“tumhare naam pe aayenge gham gusaar chale”

if the torn petals were meant to rot

where are the bullets that were bought?

why are they still unused?

why don’t we light the fuse?

if you are a charlatan, how am i any less?

the keeper of memories; the privileged, the blessed.

lucky are those that do not feel

that know how to heal.

our canvas bleeds crimson red

my story contains multitudes.

a lot of coffee and stoic afternoons

work in progress. it’s complex, needs context, better to say less, a game of chess, but keep your worries to rest

i ain’t coming now. i resign without a sound.

when the music is loud: how do you find yourself?

i do. i find you. i find you without knowing you.

i find you, without showing you.

i find you when the sun rises in the east

i find you when the waves roar from the three directions

i find you beyond the hills

i find you beyond the myth.

i find you in all the parallel universes too.

stop hiding and running away. i prey.

i am in your head: the zombie. the spot light. the real crowd you need.

i am the underground and the mass.

i am the subtle and the panache.

the splash of water on your face.

the laughter after you fall; but also the one that picks you up.

the streets and the poet.

the judge and the lawyer.

the beggar and the king.

the impoverished and the sky scrapers.

the parched and the rain maker.

the life giver and the under taker.

the love biting, tight embracing, soul lover and widow maker.

the liar that lies to the liars.

the preacher that preaches to the preachers.

the dopamine, serotonin and testosterone.

the blood, sweat and tears.

the devils horns and the halo.

the runway, the run away and the anon.

“qafas udaas hai yaaro saba se kuch to kaho”

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