aise hain guzre meri ruh ko chu kar,

ab apni hi parchhain se darne lagi hun.

under the disguise of loving being alone,

also, as always

is a wish that remains

for you to be right here with me,

by my side,

in this sacred place,

right here,

where all our secrets lie

buried with our conversations

in forgotten sands and 

rebuilt roads.

There is a certain association of nostalgia attached to photographs

whether they are in the mind, or on paper.

one treasured photo of mine, 

has started to fade,

with no copies,

i can only try to protect it from harsh weather,

heat, bitter cold, and dampness.

But no matter how much i try,

as it gets older,

it will one day completely fade away from the paper.

it will remain only in my memory,

until the day, even that fades,

and the contours of the faces, the smiles,

that contentment of companionship,

will vanish forever.

ek wo din bhi thay,
ek ye din bhi hain,
ek wo raat thi,
ek ye raat hai,

raat ye bhi guzar jaegi.....

koi aata hai palkon pe chalta hua,
ek aansun sunehri sa jalta hua,
khwab bujh jaenge,
rakh reh jaegi,

raat ye bhi guzar jaegi.....

waqt saalon ki dhund se nikal jaega,
tera chehra nazar se pighal jaega,
aankh band hogi to,
neend aa jaegi,

raat ye bhi guzar jaegi.....
raat ye bhi guzar jaegi.....

Gulzar

When i turned my back,
i hoped that that i had eyes on my back too,
so i could see you while i walk away,
but i realized, i would only see you diminishing in size,
and then disappearing,

now with my eyes in front,
there is always the hope,
that you are right behind me.

as the tears drop down my face,
the tears that are helpless in their transparency
i wonder, if this is why we love.

scribbled half eaten stories

Half written stories,
and stories with endings scribbled out,
drive me mad,

what was the author thinking,
could he not come up with a solution, to a problem he created?
did he lose interest?
or maybe,
he was so ensconced within his story,
that he forgot, that it has to end somewhere?

that all stories have an ending,
and that it is only upto him
to end it with the same dignity
that it started.

sometimes, i wonder,
do we really know what we want,
or do we just make ourselves believe that we do.

do we spend our entire lives trying to implement what we want,
and then realize, that isn't it.

that we have no freaking idea,
and that chance will be our sole guide.

Through the spaces that we learnt to traverse,
we picked up stones, shells and debris.

More useless than any other memory
has been this long journey

it has left us with nothing but dirt
on our hands and in our pocket,

dirt that we refuse to throw way