on a date
It all felt so great
That sad feeling gone
I’m no longer alone.

But was my love so shallow
To so quickly replace my angel’s halo
Oh, whatever, I don’t care
In love, everything is fair.

But today it hasn’t stopped to rain
With no bottle left, I again feel some pain
So, I’m mixing five bottles of tears
With that last drop of beer.

You, my love, were my life
But today,  am sitting with a knife
Why has the ink suddenly turned red
Without you, I wasn’t alive, so how can I again be dead?

If not in this world, atleast in hell
Even as destiny rings my death knell
My sweet angel, for me do not moan
I, as promised, have moved on.

P.S. The title comes from the English translation of the poem, “Aage Badho” posted earlier on this blog.