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... 

 The Nightmare________________

The arm stretched out to be held 

Then why did it seem so strange and threatening? 

I woke up and told myself 

"The nightmares have begun."

They said in the newspaper that a study revealed that social sharing made events 

real. 

How unreal we must feel in our feelings or how unjustified? That to make them REAL we need to have someone affirm it for us... Almost like living for a later date...Living as a documentation or proof of having lived...waiting for a witness...waiting for a judge to allow us to embody it...

How unseen we must feel in our lives in general for this to be...how lonely and empty... How did we come to be this way? Perhaps by being too non-existent in the eyes of those who we wished cared for our existence. Perhaps we learnt early on that it is better to be hidden and be seen only in parts. 

reminds me of photographers at weddings whom we don't even know, who don't even know us to guide every move so it looks a certain way to the world and to us...

The wish to be seen is a powerful wish. The wish to be seen in a certain way is a very dangerous wish! It edits us. Makes us too unreal, non-existent, empty , not there...It's a murder with no haunting.