लोग पूछते हैं आज कल तेरा संदेशा नहीं आता, क्या करूँ उस बिन लिखूं क्या समझ नहीं आता। कुछ लिख लेता था उसे सोच-सोच कर पहले तो, अब तो उसे याद कर भी दिल में कोई ख़याल नहीं आता। जो लिखने लगता था, कहीं का शुरू कहीं निकल जाता, उसे सामने बैठा, खुद उसका अक्स-इ-बयाँ बन जाता। आज भी उन बेनाम नज़्मों से उसकी खुशबू आती है, पर उन्हें आँखों से लगाने का जज़्बात अब फिलहाल नहीं आता। ...

डर इस बात का नहीं कि हमें डर लगता है, डर है तो बस कि कहीं हम डरना ना छोड़ दें। डर लगता है अंदर जो सुलगती आग है, डर लगता है कहीं और ना भड़क उठे। खुद घुट कर मर जाएँ तो ज्यादा रंज नहीं, डर लगता है कहीं दुनिया को राख ना कर बैठें। ~रबी [ I don’t fear that I am afraid, I fear that I might stop being afraid. I fear the fire that’s smoldering inside, I fear it might get erupted. I won’t regret if I die choking of it, I fear I might end up burning the world with it. ] ...

I don’t want to leave a trail behind, As we walk alone from nowhere to nowhere. I fear I might have to descend it back home, And you won’t be returning with me. Let me get erased with you, please. ~RavS

I thought you were an angel, But you turned out to be a fucking human just like everyone else, I thought I was your saviour, But now I realize you already had what you needed. I hope one day the world burns and you burn with it, I hope your skin gets roasted and I get to pour a little more gasoline, You know why you were able to hurt me, More than anybody else could possibly hurt? It’s because I cared about you more than anyone else, And more than anyone else ever could, It’s because I considered you one of my own. I thought the world was a bad bad place, which you needed to be saved from, Now I realize you are a part of it, You yourself have come out of this very heinous world’s womb. ...

I am not looking to impress you, I have already tried that so many times, with so many people, and failed so utterly miserably. What I strive for instead and will keep striving, is to hit a string in your heart, to say something, to create something which when you notice you unequivocally gasp and mumble, “yeah that’s right, that’s right. That’s what I feel deep inside.” And if that day is not today, probably it will come tomorrow or 20 years after. I can’t predict, but rest assured until that day comes, I will keep trying everyday I wake up, again and again and again. That’s the only thing I can do. Isn’t it? ...

Thank you for coming in my life and giving me all the pain that I didn’t ask for in the first place, because that’s what taught me how to be human, to value people close by and reciprocate the care from those who empathize, for life is fickle and it’s essential to experience every little emotion whether good, bad or ugly to know what it means to actually live and not let the life just float by, rolling off on a filtered 65 mm celluloid. ...

Before I press the nib, to the texture of a vintage paper, I think about you. I let your words chime, in the darkness of my hollow existence, I let your cravings rise up, to the surface of my skin. I let myself crumble down, under the weight of your impossible truth. A thousand capillaries bursting in my head. I let myself cry in your agony. Then I bleed; on your behalf. ...

Listen, life is a board of chess. And while rules of the game remain simple, You lose time and again against more experienced players. But that does not make you a loser, that makes you a rookie. And you know what the advantage of being a rookie is? That despite all the mistakes, blunders, miscalculations and mess-ups, She still has the audacity to stand up yet again and try just one more time. ...

She was the chill that he felt in his spine, Everytime the first drop of morning dew fell on his earlobes. The glacial breeze that would permeate through his chest, and tremble him through his entire core, She was the frost on his lips that he tried to conceal with a balm. More than the ache in the bare calves ran, She was the frozen blood under the nails. As cold as stones beside abandoned railway tracks, She made him feel sad with her loneliness. But her embrace felt assuring. Like warmth of a torn blanket on a coal black cold night, He wanted her, Every bit of her, He forgot her name deliberately, So that he could call her WINTER. ...

It wasn’t my fault, But I so wish it was, At least you could have hated me for the right reasons. (The last words.) ~RavS