dahshat ke ratjage

ab loriyon se humme neend kahan aati hai,

ab raat dahshat_on ke saaye mein kaati jati hai

khuda ke naam se bhi khauf hota hai ab to

qurbani eid se pehle bapa ho jati hai

haath uthein duaon mein, kahan mumkin hai

sar sajde mein ho to bhi kalam hote hain

koi bandook se maare hume uske pehle

bharosa uthta hai khuda se, khala aati hai

yeh mujahira hai siyasat ka, jo tabahi hai

naslein nafrat ke talatum mein samayi jaati hain

jin haathon ko sanwarna tha mustaqbil sabka

unki lakiron mein dahshat basayi jati hai

gar khuda hai kaheen to phir se zameen per aaye

phir se ummeed jage duaon mein asar aaye

phir se maa_on ki god mein sukoon barpaye

ke, loriyon se humme neend kahan aati hai....

Half Empty, Half Full?

The debate on glass half full, half empty

obsolete as it is, rages none the less!

The glass balancing the tepid liquid

yawns, infusing bubbly air.

The liquid rises, as if from deep slumber

climbs the slippery walls

spreads out

and dies of exhaustion.

The glass, bewildered

loses balance,

A failed trapeze and then -

Wham!

It falls on its head.

Cracks form and spread in manic speed

till only the shards remain.

The glass bleeding colourless liquid

feels the weight of clinging wetness

Wondering, it is not free,

it is still blemished with

someone else’s desires

poured into it, in measures - half or full -

even in death.