life's a kick

Friend, hold my hand and let’s go to a place we don’t know let’s be us happy, fabulous let each motivate to unfetter the other’s fate let’s laugh with the wind in our face with lifetimes packed in days let’s live our meaning of Right infuse goodness to each fight let’s revel in the uniqueness of our team when distance threatens, still chase our dream let’s tell life to take a walk but love it all the same, let’s rock let none be hurt along the path and yet defend truth in the face of aftermath let’s live to the fullest we can keeping instinct before plan let’s plan a bohemian bike ride never exchange the witty for snide let’s throw open our lives to love that lets go, still thrives let’s not waste a tear cry if we must, do while near let’s fly, and learn and teach compassion and beauty, to us and each

Raw, exposed, excited 'n heightened at the promise of return you've sown I overwork my body, in vain many ways to quieten the shiver in my bone

In a strange, exciting way, I feel like her woman. I’m not a macho-man type, but neither am I the feminine kind. I guess I’m pretty much the boy-next-door, content in my easy style of being. I talk less, but generally straight. I’ve had my share of crushes and infatuations, but I was never among the over-sexed men. In my boyhood days, I did the same things that most boys did, but somewhere along the path, I did grow up. Or so I would like to believe. People around call me mature and balanced, but this is not about me. This is about her. She’s magic, you know. No, no…you possibly can’t know. There is no other her. You  couldn't  know till you knew her. And saw me with her. I've  never felt this before. In my modest experience with women, this strange feeling, of wanting to be the woman in the relationship, never quite fascinated me. Is it my age? Is it some repressed inner need? I  couldn't  tell. It is like this. When she’s around, I love ...

Come, Come with time slipping out of your hands Come submerged in chores exclusive of me Come immersed in dreams of your own Come in conversations shared with a crowd Come wrapped in your fame, surrounded by your followers Come without a trace of the past Come with laughter fragrant of others Come with grief caused by unknown Come with a woman by your side Come with lovers galore Come with your children born of another Come with memories bereft of me Come floating in your sea of experiences… Just come.

Beyond a point in time, we all realize that words are redundant. So let me tell you a story. A love story between a bird, Khushi, and a mountain. In the endless wilderness of Sahara, a petite winged creature went astray, and found herself atop a stony mountain. For someone who left in search of water and vegetation, this was the most unlikely spot to reach. But Khushi, our little bird, was no cry-baby. She knew she would find her way back. She surveyed the horizon with curious eyes, took in the view of undulating sand, allowed the ruthless beauty of desert to take her breath away…and began to sing. A melancholic melody of loneliness, mingled with gratefulness towards life. Khushi’s musical refrain reached the innermost part of the mountain, touching a tender chord that had not been reached for centuries. After ages, the mountain opened his eyes. Feeling her soft claws resting on his shoulder, and her music filling his being…he realized he had never felt so alive before. “Who ar...

Boy, I swear, I’m gonna nail you for the tricks you pull with your charm for the crimes you do, and get away with that smile you use to disarm my petition is ready, and I’m coming strong with a mind to get all even will knock all doors, and I’ll be heard my mood, today you can’t leaven I’ve had enough of gritting my teeth ending up a slavering schmuck swept away by your wordless beauty bereft of will, devoid of pluck pray, tell, how you con me and what do you dissolve in the air making me forget, every little defense unraveling me from far, layer by layer it’s merciless you know, to have this effect on anybody who loves you so making them exist outside their skin exposed, vulnerable, slow today, honey, is a different day i’m prepared with a battery of guns just don’t turn back, oh my killer coz I’d be dead, if you looked at me once

सुना है रोज़ सुबह उसे चाय की तलब सताती है सुना है एक डाइरी है , जिसे वो काँख तले दबाये चलता है लोग बताते हैं , वो कोने वाली गुमटी से पान खाता है और पुरनकी बजार वाला पेड़ा पसंद करता है जाने कहाँ से बनी हैं वो ऐनकें जिन्हें वो सोते वक़्त भी बगल में रखता है और वो गर्मी वाली खादी की बूशर्ट जिसे हर तीसरे दिन पहनता है एक लंच-बॉक्स भी लाता है जिसे चाट-चाट कर खाता है और वो सुनहरी ठेपी वाली कलम को सीने से लगी पॉकेट में रखता है... हाय किस्मत ! मैं क्या-क्या हो सकती थी- वो प्याली , वो डाइरी , वो पान , वो चश्मे , वो कमीज़ , वो बर्तन , वो कलम , वो पेड़े ...