Truth

Poetry suffices most of the time
but sometimes clarity demands prose.
To treat, you need to diagnose.

I wonder if truth spills out in a ramble
and if so, whether it can ever be found
Hiding beneath the frivolous, the profound

Main shayar to nahi

Main Shayar to Nahi
Magar ae haseen
Jab bhi teri aankhon mein jhaankta hoon
Gazal khud-b-khud likhi jati hai
Tere aane se mehekti hai zindagi
Tere jaane se saans theher jaati hai
Jeene ki aarzoo teri muskaan mein hai
Marne ka bahaana bhi hai wahi kahin
Main shayar to nahi
Magar ae haseen
Woh lafz jo keh sakein tum kya ho
Kisi shayar ke paas nahi

बुखार

ना जाने तुम बोतल में क्या ढूँढ़ते हो
मैं नज़रों में शराब कब से उतार बैठी हूँ ।

किस दर्द की तलाश करते हो आँखों में मेरी
मोहब्बत का बुखार कब से उतार बैठी हूँ ॥

Ek aur nazm

यूं तो मसले बहुत हैं ज़हन में 

शायरी में उतारे जाने को 

ये कलम मगर बेगैरत बेहया है 

कागज़ पे पड़ते ही 

लफ़्ज़ों को फुसला लेता है 

एक और नज़्म लिख देते हैं 

फिर हम तुम्हारे नाम की । 

Yaadasht

Bhoolne ki beemari ho gayi hai shayad
Or maybe it is just a sign of age
Khayal aajkal bante hi ho jate hain ojhil
Even before they could reach a page
Aaj kai logon ke naam bhi yaad nahi
Whose phone numbers I could recite in sleep
Na jaane kitni baatein seekh seekh ke bhool gayi
Wastes time, re-realizing realizations deep

I don't often recognize my own words
Apna hi maazi aksar anjaan lagta hai
Sometimes though a twitch returns, feeling familiar
Yadasht ka na sahi dard ka to rishta lagta hai
But happiness seems much harder to preserve
Lafzon mein nahi theherta woh samaa
Maybe art is a consolation, as someone wise once said
Khushi ko shayari ki pehchan kahan