An Untitled Poem


The stars I gaze through window

and dreams I capture in night,

I feel you around me

when a poem is in my sight.


Old days bonded on the string of memory

and the torn pages of the book I lost.

I guess seasons using words from your mouth

and the wars I pray for when I defeat a ghost.


The story I folded in the handkerchief

      and the planes I flew with a string.

I walk copying the steps of your shadow

       and hear the silence of the breath you sing.




Smelly Mornings and Stinking Hours


Oh! What a Day I had

when I slept in night.

Rare of the rarest thought

blinded the exhausted plight.


Smelly mornings and stinking hours

I have to carry around.

Invisible people to see

and their tiring sound.


Working to sacrifice the

only life that I got.

No other plans I have,

but only the regrettable thought.


Socks in the alarm clock

tell me my path.

All day and night I cry,

and have a teary bath.


Look around and see the wishes

floating on your way.

I sold my words to time,

and now I don’t have any say.



I got it what you think.

You think I lost it,

and do not know how to blink.


Let me think again

for one more time.

Hug someone, who

is giving you a rhyme.



Old Friend




Let us see my old friend,

who died a day before yesterday

in a lonely park

due to wisdom unutilized,

spirituality compromised,


religion unoccupied.


Smell the faintness of disease,

hear the defeat of a soul in a war,

see the pages left blank in the notebook of dry leaves.

The life of selfishness lives on the sand beneath your feet.

Feet that are old, wrinkled, and tired

due to walking in a storm of

frustration, delay, and wait

of some one,



to be arrived on any day.


Whiteness of the black color

in the sun around the corner

of my home,

sells dream of sympathy,

compassion, and love.


Let us see your old friend,

who became a king

when you were stuck in

defining the blankness around.


The time of possibility

in the impossibility


another year

down the line.

(Image Courtesy:


Winter is Over



The winter is over and sun has dried,

you slept every time I thought you tried.


Songs of journey that I kept on your desk,

they never followed me or my profound side.


Happier times multiplied the long day,

more I prayed, more you lied.


Let us meet our death like an angel of our dreams,

solved mysteries and secrets open wide.


Wrinkled hope and sniffing sorrow look beautiful together,

dear tell me a place for my fears to hide.

(Image Courtesy: Hygain)

One year old




So that was something which I would not have predicted.

The selfishness, jealousy and you envying me.


The printed words in the newspaper and the seldom talking radio,

both of them are liar I hired when I had visited loneliness.


Smelling me like a child through your eyes,

telling me the way to dream,

and blessing me once again with your teeth,

wasn’t that one year old thing.


I walk everyday to reach towards  the seconds you left behind,

snaking through the world that I believed lived near my town.


“OK”, I said.

You said “You are such a charm, I will miss your face”.


(Image Coustesy: MKM Photography)




Here comes the rain of my first winter without you,

I am wet from head to toe with your remembrance.


Here comes the first chilly night without you covering me like a quilt,

and my trembling body in an ugly shape.


Last days of future are like pine trees,

they are never ending.


Moist eyes on a paper of words kept thinking about your first smile,

you passed it to me

when I was still



(Images courtesy: Filter magagzine)

I get angry, I get scared, I get lonely



I fear that you will be the first one to reject me

when I fail at humoring you.

I fear that I will not be able to love you

again when you will be moon and I will be like distant star.



I am unable to understand the life of those human beings

who don’t have any desire.

I feel a void a in me when I meet empty stomach begging for

some drops of obligation on roadside.

I get depressed on seeing a soul killing another soul for no other reason but

taste, revenge, war, authority, or stupidity.



I fear that I can’t tell you the way I admire you by writing some words

or by saying the words like poetry.

I get angry, I get scared, I get lonely, but I can’t be enemy to you and

I fear that you will acknowledge it as my weakness.



Few words from your eyes, calm the noise in my heart.

I am a human being of modern world with desires same as of Adam and Eve’s.

I fear of the fear that will be part of me my whole life after you will be

leaving me.

(Image taken from here.)

Maloom tha mujhe



Maaloom tha mujhe ki teri baatein jaroor hongi,

Isliye chupa rehta tha mein kitabo mein.


Dareya ban jaata tha kabhi main ikmeenan ka,

ya seelan ban jaata tha in diwaro mein.


Bas chupa rehta tha hawaan ban kar

logon ke dilon mein bane makaano mein.


Umar bhar ka gham godh le liya maine,

jab dhoob gaya kagaz ka banna jahaaz insaano mein.


Taarif kaheen ya sawaal kaheen milte rahe to acha hai,

nahi to fiqr hoti hai ki geenti na hojaaye meri bayimaano mein.

(Image taken from here)

A Letter to Whoever-Reads-This




Hi Whoever-reads-this,


Do you know that poets are strange people?

They eat loneliness and write feelings unheard about.

They sleep with yesterday and future, but present is always in fight with them.

They never win any battles or any beloved ones or any medals anywhere.

They just keep on fighting with the devil inside them.

They are very lazy, lazy like any summer.

That’s the reason they don’t have any girlfriends or boyfriends.

Last night I got stuck somewhere in this part of the letter.

I am still stuck here.

If you can find me a way, just let me know.



A Poet in sleep, who loves laziness


(Image taken from Lovely etc)