Monday, April 29, 2013

Velvet Conpiracies

My favorite atom is now talking to my least favorite one. They often conspire for my mood disorders,willingly or not; they affect my connectivity. I wish I could punish them,scold them or love them strongly. Imagine every atom splitting and out-bursting into an individual entity. Then n number of individuals behaving independently  like a rivulet of desires, conspiring to burn a wish with no fumes to acknowledge.

The atoms train themselves for a precious explosion to travel through a light way ,brighten up their dark minds and to pour some coal from their heart. Unknown to each other, they leave for the same time zone. When they collide, they desire for a greater explosion and form a molecule, the interaction becomes a little chaotic and they vibrate within the shell. The vibrations become heavy to destroy the wish , but before they could reach , they die of internal combustion.

Do Dard Ke Tukde

Kal raat do tukde mile dard ke
Ek adha, ek bikhra
Dono ne milke nazme buni
Cheele badan se usme siskiya bhari

Phir bhi nazmo ko jeene ki aadat kaha hoti hai
Wo to bus kitabo me saans leti hai

Friday, December 28, 2012

Hang Till Death

' Roshni ki baat hai' - the only line I remember when I was in KG. With me, it has always been a matter of mood and nothing else. I get glimpses of vague random ideas, I try and join them but often making senseless portrayals. Heart-broken sentiments, some love-captured moments and a few killer wasteful emotions induce writing waves in me, most of the times the best way to take out what I could have never said to anyone. I am dead struck to my policy of disclosing only what is emotionless.

I realize that being scared of so many things at one time, gives a sudden rush of bravery which is inevitable. Laundering thoughts keeps haunting you without even telling you the right ejaculating pattern.Sometimes, you hang from a bridge, holding alternate decisions in each hand, you leave anyone, you are destined to drown. 

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The purple kurta

Lingering around the wall with a mug of coffee;I told him not to wear the purple kurta again. I wanted to bother him desperately, viciously spreading my desire through my eyes. His innocence was tangentially falling prey to my naughtiness and I was extracting every bit of sweetness from it.

The latitudinal and longitudinal lines on the kurta with swollen threads created a palpation of its own , the tinkling and sparkling color mystified the appearance and the texture consolidated the love struck feel.I wandered through the straight crossing lines just to rediscover my mischief. Sipping slowing, drop by drop of coffee, I nurtured and caressed it.

I was having caffeine and he was ashing his shyness, dipping himself into the pool of attraction,  while he was searching for the other deep blue kurta. I went through a ionic spark witnessing the white cloudy contours on the blue oceanic flavor which was capable of engulfing my feelings. I was ready to throw my waves of wickedness on it.

But his continuous search revealed the existence of one more purple kurta, duplicating the previous one. He acted ignorant to its abstinence and I was struck with a dilemma of distributing my affection in different forms and flavors. I was again trapped within the intricate opening of sparkling mystery or probably I was just fascinated to everything that belonged to him, I tried distributing my like wives to something else but the repulsion was evidently impossible.

Its not about twin kurta brothers or the blue cousin , its only a possessive link that wants to catch hold of his every belonging. To knit every emotion,every kiss, every touch into a small muffler to cuddle around with every breath.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Dedicated to all non-singers

Nothing syncs, sound melodies are monstrous to me;
I try and swing on those vibrations,
The momentum is too paradoxical to me-
I fight with my cacophony,
I crawl over the dead sounds,to catch the soul.
But all I get to see are some empty corpses,

Could I insist to tune up your eardrum?
As the soul is a shape shifter, its possibly 
on its way to my empty vessel.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The canvas of blood

How do I draw you here?
The elevations from my pencil are so dark and fatal.
I haunt on to the canvas border
Submerged thoughts;battered desires

Illustrations are spineless,until I de-stain the background;
To unleash the curvature and paint the picture
Faint and smoky, I could draw your veins
Submerged in blood, still they look all the same

I couldn't see you, the red river makes you blur
I wish I could find you,
I wish I could suck the blood.