Like the ash at the burning end of a cigarette,
everything falls.
There is crispness, and life, and utility, at first.
Then, to inhale the sudden pleasure, the tobacco must be burned.
When it has burnt, the ash must be gotten rid of, or else it may fall where it might burn something, create a hole that will never be fixed. Or if it falls on your skin, it may leave you afraid, hurt, burnt, conscious and careful.
The initial gratification and buzz gradually fades.
You cannot find the 'hit of the first time' again, though you may come close several times.
The thrill goes. A habit remains.
Everything burns.
Everything is a phase.
Uncertainty is the only certainty.

and Irony Recounts...

I could own the earth and still feel homeless,

and conquer the world, but still seem hopeless;

And do great deeds, but still feel small,

feel down on my knees, while still standing tall;

and love a million but still not care,

give everything I have, but still not share;

And I could always decide, but still not choose,

Gain everything and have nothing to lose.

I dream,

of an expanse of green meadows,

trees with nests and gardens with burrows,

and charm that dwells upon faces of men,

and hearts, as light as feathers afloat,

and our fantasies, tangible.

But I dream alone, they say.

I wish,

upon a blank page I hold,

that a song I'd love to write this time,

an ode to Love, glory, and felicity,

a ballad, of unbroken hearts and blissful days.

A lyric, to the better side.

But I could wish alone, they say.

I imagine,

A wooden house and large windows,

amidst valleys and peaks, and raindrops crooning,

as I sleep a hard day's night,

and wish to wake up the next morn;

among myriads of smiling faces.

and I Imagine.
They can't hold me back, when I can imagine.

Tamaasha kuchh yun hi be-asar sa reh gaya,

par khaamoshi dil ke paar hui.

Har rang hi feeka pad gaya,

Zaalim waqt ki aisi maar hui.

tabaahi ka manzar bardasht hai ab dil-e-buzhdil ko,

tabaahi jo roz, bar bar hui.

kami kis kis cheez ki gine ye rooh-e-naacheez,

iski fitrat mein toh bas zillat beshumar hui.

jo aankh kabhi seh bhi na saki muskurahat meri,

janaazey pe mere jhoothey hi royi, zaar-zaar hui.

mere ibtisaam ko nazar andaaz barabar kiya,

mere ibtila ki kahaani tera ishtihaar hui.

roshan zaroor kee aftab-e-haseen ne har dopahar,

jo tanhaa raat mein na aaye toh kya iftikhaar hui.

ye toh hogi khataa ki tum aadam kaho khud ko,

bedaar ho, waqoof! ke ab aadmiyat bhi sharamsaar hui.

Tamaasha kuchh yun hi be-asar sa reh gaya,

par khaamoshi dil ke paar hui.

Missing Pieces

Farther, I run;

In circles, you find me.

Like hunger, you hurt;

Like hungry, I seek.

Like a puzzle, I feel;

You are the missing piece.

Voiceless, I am.

Words, you are.

Farther, I run;

Like shadow, you follow me.

Shapeless, you seem.

In forms, I see you.

In rainbows, I search.

In grays, I end.

In parallel, you run amuck,

I mistake you in curves.

Farther, I run.

Faster, you chase me.

I leave you behind;

You catch up every time.

In boats, I sail;

Within, you drown me.

Innocuous, I watch,

Like chaos, you consume my insides.

Farther, I run.

The same threshold I reach.

Is it The Light of who we really are

Or the reflection of who we choose to be?

Is it that we are always naturally shaped?

Or do we, in all our senses or subconsciously, guide how time and circumstances mould us?

Does that leave room for "being natural" in real sense?

I don't believe so.

Forfeit

On the slender ledge we tread,
amid a plunge;
Thou pranced about recklessly, dwindling now and then,
I had to take the fall to be thy alarm
so you could cross the ebb, impervious.

Oft when you could witness the grandeur,
thou built a wall,
And then I fell, fell to my knees
for thee, to grow tall on my shoulders
and see beyond the fortress of thy ignorance.

A blossom in thy porch,
tender and frail,
so much for the indifference and oblivion;
athirst, I drank through my veins till I was parched.
Defunct I hung, for the blooms of our garden
so thou would water them day after day.

The dust that I once would never touch,
striding on the carpets,
or hovering inches above, in my glee;
Amidst this dust my ashes now admix,
In my lands, now I walk Bare-feet.

The Bare-feet's accomplice

I walk languidly,
a crowd alongside me,
Together we fall, and slowly we stand.

This crowd uncanny
endows loyalty,
A home like none other, it's family.

They babble loudly round the clock
Block the sounds of my meta-present surroundings.

They see what I see, through my eyes
so they see just how I see
when the world sees neither, my crowd and what I see.

My crowd is all that I am,
what I know or what I wish becomes a part of it;
Its what I hold on to, its what I can't let go.

My crowd is in my head, my crowd is my shadow.
In light, it changes when I change;
In the dark, it swells all around me.

My crowd is all that's real to me
It is imperishable.