Sparkle It Around

 मेरे हमजोलिया मेरे बिछड़े हमसफ़र  कुछ ऐसे नाम लेके ये जहाँ मुझे छेड़ते सब यहाँ  किसे करूँ शिकायत ,किसे करू ये बयान  अब में जाऊ कहा  कभी मुस्कुराते हैं कभी सिमट जातें हैं   इस जहाँ की बातों पर और अपने जज़्बातो पर  तुम बस जल्दी आ जाओ  सावन गया ,  पतझड़ भी जाने को है  कुछ यहाँ कुछ वहां  कितने खुशनसीब हैं वो कान जो तेरी खैर रोज सुनते होंगे  कितने खुशनसीब है वो ऑंखें जो तेरा दीदार करती होगी  तेरे नाम लेकर लोग मेरा दिल जलाते हैं मेरा  आखिर कब होगा वो सवेरा जब तू  हाथ  थमेगा मेरा 

 Ali sethi plays on loop in my head and I remember the way you used to smile, everytime before I go to bed. Your humour, your giggles, the bittersweet clandestine memories we had, stir up and play like a movie in my head. I rediscover the scent of flowers that you sent me and remember how you held my hand when the sky was dark , seems like it was few days ago. I remember how I forced you to watch a stupid movie, just because I wanted to watch a movie with you. I had made a to do list of things to do with you, but lately I forgot where I kept it. May be you took it or may be I missed it somewhere. Isnt it funny that someday somewhere someone will pick that list and do the mentioned things and create memories till the time they will come back to a day like this and they would pen it down. I remember how you clicked my picture while I was sleeping with my mouth open and you laughed at me. I remember how you cooked and asked that kadhai would have been there, you would have...

 When the first ray of sunlight after traveling kilometers reaches you on a misty winter morning , a morning when you don't want to wake up from the bed and face the world, when a ray from a far off star reaches to soothe and boost your day, that is the ray of hope and love. Profoundly that is how love feels like . Love is the warmth of the fire, when after a long day you collect some logs and light them up to save yourself from the chilled winter evening, the logs are burned for some warmth may be that warmth is how it feels like love. Like everything I believe it too has seasons . Autumn would be of longing , where everything falls and dies, but it still is beautiful. Summer would be of enjoyment, when you can eat popsicle and go to the riverside to enjoy a picnic or may be lay beside a beach to enjoy the warmth of sun while experiencing the tides of life.  May be love is like the chirping birds in the spring, the blooming ,radiant and colorful flowers that come to life a...

 Make another one of me. Twice. What's you vice, mine is illusion. My halo is broken. May be I was blinded with what saw so closely. But I am not weak. There is a house where I live, it's full of sunlight and I walk barefoot on the grass and you wake up in me on most days . Lovers, I don't see but there is enough ginger in this house, so I start by preparing a tea and drinking it is the most promised reward. Sky drips onto the pavement and June melts into the arms of October and I sit on the grass when I am allowed to sit outside and I write. Or at least I try. Sometimes in a while it rains here, I spend the better half of the day in the grey foreboding. Always the lonely kind. In this house, how trivial are my dreams, how mundane, how beautiful and how tragic is the act of living. Life may be different but death is equal. Being hopeful could be beautiful but hopelessly hopeful is fatal. We travelled enough-Together or alone . We are all travellers in life but if don...