The pursuit of happiness is a chase for a lifetime..
May 23, 2014
Wo kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai...!
Wo kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai
Wo milke tujhse sham ko ghar lautna
Wo raston ko yun dekhna, ki jaise mujhe muskura
kar ched rahe hon
Wo raste wo safar mujhe bada yaad aata hai. Wo kal
mujhe bada yaad aata hai.
Wo karvat tutne par tera khayal aana, wo uth kar
tehlte hue tujhe sochna,
fir beith ke sirhane par tera naam likhna, jaise
tu mere saath ho
Wo tooti needen wo raatein mujhe bada yaad aata
hai. Wo kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai.
Wo palat ke aaine ko dekhna, wo phele kaajal ko theek
karna
Aur hawa se bikhre baalon ko sambhal ke, tere aane
ki rah dekhna
Wo intzaar wo khumaar mujhe bada yaad aata hai. Wo
kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai.
jaise bas baki sab be-mayene ho, wo mubahisa aur
wo sawal mere,
Wo junoon wo sukoon mujhe
bada yaad aata hai. Wo kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai.
Nishan the ab bhi baki kuch. Kismat na bana sakne
wale…bas nishan.
Lekin wo guzra pal mujhe bada yaad aata hai. Wo kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai.
Wo
kal mujhe bada yaad aata hai.
[Be-mayne - Meaningless, Mubahisa - Points, Discussion]
May 9, 2014
It’s not a wound, no, it’s not! It does not pain anymore;
neither do the nerves ache…Nerves that run beneath that skin. The skin has
creased somewhat from there, yeah. And then, thinking of it does not give
tears, it gives a smile. No, it’s not a wound…Anymore
It has been some time now, a few years… sometimes it weeps,
though… when it rains, or may be seeing the sun set…perhaps. It has no words left
to be said to anyone, it pretends to be content.
Such pretentiousness, that lies so loudly!
But wounds are so open, self exhibiting. So…no it’s
not a wound.
It doesn’t like the touch of a
flower, now. And the dew drop stays there for a while before slipping. The creasy
skin was smooth once… though, it doesn’t bleed now. No, it’s not a wound.
Velvet clothes cover it and it
breathes under them… sighs, mourns and smiles under there…it doesn’t breathe
the air. But the perfume on them is
good… So, no, it’s not a wound!
And then, on those rare times,
when she uncovers it, she softly kisses it, caresses it and covers it back
quickly…is it precious like some memory!? She should let it heal then and time
shall take care of the rest…but she says it’s not a wound… ‘Cause it does not
pain; neither do the nerves ache.
So! No, it’s not a wound…!
It shall never pain.
