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.