Failiure, big deal?

Living a life with big guns,

Skidding so high, I fall dumb,

No where to go for a big scum,

brain is just frozen like a chewing gum,

Different names, I do have,

some call duffer, some call idiot,

some call blonde with no brains,

but hooda, I don't care!

Family noises

, and the work also poises,

7 figure salaries don't let me go,

my relationships are a big mess,

so hooda what do I do?

Come on bitch, take it easy . . . 

you can beg zing zing,

you can eaaarn online,

you can steal like a hollywood movie zing zing,

you can take up some tutions,

and give some more fucking interviews?

and still, if nothing works :)

be proud bitch,

cause there was a time when people were dumb,

but now only you are the only one, the rare one,

who dissappoints every one, who forgets, doesnt understand,

irresponsible and makes mistakes in everything,

if you are the dumb, listening to this?

I can only say one thing  . . . 

that your life will be interesting than the brainy ones,

and gonna die with peace and with a big smile,

so . . . hooda . . . what do we say?

Living a life with big guns,

Skidding so high, I fall dumb,

No where to go for a big scum,

brain is just frozen like a chewing gum,

For those who have lost someone, or broken apart

The hollowness of life,
will dawn like a loud music stopping in forest,

Every picture, every thought will point at the missing,
Every emotion will seem to be incomplete without that missing link,
The world will seem like a reflection of pain,
The only relief to this disturbed silence will be deep crying,
but for those who can't cry, gloominess intensifies,
You suck out emotions from others, find friends,but nothing helps,
Your mind goes into an endless chains of fear and pain,
It is possible to go like this on and on and on,

World is full of such people, who hold on.
Drugged to these patterns,

but how much does it take to unbecome what you have become?
how long does it take to stop ignoring the rays of the sun,
how hard is to become a child again, just babbling around with blistering smile?
how easy it gets, to become the moon, and the cool breeze of the night,
which flows in its own madness

Memories are like Makeup box,
No matter how much you apply
It still has something more to hold you,
But in the magnificience of life,
if you just rub off the makeup of these memories,emotions,thoughts,
not to forget them, but start ignoring them,
become like a child,
suddenly the tunes of the winds will chill you as your memories did,
suddenly just the swaying of leaves in windy sky, will mesmerize you,
things which were covered by your own hold, of distortions of memories,thoughts,

and lot more, will be dwarfed by the phenominal sense of wonder and dance.


Choice is yours, how much you want to hold on,
how you want to leave, how long you want to take to leave,
how long you want to cry your heart out, and swing back,
because after all, world doesn't wait for you and me,
this awesome life is yours,
and you,your mind, and your emotions are not even a spek of dust,
but you can strech, the grief unrealistically,
you can go in direction of making yourself stone,
to be mad about someone, or just be mad.
to jiggle and dance around, and hear the voices of pieces of life,
or to imprison yourself into a repetitive cycle of psychological drama,
choice is yours

Selective Sensitivity

American Swan which made an “earth shattering” offer of 55% off

Lenskart sent out an SMS asking people to “Shake it off like this earthquake” and buy some Vincent Chase sunglasses for Rs 500 by inviting friends

On ministry of External Affairs, when she said, Baba Ramdev is there helping people, there were some people asking for details of thier missing father, daughter, but instead of some informative stuff, which is needed in this point of time, people resort to usual bashing?


This makes it difficult to sort out important tweets . . .

Who doesn't know farmer's death politics . . .

And where is the sea of humanity when millions of women are suffering trafficking, millions of animals, kept in room, so that they rot there, for skins to be used for fur or even worse, when they are left unskinned, in pile to die painfully . . . .

Why is world such selectively sensitive or most times insensitive maam?

People should be sharing phone numbers,bank accounts where we can help, or information can be recieved . . .

=================================================

If possible, please donate and help the victims of earthquake in Nepal. You can donate via the charity org Sewa Bharati http://www.sevabharathi.org/about-us/
Details of Sewa Bharati bank account :
ICICI Bank number 630501065297
IFSC Code ICIC0006305
Himayatnagar Branch, Hyderabad

-----------------------------------------------------------
In case of emergancy, contact :
Pl RT
Control Room numbers : +91 11 2301 2113, +91 11 2301 4104
+91 11 2301 7905
Email : controlroom@mea.gov.in
Twitter Handle : Twitter handle of Indian Embassy in Kathmandu is :
@eoiktmnp
State helplines for ‪#‎NepalEarthquake‬:
West Bengal: 1070,
Gujarat: 079 23251900/ 079 23251902/ 14,
Maharashtra: 011- 23380326, 022-22027990
Telangana: 09650990016, 040- 23454088
Andhra Pradesh: 011-23385016.
NDMA: 01126701728/ 29
- Spokesperson, Ministry of External Affairs

P.S. I don't care that much of dead, but those who are suffering pain of death, or are feeling pain . . .

फितरत ऐ खुदाई

तेरी जादुई उंगलियो से ,
बार बार खिलता बिखरता,
लड़खड़ाते चोट खाते  मंजर पर भी ,
दरवाज़े खोल के जिया दिलो  को,

डूबा हूँ आगोश में कई बार, कई रूप में तेरे,
कभी तेरी सांसे, तो कभी सांसो के बीच का सन्नाटा,
खुद को  डूबोया हर रंग में तेरे,
चलता ही रहा, ना देखा मूड के कभी,

हर बार बारिश की हवा की  तरह,
नज़दीकियां आती और चली जाती,
कभी आती उम्मीदो के पिटारे  की तरह,
सपने दिखती, और धीरे से कही खो जाती,

मिलान तो ना आता, तनहाई जरूर आती,
पर मै पगला चलता ही रहा चलता ह रहा
क्यूंकि हर छलावे से छिला दिल, और नरम,
और खूबसूरत हो जाता, जब देता मै अलविदा,

आब दिल काफी छिल चूका है,
रंगो को सोक चूका है,
कटते  काटते  इस समय के आशियाँ में
रह चूका है बहुत,

आब बर्फ पिघल रही है,
पानी बह रहा है,
हर पतीले के रूंप  में ढलके भी,
दिल का एक टुकता ,
साँसों के बीच की खामोशियों में आगोश सा
रहता है,
फितरत ऐ खुदाई,
तेरी साँसों के नशे से मदहोश,
लहरों से ढकेला किनारे पर,
आब तेरी खामोशियों में ,
आज़ाद , बेरंग से रंग के इस आकाश में
धुए की तरह घुल रहा हूँ

ये कविता नहीं है,
पर उन अनकहे शब्दों की,
आवाज है,  जिसे इंसान भूलने की कोशिश करता तो है,
पर बेचारा, जिससे बना है, उससे भले कब तक खामोश रख सकता है

Half Lives

In this incense of endless dance,
and the blackness of stoic stilness,
lies a petty human sandwiched,

 the dazzles and the exuberance,
of the flamboyant mistress nature,
touches it with its infinite flavors,
enchanting the dead to life,

and then when life has had it,
comes the most secret and strongest of her flavor,
of the mistress nature,
the blackness of her stillness,
which sucks out the life,
from the life, bringing peaceful death,
death of stillness,
death which shambles the toys to sand again,


and then she seducing life again,
from the dead, the still the darkness,
from stillness of her own flavor,


but the life gets ruffled,
by living half lives,
of neither enjoying her stilness,
nor enjoying her dance unspeakable,
just stuck in pettyness,
of somehow fitting in halved social constructs,
which are like endless mirage,
neither enjoying life, nor death,
nothing soaks the soul,

dance,dance,dance, o boy,
dance like a mad stupid street guy,
dance not mixed with silly logics of ifs and buts,
dance not garnished with 'idea of somehow sounding logical' to the audience,
dance not worrying about loosing logics and semiotics of life,
just dance,dance with forgetfulness of everything else,
and kiss the flavor of life,

and when you are danced,
take a dip, in the super ocean,
of blackness, the dark, the stilness,
the most intimate form of mistress,
and give in to her stilness,
engulfing the darkness of endless space,
by evaporating into it,

I petty those,
who think they are smart,
those who think they are wise,
those who think they are social,
but have not tasted for days and month,
how it feels it straddle, with madness,
madness of life, madness of stillness,
never felt the glorious change,
the madning trembling wave of escacy,
when colors flowers from pitch dark of stillness,
to the ever turned on madness,

either be so logical,
that the color of darkness,
the color of silence kisses you to the core,
or be mad man,

but don't be a virgin,
dating both stilness and madness,
but not giving in totally, to any,
always taking half steps.
just because of social constructs,
just because it is too logical to be so,

fortunate are those,
who have touched both,
and felt the inseperability,
the impossibility of seperation,
the symbiotic nature of both,
the encacy of this feel,
is beyond the tougue,
a human has,

don't be the one,
who hasn't touched the color of stillness,
or color of madness,



because what worthy is death?
if while alive, the life was untouched?