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Showing posts from December, 2011

the mountains that never move.

...gandi baaten karti hun, gandi kitaaben padhti hun;  gande se sher likhe hain, gandi gandi si kahaniya kehti hun. gande log nahin, gandi to gandagi bhi nahin;  mail kahin aur pada hai, mujhpar raaton ka andhera ghangor chada hai...

...aadhe likhe nazmon me shabd joda karti hoon, iski uski baaten sunkar kisse batora karti hoon. us raah par tu hai nahin jahan har shaam guzaarti jaati hun, is raat me sath tera nahin jiski sihai se tujhpar geet likhe jaati hun...
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गन्दी बातें करती हूँ, गन्दी किताबें पढ़ती हूँ; गंदे से मैंने शेर लिखे hain, गन्दी गन्दी कहानिया कहती हूँ| गंदे तो लोग नहीं, गन्दी कहानियां भी कहाँ है?  मैल कहीं और पड़ा है, मुझपर रातों का अँधेरा घनघोर चढ़ा है|
आधे लिखे नज्मों में शब्द जोड़ा करती हूँ,  इसकी, उसकी बातें सुनकर किस्से बटोरा करती हूँ| उस राह पर तू नहीं जहाँ हर शाम गुजारती जाती हूँ,  इस रात में तेरा साथ नहीं जिसकी सिहाई से तुझपर गीत लिखे जातो हूँ|
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.everysinglefuckingday.

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Every day. 
I walk with measured steps. Measuring and counting and timing my steps. To make sure I don’t walk too far away, to ensure that I walk just enough, just enough to make sure that I seem to be moving, but then not too far away to seem to have left. I walk the same road every day; stop at the same places, the places where it will be difficult to go unnoticed. Every day I seem to be just the same amount of desperate, the same amount of moronic and the same amount of incorrigible. But I make sure I am different enough to not look too repetitive.  I reiterate feelings; I reboot life after each night’s denial. Every day, I walk taking measured steps. Every day.
Every day, unnoticed, unwanted. Everyday unnerving, morose. Every day.
Every night is the same night, everyday there is a new morning.
Every day. 


well, all you had to do was run your fingers on my lips, look deep into my eyes, and kiss...


...yeah, that simple.