When we were a child, The youth was a dream. When we grew up, Childhood became a desire. When we were at home, We wished for freedom. Today, we have freedom, Yet we wish to return home. Sometimes going to a hotel, Having a pizza
You are like poetry, That stays on my lips, Like I am in your dreams. Let me wake in your eyes, Like you are love. Come and stay in my soul, Where there is clarinet playing, I run in that direction. Hold my hands, O,
Behind the eyelids, Spill alone tears. When your memories tease me, The tears spill like this. The ink of this letter Is made from my tears. You are my pain, You are my medicine! To give a sweet ailment, Come like this. To pay the
Dear people of Indian society, Enemies of peace, propagators of depression and anxiety. You are manipulator, murderer, killer. You kill our dreams year after year. No, really, don’t you feel the slightest bit of shame? Expecting medals in the Olympic game! When you yourself are
My father doesn’t know how to read poetry. So he fixes his tie instead. At 7 am, As I scramble with words in a language, His father’s generation fought to conquer, I sit, my head hung over Paper tapes and scribbled ink, A handwriting he’s
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