The purple kurta

Lingering around the wall with a mug of coffee;I told him not to wear the purple kurta again. I wanted to bother him desperately, viciously spreading my desire through my eyes. His innocence was tangentially falling prey to my naughtiness and I was extracting every bit of sweetness from it.

The latitudinal and longitudinal lines on the kurta with swollen threads created a palpation of its own , the tinkling and sparkling color mystified the appearance and the texture consolidated the love struck feel.I wandered through the straight crossing lines just to rediscover my mischief. Sipping slowing, drop by drop of coffee, I nurtured and caressed it.

I was having caffeine and he was ashing his shyness, dipping himself into the pool of attraction,  while he was searching for the other deep blue kurta. I went through a ionic spark witnessing the white cloudy contours on the blue oceanic flavor which was capable of engulfing my feelings. I was ready to throw my waves of wickedness on it.

But his continuous search revealed the existence of one more purple kurta, duplicating the previous one. He acted ignorant to its abstinence and I was struck with a dilemma of distributing my affection in different forms and flavors. I was again trapped within the intricate opening of sparkling mystery or probably I was just fascinated to everything that belonged to him, I tried distributing my like wives to something else but the repulsion was evidently impossible.

Its not about twin kurta brothers or the blue cousin , its only a possessive link that wants to catch hold of his every belonging. To knit every emotion,every kiss, every touch into a small muffler to cuddle around with every breath.

Dedicated to all non-singers

Nothing syncs, sound melodies are monstrous to me;

I try and swing on those vibrations,

The momentum is too paradoxical to me-

I fight with my cacophony,

I crawl over the dead sounds,to catch the soul.

But all I get to see are some empty corpses,

Could I insist to tune up your eardrum?

As the soul is a shape shifter, its possibly 

on its way to my empty vessel.

Smoke melts easily

The canvas of blood

How do I draw you here?
The elevations from my pencil are so dark and fatal.
I haunt on to the canvas border
Submerged thoughts;battered desires

Illustrations are spineless,until I de-stain the background;
To unleash the curvature and paint the picture
Faint and smoky, I could draw your veins
Submerged in blood, still they look all the same

I couldn't see you, the red river makes you blur
I wish I could find you,
I wish I could suck the blood.

RANG!!

Boond bankar sun rahi thi mai rango ki jhooti mooti baatein.
wo nanhi bankar chaap chodna chahti thi kapdo par.
pata nahi apni nishaniya bhulana kyun pasand nahi unhe.
Pighalti , Sisakti , Raundti ..wo bus chipakna janti hai.
ghul ke kaise kho jana hai, kisi ne sikhaya hi nahi unhe

khara , matmaila ya saada;sparsh unka ek jaisa hota hai
paniyon se chankar wo roye bhi to algav behisaab hota hai.

What if??

What if ?

A traumatic childhood secretes special hormones to make you mutant..
At least that is what history , authors , movies explain.. I know, be it Newton's gravitation, Picasso's artistry or any other person of far more mental skills and abilities. All fields have been covered by scintillating brains. So does that make it that indispensable to master at least one field of interest???

The white and black keys of my piano are beautiful but what if I don't play them just because I like the instrument that way. Music is in my mind and what if I play it with my limitless brain attached to all the strings of music. Normal elements of life do exist which are abnormally brushed aside. Surviving to aid and apprise true non sentimental values is a work of fiction and the follower is secluded. A shrewd brain at rest is never recognized but why to create delusional stages to extract those brainy contents.. Can't it be, just kept at peace to resolve other inner conflicts ... which are perception less and secure..

Fariyaad

Wo aaj aaya tha talashi lene ..churaya hua sab le gaya..maine roka use..gumsum aankhon se sehlaya bhi..peer ki ibadat ki..sunepan se bandha...par wo chala hi gaya..neend me doobe hue un palo ki chaabi hi le gaya..
ab wo kabhi jaag na payenge..kaanch ki un deewaro se jhanke hue neend me hi muskurayenge..kash wo chaliya na hota..to mai use pehchaan jati..fariyaad karti..bebas lawaris aawaz goonjti..shayad ek fariyadi ki karakashta wo jhutla nahi pata..