वे समेट के इतनी जगहों से सच लाए थे 

कि वो छिंटता ही रहा 

बाहर ही बाहर 

अौर काँच की हरी बोतल में 

मुझमें कुछ लिख कर, 

दूर समुंदर में बहा दिया था 

कभी तो वे पढ़ कर पहचान ही लेंगे तुमको ।

और शायद तुम्हें भी याद हो आए 

कि वो तुम ही थे बंद उसके अंदर ।

"Saraabor",
The word captures it so well 

When one soul soaks another

Just short of dripping.

And if I squeeze myself just a little bit more,

You might seep out from every pore. 

The bhoot

I can never decide if I want to be someone who cares, 

or someone who wishes to be powerful

Power...the sweet opiate rush of painlessness

numb

No one, nothing can effect me. 

If I care, thousands of neurons fire in me 

It burns... Hurts too...

It's ablaze. 

The glimmers, warm, like last glow of coal on winter nights. 

Alive still. 

My dadi during her depression would speak of a 'bhoot' 

which would entangle her legs and she would fall. 

I seem to have a 'bhoot' on me...

to be entangled in choices 

to fall flat on your face. 

Save face? Hell I am thankful to the 'bhoot'!!! 

To be possessed enough to fall a thousand times over...

When you swim looking up at the sky 

The eagles swim with you 

The clouds turn a greyer shade 

setting the trees to a greener sway 

The water under and around holds you like a giant womb.

And you can get lost from everything 

Only to find yourself in this endless blue.

And they thought that the fresh drizzle on a  breezy day would make him feel touched...soaked to his core. 

They forgot he was bubble wrapped...