Tag: Writer

सफर में नहीं मिलता, घर में नहीं मिलता
क्या खो गया है तुषार, तुम्हे चैन क्यों नहीं मिलता

Every night

अब तो हर रात की यही कहानी होती जा रही है
थोड़े आंसू निकलते हैं पर किताब पूरी होती जा रही है

तू है

है तू दरिया , तू है महताब
तू साया , तू ही आफताब
चल राख उठा
और रगड़ माथे पर
धरती को अभी
कंपकपाना है
पसीने से बनाते
है नाम यहाँ लोग
तुझे तो आखिर
लहू बहाना है

Valentine

Her mere glance was enough to stone my heart

Tomato red blush was an appetizer

My feet refused to lift me up

Nerves were throbbing faster

I found myself hypnotized

Her dark magic turned me from an atheist to a believer

My fingers were crossed for the first time

Her fragrance made me forget my own lines

If it were possible, I would have described my every emotion

But words didn’t escape my lips

All I could do was to kneel before her

And extend a heart made from my fingers and thumb

When I finally looked into her eyes

They were already moist with happiness

‘Will you be my Valentine?’ I whispered into her ear at last.

Healing: Open or Covered?

I left them open
so that they could
have a little gossip with air,
kiss the sunlight and
get themselves soaked
in friendship of water.

I covered them with bandages
and allowed no one to come near
as if protecting my newborns.
checking every now and then.
desolated them from everything.

My wounds are so deep
that I am confused
whether to leave them open
or cover them
so that
they can heal faster.

~ should i tell everyone or stay mum about what am i going through?