Mange a day when I am not with you,
and you miss me.
Manage a week that has an additional weekly rest
a casual leave for me, only me.
Manage a month like that of the honey moon month
when we have nothing else to see.
Manage a year that was passed in waiting for a flower
your seed that sprung from me.
Manage to go back in the past and recollect
the song you had sung for me.
Please, please, I can, and I shall manage all that
but cover your hairs with your teen age’s hat.
I started melting in the sun’s hot armsI became ecstatic when the valley hugged meI could not resist the nature’s callsI fell in love where snow falls.I ran to the plain to wash the frozen black blood.With all the human dirt of hate and violenceDrinking new poisons throughout my journeyHow long I could show patience…
A poet is an artist born with love for the fine arts.He may be dead for the world but he is not.Nobody to read his poems the story of his innocent vicesStill he is breathing in his poems and the breaths are hotMan has become a dependent of machines and devicesHe has no time for…
The comforts she placed,Outside her life!The romance she ignored,The bitterness she cored,And the fruits she soared,As a lovely wife!When she fed her child,Hell turned cold and mild,And the fire was exiled,As the child was content!God wrote on the wall,It’s not over and all,Just a glimpse of my call,Kind enough and descent!And reward of a mother,A…
Zara dekho in aankhon mein yeh tasveerein tumhari hayn,Jo dil ko bandh kar rakhein woh zanjeerien tumhari hayn,Mera chehra liye phirta hay rangeen dastanein jo,Mere dil se nikalti rehti hayn Ranjha ki tanein jo,Tumhein woh Heer kehti hayn tum itni khoobssorat ho,Nazakat ho, raoonat ho, muhabbat hi muhabbat ho,Yeh dil to ek qaidi hay kahin…
Whatever you give you give as a loan,To take back with a compound interest,And that too, against lien of life,Against pledge of sentiments,And mortgage of beauty,What a creditor you are!For unsecured victims of love,Having a heart innocent and fragile,Having a body tied in chains,Of customs and taboos,A social animal,With flesh and bones,An escape goat,Who grows…
Writers send their short stories,poets send their poems,editors sort out the better ones,and publish it, but most of the writesare thrown in the waste paper basket,below the table,in the morning a sweeper comes,takes many poems and stories with him.And when chief editor calls a meeting,to discuss the reasons as to why magazineis not getting the…
