तुझसे सवेरे मिलूंगा मैं

तेरी हर बात में रात है. सर से घुंघराले अंधेरों का झरना ऐसे गिरता है जैसे क्षितिज पे रात का साया ढल रहा हो. और उस झरने में से झांकता है एक चाँद, हर उस चीज़ की रौनक लिए जो ज़िन्दगी को खूबसूरत बनाती है. ये जो होठो पे रातरानी की गन्ध सजी है, इतनी मंद है की समझ नहीं आता मुस्कान है या तेरा गुमान. और आँखें.. उफ़ ये आधी खुली आँखें.. ये नींद को सपने देखना और रात को मदहोशी सिखाती है. ज़ाहिर है, हम कभी जागना नहीं चाहते.

Bare Feelings

In all probability you have a face, and a mouth on it that could form intelligible words. I am not sure. I am occupied otherwise. Your wide child-bearing hips, accentuated by that narrow waist, are having a hearty conversation with my evolutionary needs. I don’t love you. I don’t want to flay your soul and carve it with an intellectual self portrait. I don’t want to let my ego destroy the person you represent to gratify my need for approval and conformity. And by destroy, I mean change it ever so little. No, I just want you. And this seemingly vulgar emotion of lust is my sincere attempt at respecting you as an individual; a confession that says I want you as you are. I want you in the capacity you excel at and trade it with my best. I want exactly what you are right now. Nothing else and not later.

Enclosed in Asterisks

Am sick of finding the right words; I want to say it with my eyes and engrave it on the canvas of your mind. Shouldn’t have to tell you how much you are needed. You know it, because I have told you before. But that’s how far it goes. There is no way to top that gesture if you are missing. If I could, I would brand it on your skin with my touch.

Let’s not share anything or go over every excruciating detail of the day. Why waste time? What good is it to know how your day went if I can’t hold you until I know exactly how you feel about it? How does it help if you can’t hold me back until you feel whole again?

And I don’t care if you are always “by my side”, or the fact that I can count on you. I need your body as much I have your mind. Lay down by my side. May be, stare in a different direction. Your smell and breath! I am done with intentions enclosed in asterisks and silly emoticons. Let me reach inside you through the lines on your face and read you like a book. Flared nostrils. The occasional glazed over eyes. I want to deal with character flaws, not network congestion.

These interactions should feel good; tiny little opportunities to touch you ever so slightly. But it’s as if each phone call, each text, each smiley, clears the dust on my window pane, and reveals, just a little more, the amount of distance that separates us; the never ending wasteland of promises and desires that lies between the small log cabin my life resides in and the nearest village I am welcome to.

Update [13th of May, 2014]:

Found this wonderful video that speaks of the ills of social networking and is in a peculiar sync with what’s written above:

The Innovation of Loneliness from Shimi Cohen on Vimeo

तेरी आँखें

शोर मचाती है तेरी आँखें,
होंठो से बोल, जो बात है |

ना जाने क्या समझाती हैं ये आँखें,
कुछ तो है, कोई तो बात है |

मत बोल की ये तेरे जज़्बात नहीं,
देखा है मैंने, एक बेकाबू तूफान है |

टूट जा, बिखर जा, खोल दे दिल,
भीगने को नहीं, हम डूबने को तैयार हैं |

आँखों से गर बोल पाता मैं भी,
कह देता वो, जो दिल में छुपा रखा है |

सुनाता तुझे वो लम्हें, वो घड़ियाँ,
जब तू ना थी, फिर भी लगता था मेरे पास है |

बयान करता तुझे मेरी हक़ीकत,
जहाँ तू, ज़िंदगी, मौत और एहसास है |