Enchanted by the trivialities of life, be it the gleam of sharpest sunlight or a demon dancing in the darkest shadow,
My heart finds its solace in the quietness of lullabies in the overwhelming mediocrity.
Opulence or the likes of it never quite fed my enticement, it was the spoonful of moments that had my universe shimmying of sugar high.
A soundtrack with a few seconds of intense joy like I’ve lived a million lives.
It’s in the heavenly abode such as this, that my heart resides.
Piece of art more likely the cinema that capacitates to consume me whole,
For my life is but a devotion to these characters I’ve forever resonated with.
The mahogany and rustic shade in my soul speaks for the authenticity in its most vintage form,
For this is not the era I belong to, I’m long forgotten and long turned grey.
कुछ रातें बस यही सोच में गुज़रती हैं
के आपके दिल में ना सही
काग़ज़ पे ही उतर जाते,
ख़ामख़ा आपके कलम से
कुछ ऐसे अल्फ़ाज़ बन जाते।
आपका पास ना होना ही सही
कुछ शब्दों से ऐसा एहसास ही दे जाते।
रहने को घर तो ज़रूर है
पर आपकी सियाही से जुड़ कर,
इन आँखों को एक नज़ारा
और दिल को रहने के लिए
पनाह ही दे जाते।
‘twas fall of ‘96 and perishing away with the leaves were my guards that i had let down only for another to let into my scripture
coining every phrase and word with intricacy, he had quite vividly taken me by surprise by imprisoning my mind like it was something he learned in his sacred art culture
luring into a place so privy with only a gleam of little or no space, he nevertheless budged an inch closer only to hear my notes speak
there were loud screaming words and an even high pitched fictional tales between the silent spaces of all that squeak
my pages were now seemingly emptier and they longed for him to spill the ink with his poetic pauses charming enough by its look
and gently resurrect my dead brown papers into a fresh fragrance of a newly bought book
the lasting sniff of his signature cologne lingers on my pages as if imprints of an unwritten law of forbidden love, my heart would unknowingly take a leap to its very bottom
an eventful dusk wherein two souls had learned their way to kiss through the cosmic dust in the little space, felt more of a season than the autumn
it was with every wisp of smoke and the withering hope that i kept turning my aspiration to ashes
the sort of wreckage, i could put a stop on but would not
my lipstick tainted cigarette was now turning plural each day and more so
eloquently narrated stories in a language i would not speak
the apparent verbosity had now started to lack empathy
as i flickered the optimism like dust in the thin air
it daydreamed me into going back to an era and pave way for a havoc
that hadn’t finished business, said it was the right cynic thing to do
or was it really just a sweet formal invitation
to the shattering reality to visit and grant me a beautiful death yet again?
who is to say though, whether i was embracing or gambling the end of me
wasn’t it just a metaphor after all?
this poetic sadness creeping on my insides keeps distressing me
for my inhibitions are here to stay and the darkness calls out for me
every single night and its whispers are gloomy enough to throw me
into an abyss of nothingness and leading me to a void of false hopes
where it assures me things will change, that they will turn paths in my favour
but why should they?
why is it that sadness cannot be comprehended as a mundane feeling that a person is satisfied with having?
today, i choose to be sad
i’ll probably be sadder tomorrow and i may cry my eyes out the day after
but i choose this feeling,
just like any other
to feel the aura of desolation and to have it consume you
may not be the best thing to do but sure is a feeling worth catching,
just like any other
downing four glasses of what seemed like a smooth and rich rosé, it felt like a beginning of something
time passed at its own sluggish pace, but after a couple of hours this date had started to make sense
uncertain as to where it was leading all this time, think this fermented grape juice was all that was missing
engulfing you into a sanguine zone, making you a better conversationalist and adding to your even more vulnerable personality
the warmth and affection kept growing by the second, this is it, the love of your life was right here
it had been a foolish idea for you to be skeptical about it all along, what else could have made you happier?
if not the intoxicant glass of red, a mild rainy afternoon and a soul-stirring process of falling in love with yourself amidst all that.
it wasn’t until I saw his face again, had I known what love looked like
and I’ve been since learning the colour his mysteriously light eyes look like.
love had a voice too, almost like a music and his was the only one I wanted to listen
he perhaps had the most beautiful mind, and I was in the awe of the way it worked.
we held hands, love & I and it felt nothing short of a magic at first,
i’ve since been learning the way his fingers would make circles in my palm.
love is now aware of the times i’d need a shoulder to rest my head on,
and I’ve been learning the way he would casually lean a perfect angle to make it a home for my head.
a spark that pulls us closer everyday, like a magnet we craved each other
and I’ve been learning how his arms would wrap around me, and hand so gentle would move against my arm.
remembrance of the time his lips touched the back of my hand and made my world come to a standstill is still my most favourite feelings to learn of love.
love is no good at goodbyes, none of us are and I hope we never learn that.
I hope we instead hug each other awkwardly, be sad and sulk about the fact that we’re gonna miss each other like shit and long for the loving everyday because we damn right will. Screw this poetry I fucking miss you.