This Is How The World Works

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Just because there were moments,
That you spent together,
Doesn’t mean, they were meant to,
Cherish forever.
The bonding, wasn’t meant to,
Stay forever.
This is how the world works.

We two happen to be here,
I’ll open up, you’ll listen.
You talk trash, I’ll add up.
You laugh, I’ll laugh harder.
But when we won’t be together,
It’ll be like we never knew each other.
This is how the world works.

Like the flower plucked from tree,
It has to leave everything behind,
The tree, the leaves, the garden,
And other flowers in vicinity.
Think about what lay ahead,
Blossom the surrounding it is put in.
This is how the world works.

The flower has to blend its essence,
In the new world it is put in.
It cannot go back to that tree,
It has to move ahead.
Even if it is put back in that vicinity,
Nothing will be same as before.
This is how the world works.

When you part ways,
When you bid goodbye,
You need to leave everything,
In the moment of separation.
At the point of separation.
Detach yourself, Like a plucked flower.
This is how the world works.

Only because you are still attached,
To those moments, to those people,
Doesn’t mean they are attached too.
Everyone has different expectations from life,
What they mean to you is not,
Same as what you mean to them.
And, this is how the world works.

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गुमसुमसा रहने लगा हूँ

​इस रातकी खामोशीमें गूंज रही बेबसीको सुन रहा हूँ मैं,
इस चाँदके सितारोंसे बने गुमनाम रिश्तेका नाम ढूंढ रहा हूँ मैं।

इस बहती हवामें सिमटी हुई तनहाईया महसूस कर रहा हूँ मैं,
इस जलते दीयेकी लौमें छुपी हुई बेचैनी बुझानेकी कोशिश रहा हूँ मैं।

हुआ है क्या मुझे, जो इतना गुमसुमसा रहने लगा हूँ,
इस जिन्दगीकी भागदौडमे तेजी से बीते हुए लम्होको फिरसे जीनेकी मांग करने लगा हूँ।

See You Again

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She was the inspiration behind the first poem of my life. Oblivious of what is going on with her and without any thought of her since I don’t know when, she appeared unexpectedly. Not in my thought, but in front of me. I thought Goa trip was over, memories of the trip were over. But they were not. It was the last phase in the journey back to home of the finally executed Goa trip, from Katraj to Nigdi. She boarded on the bus, searched for a place hastily. As she entered, I noticed she was wearing bangles, the same ones a girl wears after marriage. The same style. I thought she was married. My heart pulsated. I don’t know why. She settled down. I looked at her, and I am not sure if we exchanged glances or she remembered who I am, because I shied away as I anticipated she will turn her gaze toward me. No, it was not possible. She can’t be married. I don’t know why I was concerned about her marital status. She was my crush and I never talked to her. Not even once. What should I do? Should I talk to her or let it be the way it was?

After 12th standard, I saw her once, not once, twice, at two different bus stands. Both times, she didn’t see me. This was the third time. Again, I thought about whether to talk to her or not. I had never dared to talk to her in 12th standard, given her confrontational, sassy, and cocky nature. In addition, this indecision and chaos was result of terrible past experiences of initiating conversations. Once I initiated a conversation, I got scolded from teacher, peon, and principal. Then in another incident, I got a patronizing look from a girl, her disposition showing I am a downmarket pervert. Then I approached a girl and she turned around and walked away with a face like nothing happened. I felt like I had been misunderstood every time. This history loomed large over my capacity of decision-making when it came to the matters of the heart. This time, I feared, would not be different. I would try to say something and it might backfire. I decided to let it be the way it was. I don’t want to end up getting scolded from bus conductor, beaten up by fellow passengers, and thrown out at 11:30 pm for misunderstanding that may arise. There was no transport available besides cabs at that hour. Enough with shitty excuses, the truth was meri fatt rahi thi. Yes, meri fatt rahi thi.

The crowd was less as the bus moved forward and her conversations on the phone were audible. I learnt she attended her friend’s marriage and those bangles were for that occasion. That was the only consolation for the night. Besides that, my cowardice persisted. I didn’t talk to her. Then she descended at her stop and I did what I always did. I wrote a poetry. She was the inspiration for my first poetry and she is also the inspiration for the following poem I wrote.

तकदिरकी साजिशोंमें कही कोई राझ छुपा तो नहीं,
इत्तिफ़ाक़तले मिलने वाले मुसाफिरों की कही मंजिल एक तो नहीं..

मिलन लिखा हो तकदिरमे, तो मिलेंगे फिर इक बार इत्तिफ़ाक़तले,
पर उस दफा, मंजिल की परवाह किए बगैर, बस उस सफर की खूबसूरतीतले।

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P.S. In case, you want to read that first poem, here is the link:

https://crazytruefacts.wordpress.com/2014/04/20/quite-quietly/

Trust Is Beautiful

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Those conversations,
those comfortable silences,
and those rides.

Opening up true selves,
and sharing some funny yet weird stories,
while finding a way through traffic.

There was no judgmental attitude,
no ego, no holding back.

Even if someone knows,
the other person is talking trash,
the trash was listened carefully and attentively.
Sometimes, even responded with more trash.

The trash used to build up and at a point,
both burst out of laughter.

While riding, some moments were breathtaking,
as the crash seemed inevitable,
but somehow it didn’t happen.
Even when it was told to ride safely,
it wasn’t given much attention to.

And though it wasn’t given much attention,
the pillow rider didn’t leave in between.

Because those conversations,
happening during ride built up trust.

Trust, that no matter how roughly the person drives,
I’m reaching home safely.

Trust, that no one is going to judge,
when the other opens up.

Trust, that no one will try to rationalize,
when the other is talking trash.

And the crazy fact,
That trust made those silences during rides comfortable.

Those silences were beautiful.
Those rides were beautiful.
That comfort was beautiful.
And the trust, it’s always beautiful.

आसूओमें शरीक ना हुए तो बात क्या

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शिकायत हमे उस मुकद्दरसे नहीं,
जो हमसे उन्हें जुदा कर गया,
शिकायत हमे उस लम्हे से है,
जो आखरी अलविदे के वक़्त थम नहीं गया |

वो मुस्कुराहटे, वो तकरारे, वो मीठी बाते,
वो यादे, दर्द देती हे जर्रे जर्रे से,
बिछडनेसे कुछ अंश निकल गया हमारे अंदरसे,
तो आजकल हम रहते है सहमे सहमे से |

आसू ना बहे, पागल ना हुए,
चंद दिनों का सफ़र सदियो की तरह ना लगे तो बात क्या,
और उन आसूओमें सदियों का सफ़र सिमट कर,
हम उसमें शरीक ना हुए तो बात क्या |

Because You Are… Irreplaceable

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It doesn’t matter how far you go,
you are always going to be,
In my mind, in my heart, and in my soul.
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

I think, no, I know, for sure,
you have been imbibed in my soul.
Not For a day or a year, but forever.
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

That’s why, wherever you go,
I always find you around me.
The same girl, the same innocence.
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

I have imaginary conversations with you,
I replay our conversations,
And I just smile at myself.
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

Whenever I feel like sharing something,
Something deep, something special with someone,
I think of you, and only you,
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

But you are not there,
So I keep everything inside,
And it stays there forever,
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

The crazy fact,
I don’t even share special moments,
Because the special person is gone,
I try to think of someone else, but I can’t.
Because you are… Irreplaceable.

बड़े अरसे के बाद मिले वो

वो हमे बड़े अरसे के बाद मिले। एक दूसरे के सामने आते ही कुछ देर के लिए ना वो कुछ बोल पाए, ना हम।

हमारे बीचकी उस खामोशीको खत्म करते हुए हमने कहा –

इतनी सारी है बातें, कितने सारे है किस्से, कहासे शुरु करे कहा खत्म करे, समझ नही आता,
बिताए है इतने सारे हसीन लम्हें आपके साथ, कोनसे दोहराए कोनसे छोड़ दे, समझ नही आता।

तो उन्होंने कहा –

कुछ ना कहिए, कुछ ना दोहराइए, बस चुप बैठे रहिए।

तो हमने जवाब दिया –

किसीको चुप करानेसे या चुप बैठेनेसे, आँखोंमे आनेवाले आँसुओ को रोका नही जाता,
साथ बिताए हुए लम्होंको नजरअंदाज करके… यादोंको मिटाया नही जाता।

उस मुस्कुराहट के पीछे

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जुदाई का ये आलम हमसे,
न जाने क्या क्या करवाएगा,
जब भी याद आएगी उनकी,
न जाने कितने आंसू रुलाएगा,

साथ बिताया हुआ हर लम्हा,
लबों पे मुस्कुराहट तो ले आएगा,
मगर उस मुस्कुराहट के पीछे,
न जाने कितने गम छुपाएगा।

फसा देगी ये आँखे

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ये आँखे, फसा देगी ये आँखे एक दिन,
जुबाँ पलट जाए, पर ये अपनी जिद नहीं छोड़ती,
नियत बता देती है, सच बया कर देती है,
और अनजाने में इकरार भी कर देती है।

हमारी तकरार पे आँखे मासूमियत से बोली,
आदत है मुझे ताने सुनने की,
क्या करे, यहाँ लोगो के दिल बहक जाते है ,
और कसूर नजर को दिया जाता है।

She Gets Into My Head

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She gets into my head.
Whatever she does,
Whatever she feels,
Whatever she says,
Whatever her reactions are,
Whatever she is.

She gets into my head.
When she’s around,
I get distracted.
My attention is toward her.
I may do something else,
But think only about her.

She gets into my head.
Every small detail of her,
Significant or insignificant,
Likes and dislikes,
Everything matters to me,
I admire everything.

She gets into my head.
Even when she’s not around,
I recall our interactions,
Funny, deep, and emotional ones.
And feel good about it.
Like finding a reason to be distracted.

The crazy fact,
She gets into my head.
And she is travelling from there,
Through the road of feelings.
And I never knew,
When she got into my heart.