Up above the bluish sky,
a streaming river holds a key of joy;
one star, a thousand stars — all so bright,
putting a smile on every face, all the time.
Small but endless stories of life,
there are millions of others in the sketch;
yet everyone with their own sky,
filled with the rewards of time, and pearls of memory shining like stars.
It holds a secret of love,
underneath the cover of a single colour,
pinning everyone with the hope of success,
with the grounded brightness of its sky.
ज़िन्दगी की कुछ शामें जगमगातीं,
और कुछ सुबहें लड़खड़ातीं;
इस ज़िन्दगी के कुछ साथी,
और कुछ की बस याद, कुछ साथ ही।
कहीं दूर बैठे सोचते, और हम हँसते;
कभी रोती, तो कभी हमें मनाती;
फिर कुछ वक़्त हँसती रहती —
एक छोटी-सी ज़िन्दगी।
कभी कुछ खोते, कभी कुछ पाते,
समझ से कहीं दूर है यह ज़िन्दगी;
जब कभी कोशिश करते,
इतने में चल पड़ती है ज़िन्दगी की यह सवारी।
कभी पतझड़-सी काया,
और कभी सुन्दर-सी काया…
Waking in the arms of your creator,
and breathing free air all the way;
lost in the nothingness of the bluish, infinite sky,
wondering at countless stars on a lonely night;
gazing at the moon to spot an alien ship someday,
trying random spells, hoping to work magic with them one day —
these are memoirs for forever;
and nothing else ever gives such satisfaction.
Wherever this night may take me tonight,
I will throw my arms open, alive;
wherever I may roam in search of love,
I will learn my way back to hope, every time.
Thou — the rise meant for the fall,
I feel the horizon beneath all that passes by;
darkness in the shallows of shine,
yet I wonder, holding an answer of time.
With the shadow of light,
and the darkness disappearing into the light of belief;
in the shadow of the new, old memories take their places —
and in the memory of a gloomy loss, aren’t we losing the world of today?
I do believe in coincidences. I do believe in love at first sight. I do believe in destiny — though belief tends to step aside the moment it becomes reality.
Lost in a crowd of strangers, I was struggling through my daily commute — Noida Sector 64, from AIIMS. Most days were just travel and crowd, like any other. But one day, something happened that I could never have imagined: I looked at her, and I couldn’t stop looking, again and again. The day ended at my stop, and I bade her a silent farewell — certain I would never see her again.
Today is the 17th of March. I boarded my bus at the usual time, and somewhere after South Ex and before Andrews Ganj, she stepped into the same bus. Her eyes met mine, and I went a little mad. That one hour felt like a moment of ultimate solace — I kept shifting, leaning, half-hiding, just to watch her, and often to catch her watching me too.
Like the rain of a July summer, I was drenched all over in her presence.
Like the cold of December, I was held by the charm of her endless depth.
Like a fleeting, buttery life, she comes into mine, and goes — but always with a little hope.
I hope I’ll see her again.
Closest at the altar of eyes, all I remember is you;
I watch you go, quiet as my eyes,
with a glimpse of day — just all of me and you.
You spare a moment for me again,
and we return to a lonely me and you.
I hope to see the dawn again,
just to get back to all of me and you.
I dream all night for signs,
and rest in the arms of you;
I wake to see you sigh,
with a love for all of me and you.
I live in the heart, and for life,
and I am happy, like a smiling you;
I end only to start my every life
with you, and for all of me and you.
An hour, when I wake into her arms,
I feel the whole world fall behind mine;
time plays its moments so tenderly,
and I fly to reach that time.
An hour at midday, alone,
remembering all the good mornings with you;
and this time, time is slipping away,
just to reach your arms around me.
An hour when I am apart from you,
longing to live and to love you;
and time smiles devilishly
at every attempt I make.
The hour at midnight — you, again;
I wonder how lucky I am.
This time, I am living the reality,
and I hear the words of love in her heart.
The fliers of dreams have no time to stay back in the nest and talk of comfort;
the travelers of the endless sky keep no count of how many times they’ve been pushed back. At the height of success, even the moon may cast your shadow off your glory —
yet even a winner must lose his ground once, if only to reach the sky of his own story.