I row and row my little boatUpon the celestial sea of dreams,To catch few stars of compassionThat could light the heartOf the landlord with love,And stop him from forcing us,To work in his corn fieldsUnder the scorching heat of the sun.
By the side of the brookI sat listening to the melodyOf the crickets chirping,As I stared at the houseOn the other side of the water,For my lady to peek throughThe windows of her room,And smile at me softlyShedding a teardrop of yearningTo be by my side to watch,The night sky shimmering.
एक कहानी ऐसी भी हम कभीअपने यारों के संग बांटेंगे,उस एक पल की जब लाॅकडाउन सेथम गए थे हर एक बढ़ते कदम;जब डर और ख़ामोशी ने हर गली मेंडाला था अपना डेरा,पर तभी तो हमने सीखा थामिल बांटकर रहने का जायका। हर जुबान पर था एक ही बातकी ये महामारी न हो पाए आबाद,'सोशल डिस्टेंसिंग'… Continue reading लाॅकडाउन
If I would have treasuredThe brightest ones of the memoriesInside a couple of lanterns,I could have send themTo light up your pensive roomsAnd ward away the shadowsOf lurking emptiness in you;For your heart to breathe happilyThat seeked for affection since ages,With half a smile and tearsOozing out of the past lesions,Branded on your existence.
There she sat motionlessClad in her own failed temptations,She seeps in the merlot of disgraceOffered to her in this society's chalice,Until it burns down her hollow bonesCrackling in the pyre of pseudo shame,Leaving a silent sigh thatEscapes from her dropping face.
The lucid lake of dreamsWas guarded by the presenceOf the pearl white unicorn,Who searched for the clipsOf the dreams that heldThe innocent memories of his child,Away who went from himTo reside in the castle ofDeceit and evil doings.
The breeze that kissedYour cherry red cheeksOn the winter morning,Bought alongwith it thePleasures of first loveOn 16th of December 2016,When I was officially acclaimedAn adult aged eighteen;Who is liable to fall in loveWith the girl who stoleThat one heartbeat of mineWhich I skipped at theSight of her this morning.
The breeze of the spring Dances like a highland lass, Swaying her raised hands Playfully like the daffodils, Waiting for the month That would tie her knots With the monsoon king; And by the next harvest season She will visit her home again Descending like a silver drop Alongwith the downpour Of the midsummer evening.
Be the winter's first snowfall or The slanting sunbeams of autumn, If you could be the showers of The monsoon,I will be blessed, Yet I wish you to be the Cherry blossoms of the spring, For me to sit under your shade And feel the sweet colours of love Flourishing in the moist air.
I kept on travellingRolling over the tracks ofThe metro called 'The Life'Between the two worlds,One of which held theExcerpts of my dark past,And the other that treasuredLump sum tales of mySuccessful present times;To revive my depleting courageThat was lost in the attemptTo survive in the society's limelight.