Monday, April 13, 2015

I Steal From You (I Steal You)

I steal.
I steal you away from your laptop
Into whose glare you fish
For the strained brightness
And aspired automation of dreams
Only, you understand them wrong
Dreams aren't used to automation.
They are built from the romance
 Of exasperation.
Of figments you inherently know
Are not yours to live and die with.
Dreams are what I have
Which steal shreds of reality
Into a make believe world
Where you're not endlessly staring
Into your painfully flawless machine.
But my eyes.
Just my eyes. 
(My once brown, then golden eyes.)
And then in my being.

I steal.
I steal from you some touches.
Cheap, you'd think.
The problem, my dear, is,
Each time your bump into me
Or your hand brushes my arm
Or you casually tousle my hair
A million tremors assail my skin
And that which lies deep within.
Your innocent touches
Embolden me
To plant deliberate caresses
On whatever of you
I wish to consume.
You might not know
But my head resting on your shoulder
Is the least innocent act
My mind can conjure.
(While I am at it, 
The pain of my thoughts,
Only heaven may endure.)

I steal.
I steal you away to the moon
No less.
And there, I force you
To force me
Into violent, cheesy lovemaking
With six time the passion
And one sixth the weight.
You lie light on my chest
Even as your heavy breathing
Pretends to cover
My uncovered, undiscovered lust..
Did you hear the sonorousness?
Of a heart learning to fly
And cry again? 
The taste of the tears
Is like a jolt into reality
As if salt existed
Only to scratch and wound the stealth
I employ
To gain you. 

I steal. 
I steal to realise
What I stole from you
Belonged not to you
In the first place. 
I steal to erode moments
Off MY limited life span
Placing happy packets
Full of airy airs
In fancy showcases
Of a humongous villa
You and I built
In a stolen moment of intimacy. 
These happy packets
Would burst and cackle
And bring down the villa. 
The only pain of which
Could be felt in my heart
(While you'd continue to stare
And pester for automation of dreams.)

I steal.
I steal but fail to realise.
If I am cheating you,
Or slapping myself a challan
(Calculated in time and heart units)
For yet again jumping
The danger signal
And stepping on the desire path
Through sylvan silks
Leading to the lake
With enough water
To drown me proper. 

In the world of metaphors,
No theft goes unrewarded.
But love does. 
And so, the lover in me
Will continue being a thief,
With loot
Than being a lover
With love cut loose. 

PC - lizkapiloto (etsy)

Saturday, April 4, 2015

What The Stars Know And I Don't

The Lake

I look at the stars
Twinkling as scars
On the dark landscape of my memory.

My words in my ears
Mere seconds converted to years
From the time you left me.

My heart to for his love
For the heaven above
To pull aside the curtain of fury.

The arrogance turn to dust
The soul poised to burst
Into a million shreds of agony.

PC - Mohit Tyagi

I sat alone, alone with the stars, remembering the tick-tock of his steps hurrying out of our house. The tick-tock of his leaving resonated till much later in the sounds of the clock. Time serves as a reminder of his love and my envy, his embrace and my pride, his loyalty and my doubt. I’m sitting, sitting along, gazing at the stars, to spot a speck of his reflection.

I know not where he is. Probably the stars do.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015


Shayari kya hai
Yeh likhne baithi
Toh tumhe likh baithi.

Khalipan par wafa ke naam
Ek khat shuru kiya hai
Is khat ki khata itni hai
Ki hosh ke daayre se ucchal
Sharaab ke sheeshe se takra
Guzre  waqt, jazbaat aur syahi ki
Ek naayab cocktail ijaat kardi isne.

Ab jahaan saansein tez hoti hain
Wahaan qalam bhaari ho jata hai
Dil ki dhadkane badhti hain
Toh mez se kaagaz ud jata hai

Ghulti ja rahi hoon
Us nasamajh cocktail mein
Mit-te ja rahe ho tum
Mera guroor
Toooti si reh gayi hai tumhaari yaad
Aur mere qalam ki chonch.

Mujhe safed kaagaz kabhi samajh nahi aaya
Main baithi hoon
Un peele-puraane panno mein
Dari aur sakpakaayi
Ki agli baar
Shayari kya hai
Yeh likhne baaithoon
Toh tumhe na likh baaithoon.

Aur 'gar tumhe likhne lag jaaoon
Toh khud ko na kho doon. 

Mujhe meri shayari dobara samjha do. 

PC - The Reading Room

It's April first today. What better than love, alcohol and blank diaries to make a fool of oneself?