Pichle raat ki sharaab

आवाजें सुनाई नहीं पड़ती,

बस चेहरे नज़र आते हैं.

उड़ते परिंदों के,

बस साये नज़र आते हैं.

वजह का वजूद नहीं मिलता

सुबह का सूरज नहीं दिखता.

आँखों के नीचे,

बस पुराने सपने नज़र आते हैं.

i jump, i leap, i scream hoarse,

stuck in this quagmire,

my love projected in an ire,

every limb, each nerve numbed by stress.

each step failing to fall,

i wish i could run,

chasing that remnant till the end,

because I am you.

Some time back,

I lived in your bones, 

now it's the life that I live without you,

'cuz..

आवाजें सुनाई नहीं पड़ती,

बस चेहरे नज़र आते हैं.

उड़ते परिंदों के,

बस साये नज़र आते हैं.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shashank Yadav & molecule

In love with Love

I find it strange how someone's face, distanced by several years, sends tingles down our spine. All that is required is the right song. Next you need to think of the most beautiful face you ever saw. That one face which you always wished to plant a kiss on. Beware if you belong to the rare kind; the ones who lived that dream. For the ride then is full throttled overdrive. Week after weak, days after daze and years after yearns, never having to miss her, for its tough to miss something you just found. To cup that delicate structure in your hands and peer deep down into those two black windows. Comfortably taking it for granted, we forget to acknowledge the jubilation which accompanies Him each time He sees His creation.

I close my eyes and her profile flickers in pure abyss; just formed to accommodate her exclusively. Sharp nose, long drawn eyes with the apt amount of soot; all of it placed on a bronze structure made of flesh and bones.

Do I want her? I shall not ruin the mood by making a futile attempt at answering that.

I hereby solemnly appeal: "Please break all the constructs, definitions, shackles you have been cajoled coercively in to your motley beliefs; the works of the despisers of love," for only then would be in love with the innate hope called Love.

I close my eyes and wantonly drift away into the music. I feel exactly what I felt each time I consumed her in my arms. For smiles and tears are both mere means of expressing the bright glow filling me from within. It touches maybe emanates from my heart. Its neither hot nor is it cold. It surfs through my muscles with ease. But the moment the glow hits my skin, a million rushing feathers brush through my entire surface. It feels good.

It feels like love.

....

Standing at the balcony

Of the last resort;

Watching desires past fly,

Thinking thoughts all distraught.

There! I know that box,

It has that sweet picture;

Silhoutte of the long-gones

Salted blessings in wounded souture.

For this is the last resort,

Standing by the cliff.

It hangs in hang till Kingdom's end

For here all beginning shall end.

In the dust I see,

Several heartfelt cursed plea

Lodging comfortably, shrapnels hit

Re-awakening future Memory.

As the last train goes up in smoke

Chugging along the platform of woes,

The winds ceasing to wind

Stood frozen I begin to grind.

Fingers go on scarlet blue

Lots of air beneath my shoe.

Borrow some faith in weakness

Settling all with-out inside

Then you let in some air

Letting your fingers fly in despair.

Lofted by the wings of fire

Falling down, ever climbing higher.

There I see pearly gates below

Horned Deity above; summoning in splendid glow.

Resurrection

Try looking outside the window to distract your mind. Images fleet by making every cog spin till it tilts in the head. Like the rainbow forming a white of the feeling which overwhelms every part within. You stand like a tennis ball jumping twice on the net, indecisive yet forebearing. When pictures of yesterday fills the novice he breaks with yearning. Labelling every colour stained across each vision. Beatifying the pain drowns painfully in the beautiful ocean of love. The rookie holds his breath in fear of filling his lungs with water. His mind gives up and the motley motion rises up in his air-sack.

Don't worry you wont die. The boy fails to reason his happiness. Scared and surprised he tries to put on the pretence on non-chalance. Then he looks outside the window and the ball hits the net-line. This time the decision becomes the means to just another memory. You learn that certain beings were sent to love. Cuz by loving they shall fill themselves with the purity of the whiteness they were running away from. Thus the resurrection of The God of Love.