Penchant , to fall.



Sometimes we cry, because things are not good. And this becomes such a usual custom, that when things fall into places finally after months and months of wait, you become so afraid , scared, astonished, for the good times, lest they might just blow away in a jiffy, they might just blur out in a micro second, so fast the sand will slide down from your hand, that your fingers wont be able to hold it back.So fast will the moments evaporate, that you won’t be able to confiscate them. You just can’t believe that you are surprised by life, your lost life. 
The rage within
The red eyes
The long held breath
You don’t want to miss it.
 The anger of your soul
The craving of your heart
The pining for things lost
You don;t want to miss it. 
When God comes near you in pain, 
When he gives you your soul in disdain,
When you love yourself through pride and shame
You don’t want to lose it. 
Things are good , they might be better
But somehow, they are not as good as your fetters
Fetters that kept you confined, yet you grew wild
And this independence, is nothing but a wind, so mild. 
You want the rage, you want the pain
Because that brings you closer to yourself,
You want the intoxicant loneliness,
You want unkempt, dishevelled life in a mess
You don’t want to lose it.
And then you sleep off, calling yourself one muddle, 
You don’t contemplate the change , so sudden. 
You want it back, knowing that it will crush you to pieces
You want it still, you want the cracks and the creases. 
You want them all, All and all.
“Ik baat honton tak hai jo aayi nahin
Bas ankhon say hai jhaankti
Tumse kabhi, mujhse kabhi
Kuch lafz hain woh maangti
Jinko pehanke honton tak aa jaaye woh
…Aawaaz ki baahon mein baahein daalke ithlaye woh
Lekin jo yeh ik baat hai
Ahsas hi ahsas hai”  _Znmd. 




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