The Libertine

through dark and dingy lanes
i walked dazed in a dreamlike state
on a path filled with dirty desires
the air of filth stuck in my veins
is the end of you the end of dreams?
and the end of silent haunting screams?

the fire in my heart is now cold ashes
you could twist, burn, swallow the hours
but my love is not a victim of your charms
only a slave of my virtues and my sins
in a tender moment do i seek salvation?
or am i poet with a skill for deception?

bring me a point which is a start
not the end of a hollow wounded past
maybe a covert glance or a secret sign
stripped bare to the beginning of time
was the wait, hope draped in a silver line?
the moments yours and the pain mine?

Nostalgia

Of a time when we travelled on a one way street
Between ghosts of adoloscence and a hungry greed

Of echoing laughter trapped in our hearts
And an alluring vision from a million stars

Of the days when sense was black and white
Visions that weren't blinded by a starlit night

Of the innocence shrouded in a mysterious smile
A sense of wonder and the wasted while

Of the heart which taught us how to let go
Reluctant to say yes and yet unwilling to say no

Of the moments locked in an isolated past
Like the love that left with a promise to last

Choice

I came across this piece of land
in a lonesome windy town,
In the vast wilderness of this world
somehow this feels like mine...
I could own this lost kingdom
and nurture it with my soul,
but I don't want anyone to find me
in this hollowed ruined town...
I ask you, my giver, can I mark a place
but really not leave a sign?

We flew like birds
from one crazy place to another,
You found me in this quest
only I lost my way in the middle...
If hello had been so tough
adieu was never going to be a breeze,
But I escaped and you conquered,
letting the moments of joy to freeze..
tell me, my lover, if you were given a choice
whom would you choose to find?

There used to be a life I led
I had a name,a number and sense of time,
It never occurred to me to step outside
this carefully preserved bubble of mine...
but I knew I was trapped
the day I cried foul in a game of one,
Call it sense or madness or even a crime,
but I'd packed by then to search for a town..
Tell me, my soul,if you could choose again
would you lead me to the same fate?

Ghalib

In poetry, the ghazal is a form consisting of couplets which share a rhyme and a refrain. The word means "the mortal cry of a musk deer". It is believed that very rarely a musk deer will develop a Kasturi in her stomach. The Kasturi is supposed to be a very seductive and appealingly fragrant matter. Unfortunately, to access the Kasturi, the deer has to be killed and the Kasturi extracted from its stomach. The plaintive, mournful cry that the deer makes upon being mortally wounded is what the ghazal tries to capture.

A ghazal traditionally follows some rules like:

Matla - A matla is the first couplet or sher of a ghazal.

Maqta - A maqta is the last couplet or sher of a ghazal in which the poet uses his takhallus (pen name) in various different and interesting ways.

Beher - In simple terms, it is the length of a couplet. Ideally, both the lines of a couplet and all the couplets should have the same length.

Radif - When the last word of every second line is the same, it is a radif.

Qaafiyaa - The qaafiyaa is the rhyming pattern of words that must directly precede the ghazal's radif.

Exceptions:

- Ghazal is just a form. It is independent of any language
- Some ghazals do not have any radif
- Although, every sher, should be an independent poem in itself, it is possible, that all the shers are on the same theme
- In modern Urdu poetry, there are lots of ghazals which do not follow the restriction of same beher on both the lines of sher
- The restriction of maqta is really very loose. Many many ghazals do not have any maqta

Also, the ghazal not only has a specific form, but traditionally deals with just one subject: Love. And not any kind of love, but specifically, an illicit, and unattainable love. The ghazal is always written from the point of view of the lover who is unable to attain his beloved, because either the beloved is just playing with the poet's feelings, or because the societal circumstances do not allow it. Most ghazals can be viewed in a spiritual context, with the beloved being a metaphor for God, or the poet's spiritual master.

In this context, you'll probably appreciate the following even more! Long live Mirza Ghalib...and I would also recommend the soundtrack of the Mirza Ghalib tele-series comprising the deadly combination of Naseeruddin Shah, Jagjit Singh and yes, Gulzar. :)

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har ek baat pe kehte ho tum ke 'tu kya hai' ?
tumheen kaho ke yeh andaaz-e-guftgoo(conversation,speech) kya hai ?

na shole (blaze) mein yeh karishma na barq (lightening) mein yeh ada
koi batao ki woh shokh (coquettish)-e-tundkhoo (acrimony) kya hai ?

yeh rashk(jealousy) hai ki wo hota hai ham-sukhan(to agree) tumse
wagarna khauf-e-bad-aamozi(education)-e-adoo(enemy) kya hai ?

ragoan mein daudte firne ke ham naheen qaayal(fan,fond of)
jab aankh hi se na tapka to phir lahoo kya hai ?

chipak raha hai badan par lahoo se pairaahan (clothes, robe)
hamaaree jeb ko ab haajat(necessity)-e-rafoo(stitches) kya hai ?

jalaa hai jism jahaan dil bhi jal gaya hoga
kuredate ho jo ab raakh, justjoo (desire,inquiry) kya hai ?

woh cheez jiske liye hamko ho bahisht(heaven) azeez
siwaay baada(wine)-e-gul_faam(delicate like flowers)-e-mushkaboo(like the smell of musk) kya hai ?

piyoon sharaab agar khum(wine barrel) bhee dekh loon do chaar
yeh sheesha-o-qadah(goblet)-o-kooza(wine pitcher)-o-suboo(wine pitcher) kya hai ?

rahi na taaqat-e-guftaar (conversation, speech), aur agar ho bhi
to kis ummeed pe kahiye ke aarzoo kya hai ?

huaa hai shaah ka musaahib(associate), fire hai itaraata
wagarna shehar mein ‘Ghalib’ kee aabroo kya hai ?

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aah ko chaahiye ik umr asar hone tak
kaun jiitaa hai terii zulf ke sar hone tak

daam(net/trap) har mauj mein hai halqaa(ring)-e-sad_kaam-e-nahang (crocodile with a hundred jaws)
dekhein kyaa guzare hai qatare(drop) pe gauhar(pearl) hone tak

aashiqii sabr-talab(patient) aur tamannaa betaab
dil kaa kyaa rang karuun khuun-e-jigar hone tak

ham ne maanaa ke tagaaful(ignore) na karoge lekin
khaak ho jaayenge ham tum ko khabar hone tak

partav-e-khuur(sun’s rays) se hai shabanam(dew) ko fanaa(perish) kii taaliim
main bhii huun ek inaayat(favour) kii nazar hone tak

yak(one)_nazar besh(excess) nahiin fursat-e-hastii(duration of life) gaafil(ignorant)
garmii-e-bazm(gathering) hai ik raqs(dance)-e-sharar(fire) hone tak

gam-e-hastii(sorrows of life) kaa ‘asad’(Lion,Ghalib's original pen name) kis se ho juz(other than) marg(death) ilaaj
shammaa har rang mein jalatii hai sahar hone tak

With a little help from Wikipedia.

Star

I guess you were born to be a star,
distant, beautiful, the brightest light
travelling away to an unknown land
of mystery, magic, the darkest night
Could you slow down a bit?
Hold a wish till the end of this tide
Breathe the bright blue sky
I know it's too tough to break
This willful, angry, lonely ride
But could you share it for a while?
Teach the art of questions unasked
beneath the layers of muted scars
In search of a place to lay your dreams
Denying the world that could be ours
Do you know this restlessness has no cure?
You could be the petal in the rose
The memory of a forgotten sensation
You could be a truth in some one's lies
or the road leading to my salvation
Do you really always have to be a star?

Someone

Sometimes in life you come across some unexpected things that leave an ever lasting impression...it could be the playfulness of an extremely hyperactive child, 3 different hues in the sky, the piercing all knowing eyes of a stranger, a flock of birds conferencing or a song seemingly written with you in mind...

Four or maybe five years ago I had discovered blogging...or rather chanced upon a group of very interesting blogs...most of them I have forgotten, some I remember...but only one left an impact on me...it was an assortment of self written poems about love and loss...and they are some of the most beautiful pieces that I have come across till date...not because of their style or depth or poetic talent but because of the feeling with which they were written...the feelings of the writer are almost palpable...the blog was later deleted as I could never trace it again...I don't even know the gender of the writer, for he or she was called "someone" (yes, I blatantly copied that :) )...actually, if I think of it, it doesn't even matter...

Luckily, I had taken the print outs of some of those poems...I dug them out from my files and have retyped them...I have even tried to keep each comma and dot intact...I probably have no right to publish someone else's work, that too a personal and intimate one...but I am torn...I know I could have taken the credit for these and no one would find out...but I would know...so, I'll just take credit for the fact that I have it me to appreciate emotions like these...and I hope that someday I can feel love as fervent as this...

I’ve crept into your temple
I have slept upon your pew
I have dreamed of the divinity
Inside and out of you
I want it more than truth
I can taste it on my breath
I would give my life just for a little death
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“i could write a song for your lips,
or a fleeting poem for your heart
a few honest words, some awkward thoughts…
and only hope that you’ll have a clue…
i have little rhyme, but all the reason
and I will try not to burden you…
i’ll just write it down for you to memorize,
i don’t feel like giving my thoughts away…
it would be nice if you could hum in the night,
and sing it till the memory stays…”
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“it turns out that all those nights…
i was watching the same old stars shine…
and the lines I traced over them…
had no way of etching themselves in the sky…

the words that I scrawled all over
they’ll just dry out and fade away…
and I was only hoping that my song…
would do justice to your voice…

my inspiration was my treasure…
don’t know how long I could keep you in sight…
i can live with my silence, like before…
but do you really need to keep so quiet…?

felt a little lonely and tired…
so here I am, down on my knees…
i close my eyes, and catch my breath…
and hear my world fall all around me…”
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“sometimes when I close my eyes, and stay awake
not an insomniac, not yet in quietus…
amidst a few memories and moments that flood me,
stolen, dwelt, candid and precious
those petite thoughts and star gazing
a starlit roof and the world underneath...
past perfect, and future tense…
the present always seemed to inconsequential..
your dulcet voice rings clear, still vivid...
and I fell in love, that day…

then as if it was all over…
as if the stars never lit the sky..
unsaid, unasked, unanswered, yet undone…
words always felt miserably inadequate…
I knew I should not feel sorry…
I never had a chance anyways…
what I had with me, was my dappled sunshine
and all my pain, unrequited yet mine
I just held it all together,
and I thought I’d never love again

today as I stand before yesterday’s ghost…
and I read your voice from my very eyes…
I treasure every single word you write…
and find solace in the mere acceptance of my existence
for I am happy with the wisdom and the innocence,
of someone who knows nothing at all…
flowers or stars don’t matter anymore…
it doesn’t matter if you go away…
and I am all alone again…
I am still very much in love with that day”

Ghosts

I guess once you are in a corporate world it doesn’t take long to realize what a dog eat dog world it is...in a way an MBA prepares you for it but the magnanimity and the real dirt of it only hits you once you are there...and it hits hard...in many ways I am impervious to what other people do and how they do it but trying to make me a part of it, for whatever reasons, is something I can't take...its too early to even know whether its making me or breaking me...

Out here there are 3 kinds of people...first, the ones who will portray they work very hard but they don't do anything...second, the ones who'll work very hard and show that they are very chill and nonchalant about work...and the last who just work, period...obviously, the second group is the most dangerous...they are driven, power hungry, insecure and most likely to trample you to go ahead...and it seems to me that I am surrounded by such people...another important trait that they have is a gift of doing sweet talk...which for me is a perfect symbol of superficiality...fake and hollow...and I have not even started to talk about their art of networking! Where do people like me fit in, in this scenario? I guess I am the fourth kind - people just looking to run away...

One of my bursts against this alternative 'system' induced the following expression...

"where are
the moods that made a day
the dreams that walked a mile
the rain that drenched the soul
the coffee that brought a smile

why are
the boundaries so far away
the rules so tough to break
the answers so cryptic
the innocent lies at stake

what are
the reasons for this mad race
the fears that we try to hide
the places that we need to find
the hopes that we leave by the side

who are the ghosts that crowd the place?"

Alone - Edgar Allan Poe

Its not a favourite exactly, but I like the way some of the words flow in this poem...enjoy...

"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view"

Vulnerability

Sometimes when you look away
I wonder what it would be like
To let the guard down for once
And put an end to this farcical strike

What would you do when you raise your eyes?
Will you laugh or will you cry?
Or will you let me know
That the wait was worth this try

Will you listen and feel without restraint
Tales of a distant past and childhood dreams
Or will you use the words to win the game
And add another victim to your endless schemes

With your worldly sense and earnest smile
I know you would ask me to take a chance
But for someone who is a cynic at heart
It might be foolish of me to trust even once

Vagabond, free, homeless soul
You are the blowing wind, flying away
Lonely, stable, nurturing shadow
I am a grounded tree, enticing travelers on the way

So here I am, standing on crossroads
Evaluating options that no longer exist
You seem to have gone back to your dwelling
The forever impenetrable sheath of mist

It

it stared at me...
probing,accusing,understanding...
amused,angry,proud...
it asked me where i had started
and where i am...
and it asked me where i want to go?
it played with me, it cried with me...
it shared my heartaches,
it visualized my dreams...
it gave me time and it gave me space,
it asked me never to fail...
it asked me my reasons,
it reprimanded me for my excuses...
it shared my happiness
i blamed it for things i regret
and it got me feathers to collect
together,we searched for lost emotions
hidden agendas and flimsy reasons...
sometimes, i told it to leave me alone,
sometimes it was a reason to go on...
i love it for what it is...
i hate it for what it's not...
but its good for what its worth,
this crazy life of mine...