Hum chod aye tera karvaan …ek sansani si phaili hai

Wo jo insaan sa dikhta hai…magar saanse bechta phirta hai

Damdiyo me shamaye pighli hai…mushaiyore me khak si phaili hai

Hum chod aye tera karvaan …ek sansani si phaili hai

Sisakti hui raton me ad nange shabdo ka dera hai

Tere sazde me sar to kya atisho ko udte dekha hai

Hum chod aye tera karvaan …ek sansani si phaili hai

Ek tuti hui bartan mein mera china hua nivala hai

Laut sake to lauta de, teri raah me meri aankhe takti hai

Hum chod aye tera karvaan …ek sansani si phaili hai

Ek mazar hai yeh,

Teri rehguzar hai yeh

Bhatke bhi to kaha

Tera gulistaan hai yeh....

And they cried for you, for you My Deaf God,

Do you breathe or even you got killed….

Rug rug mein bahta lahoon

Aaj beh raha hai nalo mein

Is kafne jahan ko le

Pukaru me tujhe kis kone me

Every soul is burning and so are their bodies

All that you can hear now is the sound of calamities

Meri Azaan teri kehkasha

Teri rooh kispe meherbaan

Is Chikti chillati lashon me

Mera vajood hua bewafa

And they cried for you, for you My Deaf God,

Do you breathe or even you got killed….

This song sprung from all the blood that was flowing through the lanes of our country, the blood of our brethren who were massacred brutally in the bomb blasts…

Millions of sounds parading through the mind lobby screaming to be heard and stretching them out of the shut vault believed that everything was just all right, I breathed in the manner I always did, nothing was abnormal.
Allz Well

A paradoxical moment with a catastrophic lining

Did it look like my silver moon brimming?

A walk by the brook, with miles ahead

Residue of the past with an altered self

Gush of venom at the feet of the lion

Dreamy eyes at the healer’s refuge

Soothed forever…

At the feet of the merlion

The scarlet floor stared back with a mocking gaze…

The creation breathed its last…

The residue- an inanimate mass

The beat deaf, the pulses frozen

A perfect murder....

Patterned thoughts and rhythmic paths stride their way to the mental asylum..

I tried to look out of the cob webbed window just to see the crooked smile of the adulterated few

In the mirror like image of those, was the one whom they called “the better off”

Crowned, robed with a pointer in his hand and the corporate anthem running in the background

He tightened his sleeve, as crisp and white as it could be, tried to hide all that was black around

The word mazes, the small grid lines, as small as they could have been, set a checkered outline

No leakages of thoughts were allowed as they packed themselves in the well defined boundaries

The Dunhill smoke, the plasma, the light from the projector…all set…set to kill!!!

Mind fucked POB…

I remember our unison amidst the distorted visions…

But still a complete portrait that we painted together What they call “picture perfect”

The picture in which I laughed And you chuckled beside me as I threw my head behind With self proclaimed vanity.

Like the sea princess did I come to you ...

As you shyly expressed your desire to taste the salt on me…

And we swirled in the vortex of passion….as we dived again and again in each other.

We discovered what lay within our skins … Something that breathed and loved… What they call “divine”…

While you covered me with the sand with your artistic but strong fingers…

Did you pick up the brush and painted me rainbow…. And we both lay beside each other….one with the sand Gazing at the stars…still searching our Andromeda galaxy…..

In remembrance of the portrait we painted together…

The bohemian mind took a leap to find itself amidst the deep blue oceanic turbulence of self. The aroma of the freshly crushed chicory along with the cocoa beans filled the lungs with a surreal context. Mind raced against the dimension of time trying to break all the Meta physical concepts and take refuge in the arms of a nymphet.

This masturbation of thoughts often yields nothing productive, on contrary leaves behind a residue, pragmatically called as “deep shit”. In the era of “economic slowdown” a must know terminology or an in vogue terminology, I fail to figure out what actually is losing pace. A slowdown of the racing thoughts can effectively bring about a peak in the graph of human deterring factors.

The fluctuations seem to be worse than the ham radio I was planning to make. Have I crossed the sanity perimeter to take a peep at the fantastic, maddening, illusionary world of non metallic concurrence? Or the symphonic cubicles sway to the robotic composition of shackles created by small chips, and all our minds can be incarcerated to that small chip.

On a dry parched sunny morning
I send you fresh dew from the lips of a sunflower
A great golden sunflower
Illuminating
Taking the soul for a flight

On a winter sky when the fog holds proud
I offer you my fire
My hands chucking in logs
To keep your heart and soul warm

On a stormy cloudy night I celebrate the stability that is you

His reply to me....

After a long time did I speak to him, the drunken sage of mine…

his madness still had a contagious effect on me…

I wondered whether the hippie in me had taken a sabbatical,

I read through his verses which peeled the dead cells…

rejuvenating a whiff of cool breeze on my face which I wondered was stiff or wet with the dew that oozed with every utterance…

The cubicles dimmed in front of me taking the shape of an unicorn ready to take a leap in the rain filled clouds ready to burst with one more drop in it.


I got showered….