Lots of flowers fell in the valley,

Not a single saffron dear.

Who could cut down branches, really?

In seams of garlands slithers fear.

A morn a mourn, a vale a veil,

A terror in turmoil of the breach

Of sacred faces in these places

In the sight but out of reach.

Lots of trees are in the valley

But wind so vicious growls, one,

Some trees are faded, some decapitated

See the saffron burning sun.

A night not knight, a spy a sly,

A raze in rose of different kind.

Who broke the pattern of this sky,

A face, a soul, but broken mind.

Lots of jungles fell in valley,

Who sparked this fire bright?

Colours are losing out their ally

Sky too burns with saffron light.

Hot in haught, cloth in clots

Hair in here in gore so coal

The sword is down in rusting knots

And sheath is far in burning hole.



शाम को बिखरी स्याही सी

मटमैली, सुर्ख लाल, नारंगी, नीली

और फिर रात की आखेट में काली सी

बुझी आंखों के निर्झर पानी सी

बहती हुई, निश्छल सिसकियों में गुंथी

निश्चल पैरों की बेड़ी पायल सी

हर कदम पर नजरों में उतरती है तू मायूसी

मत्थे पर लहू सी क्यूं है तू लाल

क्यूं नहीं बादल सी तोड़ के बंदिशें

तू चल दे जिधर मन है तेरा

ना तेरी हो कोई सरहद

ना कोई धर्म, जात, रंग, बखेड़ा

क्यूं है तू छिपी इन कपड़ों में

तपन से राख कर इन कपटी आंखों को

है तेरी कोख में आग

फूंकती है जान तू हांड-मांस में

फिर क्यूं तू लिपटी है इन गर्जदारों से

लिपटना है तो लिपट तू हवा में,

उड़ जा जहां तू जा सके

लिपटना है तो लिपट तू जमीन से

जो है शुरुआत हर कहानी की

क्यूं है तू शाम सी बुझती हुई

है सुबह तू, अंधेरे को बेधती

काली, नीली, सुर्ख लाल, नारंगी, सफेद, बेपरवाह।

बंद आंखों में मत कैद कर तू सपने

खोल इन मासूमों को

पनपने दे इन्हें

जिंदगी देना तेरी काबिलियत है

और जीना तेरी जरुरत।

6am to 10pm

Don’t don’t don’t copulate,

Between 6am to 10pm

Don’t don’t don’t masturbate

Between 6am to 10pm

Don’t sell condoms between

6am to 10pm I said again

And turn on ‘Astha Channel’

Hey Yogi, did yoga today?

Cow stretch? There come Gau-rakshaks

Don’t don’t don’t speak

Between 6am to 10pm

Sex education? Excuse me?

Not between 6am to 10pm

Take that business to your home

But not between 6am to 10pm

However if you want to buy some condoms,

Buy between… ‘Hey where’s your Aadhar?’

Did you link it to your ‘ahem-ahem bill?’

Not between 6am to 10pm.

What did you say?

1.6 Cr abortions in India?

81% at home?

Nah, not between 6am to 10pm.

50% pregnancies unintended?

Not between 6am to 10pm.

Peacock doesn’t cry between 6am to 10pm.

Cow doesn’t give birth between 6am to 10pm.

Modi doesn’t…. Ahem-ahem. Sorry!

What? 4-year old boy molested a 4-year old girl?

Nah, not between 6am to 10pm.

‘But sir, school starts at 9a…’


Padmavati, Padmavati Padmavati…

‘But sir, 300,000 farmers protested in Delhi…’


Not between 6am to 10pm.

‘Government is giving Chastity belts for free’

‘But I don’t want it.’

Brainwash, Padmavati, Shambhulal, Cow, 370.

‘How the hell it came on my genitals,

What the… Why can’t I open it?’

‘We linked it to your Aadhar.’

Sigh. ‘Let’s enter the Aadhar number.

What the…. Why can’t I still open it?’

Not between 6am to 10pm.

In The Pile of the Ashes

They said we’d bring you a new light

But who cares if they shut the old off?

In the colors of black and faded white

They added red like a burning tar.

And if the sound is broken in our hearts?

Do we really care if this world smothers on?

Hinding in the cavities of our faces,

Do we really want to rage to win this war?

And hide in the nights not to be a victim,

And speak our mind without a question,

Are we here safe and sound from the wolves that we’ve fed?

To tear something else apart

But now they’re not in their den

We’re scared of holding pens

They’re scared of us holding pens

Ink still is stronger than the sword.

But do we need it on our papers?

Or need it on our faces?

When Rookies are with the guns

And killing off rising Aces?

The beast we’d fed has turned his back on us

It’s grown bigger than our faces

And peace is hiding in the rust.

Red is over all the places.

They say that we’ll move on,

From the heartache and the pain.

But all the suns that set,

In the cold blood of the slain,

Will it echo ever or not?

Will it be the one of the ones we forgot?

Is it out of our hands now,

What we brought out of our heads?

Tell me how do you sleep

Backstabbed in the bloodstained beds?

Are we leaving this one off

Or running from within?

The wolves will devour all they’ve got

Is our maiden names Sin?

Do we really care?

Is it okay, is it fair?

There goes one more down,

In the pile of the ashes.

The Counsellors

I don’t know how to start

Or where to find my words

The hold on these burning sensations seems to be engulfing me now

Once upon a time I was better

Perhaps, now I’m good

But am I good enough to write better now?

They said, ‘don’t use inconspicuous words’

I guess I stopped it

And then someone said that maybe you shouldn’t rhyme that much

Following the trail I reached where they said,

‘Don’t try to be too technical’

Oh my goodness, where am I now?

The pillars that supported me once,

Did I have to forsake them all for t’ sake of all?

I wondered once upon a time

And now I wander that I wonder no more

My grammar is bizzare

And rhyming scheme has this azar nadir

Have I stopped being the poet I thought I was?

I don’t feel like writing now,

And if I do, it’s just some basic stuff that’s been reprocessed a hundred times over

My lines are no more short and have no brevity

They are uneven

Why do you think I must write the way you think?

The way you want me to?

Why do you all have to suggest something?

And tell me how alienated I write?

Is this alien to you now?

Do you find it extremely poetic?

Do you find it sweet and pleasing?

No, I bet you’ll find this stupid

Piece of shit, you say?

Not something very impressive?

Banal? Oh, I’m not conspicuous.

Shit, I did it again.

What has happened to my art?

Wait, I was filling your colors in it.

Find this good enough? I’ve incorporated what everyone says in one single poem with no metre or rhyme.

Look at this prose, is it a poem?

Look at this poem, is it a poet’s work?

Look at my rhyming scale, metre, brevity, overtly laid alphabets.

I swear, it’s distorted.

Or maybe it isn’t.

Judge this one too.

Is this poem too long for you to read?

Is there too much going inside of me?

Flowing out, have you read it this far?

It’s some stupid creation, no?

But it’s my heart right now.

It’s my head right now.

Do you like it?

Do you like how I write now?

A poem of another naive poet.

A jumble of conflicting cataclysm of my selves.

Tell me something now

Let me be stupid again, a little bit more.

Are you an expert?


The moon on the top of our heads

The warmth of your after-beds

The blank blankets and loveless lights

All may shiver in the snows of these nights

When I’ll take the after-mornings of your gone

And the sun of our hearts will break at the dawn

Tears will be around the garden in the dew

In a million of heaven’s, ours are a few

Will the echo of this falling star

Be one of all those fallen stars

Will the bruise on my breath be yesterday’s scar

So long as we’d gone far

Will there be a perpetual name

Stronger than mine, of grounding game

With all the tears that I’d write this one

Might disappear and we’ll have none.

Inquisitively, do you see beyond my eyes?

Of mountains and books and faces and tries

May I dive and clean your mirrors up

While world does wander tying trouble up

Put then the strength in my hands

I’ll put the power in your heart

And hope will take the dreams

To one more heart apart

Till my name be forgiven

And your heart be in spring

For all that it’s given.


जैसे हो झिलमिलाती सी धूल में एक चमकता सा सितारा

और रौशन हो उसके दीदार से हजारों जहां

बनना ऐसी ही तुम,


जिसकी बुनियाद उसके खुदके दिल में है,

और तुम्हारी आग तुम्हारी मुश्किलों को चीरती हुई

दिखाए अपना वजूद, अपनी दुनिया में

तुम्हारा मन हो सितारे की कोख सा,

जिसमें बनती है नई दुनिया के लिए कुछ नई चीजें

और हो तुम्हारा तन उसके ओज सा

कि केवल उसी ओज का उसे कुछ छू सके

आवाज़ को बनाओ सितारे से निकलते उन कणों सा

कि रंग फैलाएं वो सबके मन को आत्मसात कर

बन जाना तुम ऐसा कि आसमान भी झुककर छुए तुम्हें

हवा खुश हो तुममें उड़ान भरकर

और जमीन भरे अपने जख्म तुम्हारी छुअन से।

देना दुनिया को और खुद को भी,

सितारा हो तुम,

मेरा उजला सितारा।

पता है तुम्हें आज जब तुमने मिलने को कहा
दिल सूखे पत्ते सा हो गया
जिसको सदियों बाद निकाला हो किताब से
चुरमुरा, खूबसूरत सा, तुम्हारी आंखों के जैसा
गम था एक सुबह से, छोड़ आया रास्ते में
मिलना जो था तुमसे

तुम कहती हो मैं कुछ कहता नहीं
हर बार तो बात बीच में काट के खुद बोलने लगती हो
बहुत कुछ होता है तुम्हारे पास कहने को
आज भी था, मैं भी चुप हो जाता हूं
सुकून जो मिलता है तुम्हें सुनकर
तुम्हारी बकबकी तर करती है मुझको

हाथ पकड़कर कहना चाहता था कि तुम मेरी ताकत हो
पर रूक गया ना जाने क्या सोचकर
सात साल जो हो गये हैं, आज तक नहीं किया ऐसा
इतने आजाद होकर भी, कि शायद किसी और के साथ न हो पायें
हम आजाद भी नहीं हो पाते, पहेली सा है ये सब
और मैं जान-बूझकर उलझा हुआ हूं

लगता है तुम ही मेरा आखिरी प्यार हो, जो सबसे पहले हो गया
और अब ना जाने कितने और तलाशने पड़ेंगे
खैर आखिरी को पाने‌ को पहले वाले खत्म तो करने ही पड़ेंगे
क्या अजीब सी उलझन लेके आयी तुम सुकून की तरह
अब रास्ते से वो गम उठा लूंगा और घर चला जाउंगा
जिंदगी यही है जो तुम्हारे साथ बिता लेता हूं

शायद साथ में बूढ़ा होना ऐसा ही होता है
खो जाऊंगा अगर चली गयी तुम
जो भी हो जैसी भी हो, हो तो मेरी ही ना

A Tale of Morning

Mornings are said to be brought by that old man

Who had no faith, no hate and no hands

They say he had a tail

And the bigger teeth

And his shadow walked below

Ground the underneath

And he tolled the night

Long and neverending

He waited to pull it up

With fangs and tails and legs

And strength never spending

They say it was a long era

And millions of nights had died

And the stars were shaking

Out o’ his mighty fright

And years then rolled

And creatures not now slept

In the misty atmosphere of the shivering Earth

All Pariahs gladly wept

Mountains roared and clouds did thunder

Trees screamed in Valhalla under

And then came a golden thread

A thing of beauty unseen before

The corns were corns and fire red

Everyone was screaming in joy

The snake that came from frozen mountains

A crocodile across from farland river

A tree from the valley of nocturne fever

And the owl ocean-side

All had appeals, all had rejections

And then came hovering the second thread

The panic rose high and some of them condemned

And now the fire was yellow

And the snow was melting low

Then the third thread, then the fourth, then more

Chaos touched the peak and everyone cried

Some at beauty, some at horror

With watery eyes they looked now farer

Old man’s fangs glistened

And tail twisted, legs stepped back

Then came the burning sun

And cold was forced to be mellow

Everyone stopped and some went to sleep

At the edge of the morning some did profusely weep

And then the fangs fell

Like diamonds slithering through mist

And tail turned to a hundred petals and to melting wind

The skin then shed to dust

And came a spirit that touched a few creatures

Then the morning rose and smiled

And from those who screamed in horror and those who screamed in joy

They say we all have come from them

A Nursery

In the graveyard of stars

A shell that shrills and streaks

Hurls to the side on the large

Zens for eons, for months, for weeks

Go to the puddle the reflection of fires

Younger the dust and new wind

Forging a place for a million choirs

Xenon the silence in the new grind

Everything expands exponentially

What would wage without wonders

Dragging daunting days daily

Vivaciously varied vast vendors

Call the life and life sparks maiden

Under the graveyard, a nursery in mayhem.