Satyam Shivam Sundaram मैं तसव्वुर भी जुदाई का भला कैसे करूँ मैंने क़िस्मत की लकीरों से चुराया है तुझे How can I even imagine being separated from you? For I have stolen you from the lines of fate. -- Qateel Shifai I can't help but wonder what goes on behind the scenes,… Continue reading In pursuit of beauty
Author: Neha
लगता नहीं ग़म से डर
लगता नहीं ग़म से डर डर इस बात से लगता है कहीं खा-खाकर ठोकरें यह दिल पत्थर का ही न बन जाए देखो इस चमन में यारों हैं गुल भी कई बुलबुल भी कई पर कशिश अब इश्क़ में नहीं इतनी कि वस्ल-ए-गुम-ओ-बुलबुल हो पाए आज गोश-ए-गुल नाला-ए-बुलबुल के लिए तरस गए आज… Continue reading लगता नहीं ग़म से डर
एक कविता जन्म लेती है
जब भी अन्तःकरण में एक कविता जन्म लेती है आकर चुपके से वो मेरे कानों में कुछ कहती है
Like a pebble in my shoe
Your thoughts got lodged in my brain Like a tiny pebble in my shoe And now I can't think of anything else No matter what I do. It's like when you are walking down the street And you know something hurts your foot This pesky little pebble is big enough to notice But small… Continue reading Like a pebble in my shoe
An Ode to My Street Dogs
Oh dear dog on the street Barking away in the dead of the night At the empty space beside that quiet tree Pray tell me What is it that you see That I can't see? When I wake up in the middle of the night To you and your friends Howling at an invisible… Continue reading An Ode to My Street Dogs
The Essence of Things
Very often I find myself Chasing after forms Yet empty handed I always end up Where am I going wrong? A racing Jaguar on the street Makes my my mind run at top speed A beautiful house on the way Makes me want that also for me A handsome face in the crowd… Continue reading The Essence of Things
Skeletons in my closet
Tucked away carefully, behind all my embellishments, are some skeletons from the past, threatening to expose their ugly heads...
The Painter
I sit across from the blank canvas imagining all the things I can fill it up with. Abstract shapes take form in my head and disappear before they make it out to the flat white surface. The round pointed brush in my hand, sometimes gently taps the side of the mixing plate, and sometimes rests on one edge of the canvas, waiting for its appointed task to begin...
Out of sync
How could it be possible for two people to be so completely out of sync...
The Inverse Midas Touch
For the longest time I thought, I was cursed with inverse Midas touch, and everything I laid my hands on, quite promptly turned to dust.
