Backbencher

hadse raah ke zevar hain musafir ke liye ek Thokar jo lagi hai to irada na badal

anything that can go wrong, will go wrong and anything that can go right, will go right. hence anything that can happen will happen

वरना ये तेज़ धूप तो चुभती हमें भी है, हम चुप खड़े हुए हैं कि तू साएबाँ में है

and that's how i am. either too much or nothing. either an ocean or an emptiness. either clouds filled with rain or a drought. a vomit of love. a vomit of everything.

I remember standing in the rain waiting for a bus because I couldn't afford a cab. Cars drove by, splashing dirty water on my shoes. The coldness of that moment didn't make me sad. It made me vicious. I promised the rain I would never be broke again. It wasn't hope that got me out of poverty. It was the pure, unfiltered rage of wet socks.

Cortisol ⬇️

What could I want, when I already hold words enough to paint the skies, dreams enough to walk alone, and silence deep enough to call mine?

Last night, you entered my dream as my accolent, as my accompanier who walked beside me. I leaned into your warmth, being embraced by you, surrounded by your sweet scent that refused to fade, I wished not for eternity, but for a curse that would bind us together in every waking and sleeping hour. When morning arrived, my hands searched the air for you, my eyes wandered rooms looking for you Now, reclining on this couch, I let your image return mesmerizing, unreachable, yet closer than my own breath.

I have swallowed you whole, and yet you live inside me still devouring me back, where I end and you begin.

I envy the wind how it slips through your hair, bold and uninvited, yet never turned away. I resent the rain, how it falls on the skin I still dream of touching. It knows the warmth of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, while I am left fantasizing about it. The sun sees you each morning. Strangers pass you on the street, perhaps unaware, or perhaps changed by just a glimpse. And I I measure time in how long it will take to see your eyes without needing to pretend I was okay. Even the books you hold rest closer to you than I've ever been I am jealous of the ordinary of moments I wish to witness, of casual touches we'll always remember, of laughter shared with you. This is not bitterness. It is hunger in stillness, grief shaped like admiration. Because even now, I do not wish to steal you. I only wish I could

You are the dimming of stars I didn’t know I was watching. The scent of something lost long before I could name it.

You awakened me to the symphony of existence, but left me drowning in its discord.

Why would I ponder the apathy, That shrouds the streets in silence and sighs, When it's easier to close my eyes— And think about you?