Hum khasta tanon se mohtasibo, kyaa maal manaal ka puuchhte ho
Jo umr me hum ne bhar paaya sab laa ke dikhaye dete hain
Daman me hay mushht-e-khake-e-jigar, saaghar me hay khoon-e-hasrat-e-me
Lo hum ne daaman jhad diya, lo jam ultaye detay hain.

Pyx #5

Some days the mind is a raging fire and in the smoke everything hides beneath the haze. But some days, it is like a pristine lake, stable and clear. It is in the lake that you can find the reflection of your own self. It is on the surface of the lake that the waves will show you the direction of the winds. Find this lake, immerse in it and learn to move on. Let it wash away all the tiredness, all the emotions. Let it be your savior. Find it.

And remember some stories are best left incomplete, best left in transition.

Are we immovable now?
Like the giant pillars of a temple
held together by an overhead beam,
eroded by the miseries of wind and time.

Would we fracture like
the crumbling blocks of
an old industrial house
which over lived its purpose and time?

Or would we stand tall
like the sand castles
that delight children for a day
and wither off with waves and time.

And then what?
Would the bricks and the bones
be dismantled
or would a structure be built with them
at some new address
with some false color painted over.

And what about emotions?
Would they evaporate with dust
and settle somewhere far off,
scattered in all directions.

What about us?
When the space begins to shrink
and the color of the walls
changes every moment
as if projections
of every thought, every memory
every plan
somehow unlocked themselves
and now crowd the shrinking space
between us.

Isn’t it all utterly chaotic?
Like the platforms of
a busy train station
before the Diwali break.

Evening Auto Ride

Evening Auto Ride