Monday, October 09, 2017

How many moments

How many moments
Have I killed
To get here.

Angered immortal time
By scratching pimpled minutes
Off the face of her favourite clock, 
Laughed at the sun 
And the scarred moon
As others cashed in 
On their frequent flier miles,
The length of a city 
measured in the seconds it took 
to go fromRD Burman and AR Rahman, 

Have I pickled my brain, 
marinating it in Train timetables
yoked to broken clocks 
hung on crowded platforms?

Groundhog days repeated 
In loop across weeks
And months 
And years,

How many times have I 
dried up thoughts and burnt emotions
dripping with memories,
Some real,
Mostly fake. 

I have lost them all. 

A price 
for the broken words
I now type and send 
across this warped spacetime
of virtual reality. 

Was it all for this though? 

Wednesday, October 04, 2017

Apni shayari sunaane se raha

Apni shayari sunaane se raha
Haal-e-dil bataane se raha

Mausam khushgavar tha so
Dard apna jataane se raha

Har rishta nibhaa liya tujh se
Bas ek dushmani nibhaane se raha

Na sur ki, na taal ki pakad thi
Mehroom har taraane se raha

Yaad nahi jaati teri dil se
Kareeb tere har bahaane se raha

Yun to paaband nahi main waqt ka
Magar mukhaatib uske jaane se raha

Mohabbat tujh se ho na saki 'Ram'
Ye khwaab bas tere sirhaane se raha 

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

The anaesthetic

The tiresome burden of dreams
That seek understanding
Is beyond my patience.

I fear you.
You, with your kindness,
Who claim to understand my pain;
Armed with words, and comforting sounds
You try to numb it.
Your anaesthetic patience,
Product of an orderly world,
Applied on living, breathing, wounds.
Did you really think
It would suffice?

I fear you.
You, who clean my festering wounds
Caused by broken dreams,
Wash my brain,
Make me drink my tears
Saying 'It will get better'
Can you do any better?

Friday, September 22, 2017


'You steal words,' she said. 

Yes, I do 
I pick them up from the streets
Littered among conversations,
From dirty bar tables,
From lonely trains crowded with people

Words, thick and thin, 
Dropping with sarcasm and malice,
Words steeped in the essence 
Of poetry and wine,
That stink of yellow teeth and cigarette smoke.
Some are tainted with blood, and love. 
Dangerous, safe, clean, filthy,
They are many things
But words they all are. 

I pick them up and bring them home 
With me they stay. 
Some only for hours hang about,
Before slipping out of my pocket,
Into the dark corners of my mind
Where I can't chase them. 

The ones that stay
I train.
I clean them, and string them 
Together in stanzas and couplets
Paint them with thoughts and dreams,
And sell them 
To the highest bidder. 

I am not just a word thief. 
I am a criminal of a higher degree. 

Wednesday, September 20, 2017


Hovers over me,
My muse,
Leaning across the dark night,
And the stars in her hair
Drop down by the bedside
Where I store
Broken pieces of my past moons.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Lunar Musings

White blotched orb. Keeper of secrets. Guardian of somnolent souls. Scribe of crazy silence. Eternal insomniac. Lonely heart. Wolf god. Or Goddess. Gaia's pale stalker. Pockmarked space football. Conductor of ocean tides. Chopin's muse. Galileo's muse. And Gulzar's too. Mother pearl in Lucy's sky of diamonds. Starman's last stop. The third person in every conversation. The first witness of shy suicides. Night watchman. Dawn greeter. Quiet walker. Dream whisperer. Indiscreet spy. Circumambulator. Romeo's friend. Juliet's matron. Lovesick. Pale. Cursed. A thinker. An idea. The full stop after Earth's sentence. The period before universe begins. Or ends. Explored rock. Unknown territory. Free. Independent. Scary. Moon. Luna. Chand. Male. Female. Foe. Friend.

Can you see me? Do you hear these words?