Sunday, December 29, 2013


शोर है कहीं मोहब्बत का
शोर है जुदाई का,
कहीं भीड़ का शोर हैं 
कहीं हैं तन्हाई का

शोर है मौत का,
सन्नाटे  का शोर है.
शोर है बेबसी का,
कहीं खुशियों का शोर है

खोये हैं कुछ शोर में,
मिलें हैं हम शोर से.
कभी भागते हम शोर से,
कभी पीछा करते शोर का.

The Bride.

Unknown, Unsung.
The hymns of liberty.
Walked down the aisle
that looked like eternity.
The path was clear,
Yet so foggy so disdain.

The happiness all around
hid the pain in her eyes
hid most, almost, but the truth
to live with it till she dies.

Its not the beginning,
she has imagined. 
Neither was this close,
Being his bride was the honor,
big, daunting and hard.

She walked brisk
on the flowers, on the floor. 
Each step coy, yet so heavy
like a sunshine though the door. 

She has grown up
ready to be given away
to the highest bidder 
who loves her all the way.

The future bright,
a little too bright
blinding, in fact,
right in front of her,
leading her, 
following her,
persuading her,
frightening her.
Yet she walked into the aisle
hoping it would be alright.