See I’m not a smoker and can assure you that nicotine has never found its way into my wind pipe through my own hands.
But then why lately my memories have me deceived?
Why can I, inexplicably, feel the butt of the cigarette within my lips, when I race back to them memories?
I can certainly remember it loosely dwindling between my index and middle finger when I was sitting with her in the parking, on the platform.
I can certainly remember it being the companion in long walks to college and home and in short walks to and forth the metro stations.
I can certainly remember it loving me while I was loveless.
It was certainly there with me in the balcony and various other places. I can remember clearly.
And certainly I can remember all the motions that come along with it. The motions of the hand to the lips, the drawing in of breath and the creative smoke that emanated as it was released, while eyes closed and opened.

I do not know how this came to be. This-this corruption of memory.
But in writing this I realize that I haven’t smoked, yet I have been an addict.

Dekho main musafir hun,
kisi naye shahar mein kho jaane se darr nahi lagta
Darr lagta hai, apne hi shahar mein kho jaane ka.
Jahaan ka naksha naksha pata ho
wahin kho jaane ka.

To A Collapsing Star.

To A Collapsing Star:
I know now how it feels like when your own mass collapses under your own gravity. Tell me, doesn’t it feel like your innermost core replaced by an ominous, black core and the whole mantle pieced into black gears? I swear I can feel them now. The whole body crumbling around a black core asymmetrically located on the left side of the body. But to think, black holes are beautiful.
Look forward to the future.

Loneliness turns to cynicism?

That’s the way the human crumbles.

I was shining bright once.


Chalo kahin chal pade
Ek din aise hi
main aur tum
rangon mein doob jayein
baarish mein kabhi jhoom jayein
bachchon ki kilkarion mein
yaadon ki vadiyon mein
Aaj koshish kar hi lein
ki samet lein saara sansaar
jitna mile utna kam hai
jindgi choti si hai
Aa use ji lein

Thoughtless Poem.

A thoughtless mind
an infertile imagination
cannot be assumed to find
the poem of the greatest kind

they say
don’t they
but I point
a finger and make a point
that couldn’t
the unworthy thought
brew the emotion
that came with being unworthy,
thoughtless, mindless and among infertility
couldn’t it fathom
the consuming phantom
and ink in paper
words – however incomplete
and improper
but still how complete
and weren’t they proper? 


Dear, the winds are blowing
I have come of age
Today I am not afraid
of what is, and what will be.
Soon rain will follow,
And I will be there
on the streets
seeing what the sky has in store for me;
Soon it will transcend
to a moment of tranquility
Each sound, will be a distinct symphony
And I will be there 
beneath the trees
to the music of leaves
beneath the night skies
the stars take their nightly courses
right above my eyes
And in this moment
I will be at peace
with the universe
And soon these monsters
will arrive
and I will be there
in cities on shores with trumpets
in cities of various hues
vermilion, fuchsia and indigos.
in towns where journeys flow
In towns where ghosts glow
In caves where are no lights 
In seas and no one in sight
in infinity of memories,
infinity of worlds
confined in a small space
And then I will call
myself a traveller
for I would have travelled
more than just places

Untitled #2.

I see lives
In a relative motion
each other;
from the opposite sides
coming closer
and then separating
each going in its direction
with farewells
and slowly growing far apart
faces blurring away
in a poignant realization of time
memory is a photographic time lapse
yet didn’t the clocks stop,
when we interacted?
and cannot you see?
your destination, is my birth
and your history, my destiny?