THEPENPHAROAH

There She is

On a dewy sunset

Like a stiched golden feather, shining on a

fine line,

Her musky smell,jasmine-euque shade,

I wouldn't be lying if i said

"she's being of luz , wholly divine ".

I wouldn't mind if she were to walk upto me and say, sacrifice is the key to me and shelter of mine,

I'd chip off myself bit by bit

looking at her copper-esque off white chin"s shine,

And call it the call it the alter of venus in making,sipping the somber wine

, while chanting it out as the margin of sanity

I'll slowly dip in the eternal slumber,

Tripping up through the love's twisted vine,

It's exactly how i expect to feel her lap, through the shade of umber, across all the weather's, but some sweet yet harshest anguish from august to November,

Giving me about no time to whine

As flimsy as the world may see it,

I'll let everyone know,

I only bow to the our intertwined shrine,

To Let her know how riddled i am,

Ridiculed to the point of klein,

And at the end , if I'll ever elaborate to myself, I'll let her know,she's so fine

It's repetitive yet clustered that she's all over my mind,

I want to grab her, feel her to the core,

So that i can feel the shift of her gaze to my shivering yet sublte hand sign,

Her waist to be felt by the grasp of my thought, as if she's escaping yet on top of my zine,

I'll pull her to myself, feeling her throughout, from her forehead to spine,

Splitting on my knees, Spelling my love,

कहीं लिख देता हूँ मौन मैं,

तुम हो जाओ 'मीर' सही,

Why even write?moreover twice a day?

Are you insinuated to bigotry?

Towards us not so vocal, but vandalized within an inch of our dreams?

Are you perhaps of the same cloth as us

Or severely deaf and ignorant of our screams?

Will this life yield any results at all,

Or is it yet another flash in a pan,

Such a hassle , wasn't the theory true?

आखिर कब और देखेंगे महबूब तुम्हें,

और तुमसे कोई खूबसूरत नहीं,

मिरा इस्तिक़बाल नहीं करते अब तुम,

इतना गैर परस्त तो हुकूमत नहीं,

लोगों के शोर से हार जाऊँ मैं,

इतनी तो किसी में भी क़ूबत नहीं,

वो अलग है कि दोज़ख़ के उस ओर ही राब्ता हो,

पर ये ज़रूरी नहीं कि इन्तिज़ार भी खूबसूरत नहीं

अगर लिख दूँ मैं हर निवाले पर तेरा नाम,

तो क़त्ल-ओ-ग़ारत-गिरी, छोड़ आएगा मेरे पास,

क्या इतनी उम्मीद भी अब तुझसे किफ़ायत नहीं,

बाद-ए-सबा , मैं किस ओर हूँ दुनिया के,

मैं ढक दूँ ये सारे निशान, बुझा दूँ ये अपनी ज्वाला अंदर से,

खोखला करके खुद को वापस, दफन कर दूँ ,मिट्टी इसमें,

हो जाए जर्जर , या भर जाए फिर, ये प्याला अंदर से,

रोका हुआ है जिसने इस तूफ़ान को समेट के,

तुम कहो तो अभी ख़ाक करदूँ, ये क़बाला अन्दर से,

ऊपरी सतह को करके मज़बूत, बहुत टूट के रोया जाना चाहिए, फिर बाहर निकलो और छोड़ दो बातें बनाना,

जो मेरे सवालों को अंगार दें,

तुम पकड़ सको हाथ मेरा,

यही एक बरकत काफी है,

मैंने तो कभी कहा ही नहीं

जो मेरे सवालों को अंगार दें,

तुम पकड़ सको हाथ मेरा,

यही एक बरकत काफी है,

मैंने तो कभी कहा ही नहीं

The sounds have all died down,

The "human" is yet to begin,

But the gods are all long gone,

The gore is the purest of us all now,

Even The brave and the bold has to fall down.

How mighty of it ,

To tie the reds of me to the bleeding books,

To take what's mine, unfairly by crooks,

What else do i say, in pursuit of your favor,

Does it not end with a bitter taste in your mouth,

Or has the blue bird finally eaten it's heart and flown down south,

Or have you already tasted almighty, even in this drouth.

So many words, yet no solace around, teach me how your "peace" was found,

यकीन मान, ये ज़ख्म पुराना है,

पर खुद को बहुत तलाशने पे मालूम हुआ,

ये भी अलबत्ता एक बहाना है,

चुभने लगे हैं अब बदन पर लगे चमकने वाले सितारे,

हो सकता है मेरा मकसद अब इसका कर्ज़ चुकाना है

अब नहीं कर सकता हूं मैं और भला ज़माने का

इस बीमारी ने मुझे मेरी उम्र से पहले खा जाना है

मैं आज फिर तन्हा घर लौट जाऊँ, ये हो नहीं सकता,

ये दुनिया है उबलता हुआ ज़हर,

मेरे खून का इसमे क्या काम,

It all feels a little too heavy, lying in my bed.

I would be careful to not let humans in,

They tend to more shallow,

breathing but dead.

The scaffolding of my heart and the sand in hands, both, are going to be disappearing ,before my dread.

How deeply have you stabbed, to even discolour my blood's red,

The pale walls of my room look nothing like the moonlight,

Have i hallucinated, all the loneliness instead.

The day becomes dreary with every dying breath,

perhaps in some tiny corner of the world ,

There's really every elitist emotion's shed.

Perhaps i was born for the wrong one to claim,

No no, not the second one,

i beg you, please linger,

The world might be full of butterflies,

But I more often than not,

रोज बिस्तर पे,

रोज़ समेट कर खुद को ' खुद ' बनाता हूँ

गैर और अपने अब एक बिसात के लगते हैं,

तानाशाहों को देर से,

उन्हें सर पर बिठाने की,

जी हजूरी करने की,

मुर्दा घरों से वापस उठाने की,

उठा कर मसनदों पर बिठाने की

जहान-पनाहों को ढेर से,