Swords drawn out ....

Daggers and Swords .....
All drawn out ...
A war cry .... shrill and harsh ....
Sounding in the distance ....
The howl of the hounds....
Swords drawn out ....
Daggers drawn out ....
A click of the safety pin ....
Of a Handgun ....
A gang war .... on the go ....
A war to watch out for ....
I hold onto my baseball bat ...
That's all I need ....
To break the jaw of the opponent ...
My daggers and sword in their sheaths....
No need for sharp weapons...
My tongue is sharp enough ....
My words are rasp enough ...
My writing is good enough to launch a warhead ...
To send them hurtling down to hell.
Just like an arrow ....
A bullet .... or a strike of the sharp object...
My words can't be taken back ....
Once uttered ... They are the gospel truth.
I am the reigning terror around ....
I am the reigning Queen ...
Try as you may ....
I am invincible ...
Coz' am the living dead.
Nothing can kill me or give me pain ...
I am the invincible one....
I am the reigning Queen of terror....
I am ... the banished one...
I vanquished all my fears....
I triumphed in the end...
I juggle between pain and pleasure ....
I shuttle between the living and the dead.
Swords and daggers drawn out ...
They don't impale me with fear ....
I am a dagger drawn by the almighty itself.

Etched on my heart .....

Etched on my heart is his name ...
Inked forever on my chest is his name .....
The Lord of love and anger ....
Mine forever ....
His love and my anger....
 A deadly combination.....
That erupted a war when love happened ....
A thousand ships launched for one ....
A thousand swords drawn for another ...
His name etched on my heart forever.

With me he shall live a thousand lives ...
With me he shall die a thousand deaths ....
For he is my voodooed doll ...
My favourite doll of all.

Etched in my memory ....
Are his antics ....
His laughter ....
The tears in his eyes ....
The tired look ....
The morose look ....
The look of regret ...
The unfazed love ....
The look of a lover .....
Waiting for the right time.....
Etched in the sand of time ...
I Love you.....
Washed away by waves....
Yet, written each day ..... each moment.

Etched on my heart is his name ....
Etched in my memory is his face.....
In my arms .... his memento for me to keep...
Little fingers to hold on to....
His name ... now my name.

Sound of Music ....

The sound of music he played ....
He played for me ....
Make me go ballistic .... at times ... holistic at times ....
Mood swings occur....
I cry .... a muffled cry ....
I smile .... a sly smile....
A smile that tells all ....
My love for him ....
It hasn't dimmed a bit ...
Getting stronger day by day ....
A faith ....
A fervent prayer ....
Turn back the tide ....
Turn the turn of events .....
Change everything for the better ....
But, time and tide ....
They never turn back .....
They just go on doing their job ....
We are left to do ours.

The sound of music he played ...
The songs he sang ...
His voice.... so clear in my head ...
In my conscience ....
As though he is sitting beside me...
Holding my hand ... and singing ....
Caressing my face ....
Moving his hand through my hair.....
He loved doing that ...
Caressing my hand and my head....
I remember ...
Remember it all ....
As if it is happening right now.

The sound of music .....
His voice ....
His gaze .....
Unnerving gaze ....
And I give a shy smile .....
All to myself ....
Just thinking of him and him only.

Ek chadar maili si ....

Ek chadar maili si .....
Yaad dilati hai woh raat....
Jiss raat hum baithey thei ...
Khuley aasmaan taley ...
Chandni raat mein ....
Oss se geeli ghaans per....
Chadar bichaye ...
Wohi chadar yaad aaye ...
Ek chadar maili si....
Bheegi oss  ki boondon se....
Neend gayab thi uss raat....
Buss aasman ke taarey bas gaye thei aankhon mein....
Paas woh thei aur hum ...
Dooja koi nahi ....
Buss ... do dilon ke darmiyan koi aur nahi ....
Phir ek goonj uthi ....
Aankhein khuli....
Woh ek khwaab tha....
Par chadar geeli thi....
Maili chadar ....
Kaise?
Woh khwaab kabhi ek haqeeqat tha....
Ek hoonk uthi aur khwaab toot gaya....
Maili chadar mere saath reh gayi buss...
Aur kuch nahi.

My Reflection ....

See my reflection .....
In the work I do .....
See my reflection  .....
In my kids ....Kids .... Biological and the ones I keep for their parents ....
See my reflection in them.

I see my reflection each day ...
I give a pat to myself and say....
Atta Girl!  Good job ....
The reflection says ..... It's part of the deal ....
A job well done .... a glow on my face.

Walking down the path of my dreams ....
Dreams I haven't seen yet ....
But, realized much before ...
I know my inner self glows ....
The reflection shows ....
Deep within the satisfaction ....
Of a life lived ....
Well lived .... despite the strife....
Yet, a life ....
To talk about ...
A life to remember.....
And, be remembered.... Always.

Sacch kehnde si .... Rabb...

Tussi sacch kehnde pae ho ji ....
Rabb dil vich rehnda si ...
Te Auliya da hukum haiga....
Sab nu pyar kar ....
Par insaan jo hota hai ...
Woh iss gal nu kadi nahi maanta...
Woh bas apni vaasna ki poorti karta haiga...
Te unno chhadd ke chala jandaa hai....
Jo sachche dil se unno pyar kar di si.

Tussi sacchi sacch kainda si ...
Par eh toh kadwa sacch haiga...
Ki Duniya vich ab pyar nahi bacha...
Jo bacha so hai thoda sa waqt ....
Phir sab andhiyaara....
Phir naa Sohni hogi na Mahiwal...
Naa Shirin hogi na Farhad ...
Naa Reshma te na Shera....
Bass hogi jag hasaiyee ...
Pyar ki ... iqraar ki ...
Aur kuch nahi hoga.

Plucked Flowers....

Flowers ... beautiful and fragrant ....
Men pluck them ....
For their own happiness ..
Men pluck flowers ...
For wooing women ....
They pluck them and leave them in books ...
To dry and remain forever in the name of love ....
They pluck flowers and crush them ...
And ....then ...
They have the cheek to proclaim ..
They have no liking for plucked flowers.
Such men SUCK big time....
They are bloody wilted twigs...
Weaklings .... showing strength behind fake names....
Real life Eunuchs ... having fun with plucked flowers and then leaving them aside....
Plucking more plucked flowers from decaying bouquets...
And proclaiming undying love ....
To the woman waiting at home.
Suckers ..... They ought to be bobbitized ....
Then shall the plucked flowers .... rise and shine again....
At least the plucked flowers have some use ...
They have lived their life to the fullest ...
Given joy to others ....
What has the wilted weak twig given?
Nothing ... He is just another twig to be burnt to ashes.

The Devil within...

We all have it ....
The little devil within....
We are all devils without the horns ...
Yes.... but where's the trident ... That he holds?

The devil within ...
In childhood makes us do innocent mischief .....
In teens ... rebellious outrages....
In young adulthood... crimes of passion ...
In oldage ....
It is just too tired ....
Yet, it is still existent ....
Upto some mischief or the other ...
But, yet again ...
Cute mischief ....
Coz' It ain't all that bad....
It's just our self ... That needs recognition...
So, does things that don't suit our persona per se.

The devil within....
Wants us to acknowledge its presence....
Wants us to know ...
It has feelings too....
Needs .... unmet needs...
Silent needs ....
Loud despicable needs...
Needs stifled by societal taboos....
Needs ... plain and simple needs ...
Of a human mind ... trapped in a mortal body....
A mind with infinite possibilities...
Infinite probabilities ....
An infinity within an inferno ...
Desires of the devil ....
Lots of desires .....
Unwarranted for actions .... for fulfilling those desires...
Chained aspirations ...
Unchained emotional outbursts.
The devil within ...
The suppressed desire....
The oppressed woman ....
The ostracized soul ....
The categorized human....
One and all the same.