हमारी शायरी में सच कहाँ है कि हमने ज़िंदगी में क्या किया है कभी जो रफ़्तगाँ की याद आई तो उसके घर का रस्ता ले लिया है किताबों से ही बातें हो रही हैं किताबों के सिवा कमरे में क्या है बहुत मुश्किल था हाँ-में-हाँ मिलाना सो हमने उससे झगड़ा कर लिया है बना कर दूजे-तीजे की कहानी वो अपने राज़ हमपर खोलता है जहाँ भी मिल रहा हो दाना-पानी
If god ever comes in my dream And offers to grant me a wish I would wish for The endurance of a woman Who has seen her rapist In the eyes Fought back Lived to a ripe age — PD
I haven’t seen grief, I have only known that it walks quietly, In and around my room. And that it can see through me, Like I am made of glass. While I sleep, It carefully prepares a potion, Of everything bittersweet I remember, And boy, it carries a big sack of cotton balls. It dips them one by one, in the potion, Counting carefully till hundred. Then it puts my head in its lap,
We ride the waves I and you. On a wrecked down boat Far from shore. We are bruised a little And ready for more. We make a world In our heads and then We put some sunlight in there And some rain In our world there is no-one To wake us out of dream There is no-one to get us There are no f***ing sprints. There is a big rewind button
I dread 11 PM. I dread happy people. I dread happy people Telling me happy stories At 11 PM on a Monday Or any day of the week. I dread unbearable, continuous gossips And I dread complete silence too Silence in which I can hear My poor heart sing an elegy For whom? I don’t know. I dread being hard on myself, For things that were out of my control.