Once in a while she looks out of the window
staring at the wide open, she dreams of a land

Once in a while she travels to those places
walking bare-footed through the stiff lanes

Once in a while, she reads tracing its history
writing stories and tales of her longings

Once in a while, she wishes he would pay her a visit
spreading his wings, taking a flight

Once in a while, she looks through her camera
capturing life as it was in photography

Once in a while, she closes her eyes and hears him
saying 'weight of worries is too heavy, calm down'

Once in a while, she believes life can still be beautiful
as walking up the hills, she disappears in the cloud.

An onion for you

Not a red rose or a satin heart. I give you an onion -- Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.
Today, I give you an onion.

Every day,
As you peel off a layer
A new story, a new face
A new man you will find.

Every day, another layer
another story, another truth,
what lies beneath, to see
fighting the tears

But never look in isolation,
An onion is nothing alone
put it in a recipe and it finds meaning
see me in context,
with my frailties, with my flaws,

Once you know me then
I'll give you a red rose or a satin heart
But today, I give you an onion.
An onion to make you cry.

Will I go on to become a man worthy to go down history pages or I will just stay embraced in dust among the pages of a long lost book in some corner of somebody's heart?

Here she lies
silently in the lap of night
she has been too long in the dark
now she can't see the light

She was lost in the woods,
it took her time to find her way out,
now the road is stretched out in front of her
But she has forgotten how to walk.

Here she lies
silently in the lap of night.

Ajnabi

Mahek bhi wohi the, rookh bhi wohi the,
yeh hawa bhi janemani the,
din mein jhulasti, raat se lipti,
yeh darodeware bhi pehechani the,

Ek se chehere, ek manzile,
ek hi zindagani the,
Ek anjaan shaher mein,
ajnabi hokar bhi,
ekhi meri kahani the.

She too had a life
But she rented it away in her childhood,
with each passing day she lost it a bit,
now she doesn't recognize it anymore,
the tenants never left,
nor she could claim it back
she still tries to pay off the debt,
a debt put on her since her birth,
she often thinks of another birth,
another life, a life of her own.

The ink of my poems have dried up,
they look up with blank eyes.

The nature doesn't smile with my verses,
the sun doesn't shine,
they don't touch the strings of breath anymore,
they don't heal wounded hearts,
like dry, they are crushed,
everyday under a stranger's feat,
they cry.

poems, O my poems,
how I wish I could fill you with colours,
and see you fly,
see you wipe out tears and like a rainbow
lighten up the grey sky.

The ink of my poems have dried up,
they look up with blank eyes.