Dearest Evelyn, I often think of you
Out with the guns in the jungle stew
Yesterday I hittapotamus
I put the measurements down for you but they got lost in the fuss
It’s not a good thing to drink out here
You know, I’ve practically given it up dear.
More
We shall be together one day,
When we live it for us, in Heaven,
Someday, one day; our day will come,
When the sun shall set for the moon
& the stars will shine on us forever.
Understand this
We’ve been separated by the world, but
The day of ever lasting happiness,
Thru fields of sunshine golden hay,
Blithe & gay, castles we’ll build in air,
Where angels on clouds yodel idly, on
Mountains of honey tipped silver stardust,
Where milk white pigeons grace the sky, &
The world’s sins into blessings become,
Where our love be the only law of life, &
Like freed prisoners of misfortune time,
Them we’ll watch, from our world, &
Laugh on the day we lost; to win for us,
For that one day, I live today for the end.
I understood a lot of Mahabharata only after I was through reading The Great Indian Novel, it is really a marvelous book by an equally, if not more, sexy writer. But still meeting Shashi Tharoor after having kissed your boyfriend for the first time is not such good thing. It makes you feel as if you have just committed a ‘blunder’ which is only somewhat lesser in intensity than the Iraqi Invasion, but mind you only somewhat. You are merrily shopping after your first kiss feeling all elated and what not. Then you happen to chance upon ‘The Shashi Tharoor’ on the Delivery Counter in some Cottage Emporium and you think, he looks like Shashi Tharoor and before you know it, he comes out to be the man himself. Before the bells ring and the violins strike a chord and you get a chance to brace yourself up. You blurt out, ‘Excuse me, you look like Shashi Tharoor?’ And he is like, ‘Eh, yes!?’ Not a very good beginning, not kosher at all. But who cares. I don’t.
I do. I do love him a lot. But what about his past. I still am More
You were still in my arms
Till yesterday
And here you are today,
Nothing but a face
Stamped across my heart,
A tear in my eye
and a number in the
black phonebook.
- Neha
i left you today when
you didnt pick up the phone.
last night when you didnt kiss
me and two weeks back
when my friends came home
and you were sleeping.
-Kunal Goel
Durr lagta hai tumharey har vaade se,
Tanha hi nazar ayi khud ko hamesha se,
Har waqt jo palat kar dekhna chaha tumhe,
Jab bhi kehte jaane se pehle mujhse ke
Aankhein jhapakte mein wapis ajaunga, lekin
Ek sadi beet gayi hoti thi tumharey lautne par.
-Sheikha
He’s a little bit of the sunshine
Just before the rain
A little like this quiet night
Before the cold winds came More
Just the other day I wondered,
Sitting in the lush green garden.
Springing up in the yellow hope, More
each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
More
Mujhe yaad hai woh lamha jaagti subah ka,
Aur mere nazron ke saamne ka dhuwaan,
Kya woh badalte mausam ka ittefaq tha?
Ya aasman par rangon ka koi khel tha?
-Sheikha.
Subdued dreams in my eyes
Essence they’ve yet to find,
Sweet flames of bitter desire,
What fire burns in my chest?
Lonely are these nights,
How do I sleep them?
I can’t write any longer,
Dry tears spill on my cheek.
You may be far but close,
The reason my heart beats
It feels you are missing,
And I drown in these memories.
Find me a reason to live,
Tell me how I can forget
To take a breath when
I’m not thinking of you.
Save me before I die,
Loneliness is a habit now,
Your voice I hear at night
Myself I’ve begun to lose.
Oh, I beg for help
Soaked in my own tears,
Dry tears I blink in my eyes,
Haven’t I cried enough, God?
-Sheikha.
Well, I didn’t quite know the Hindi category existed here…since I’ve discovered it, I thought I may post in my amateur attempt at shairi…
I’ve written a few, like beginners work, but my command over the Urdu language isn’t strong enough to write Ghalib style…
Bear with it, if you don’t like it…
Is veerane dasht mein kho kar paya kisi ne kuch nahi
Aaye the toofan dhundne jalti huwi ret mein
Lekin kisi mein woh baat na thi tum jaisi
Ek tumhi the jiske bharose mein bhikr tou sakti.
I admit I am hesitant…
-Sheikha.
A spontaneous write in a person’s scrapbook on the site orkut…it all started with the usual yada yadas on what I do with my life, bored with the patented script of answers that documented it, I thought we toddle with the Grimm Brothers’ literature attempts, i.e., if the writer of Rapunzel were the Grimm Brothers…?
I was rapunzel living in a tall locked up tower and waiting for a prince to rescue me by ways of my long tresses. I had a wicked witch as a benefactress, considering my parents were thieves and stole tomatoes from her garden while my mum was expecting me, to nourish me hoping i’d turn out rosy (cheezy). After I was born, the wicked witch (well not so wicked since she did manage to grow me up into a damsel without a single blemish or scar and supplying me amply with skin tonics and creams -it was actually a dream of my other witch mother’s to have a pretty daughter since she fought terribly in her youth with ugliness)…anyway, coming back to the tale, I kinda wonder why she had me all locked up, I suppose she didn’t trust my hormones as soon as I turned 16 and that I’d probably elope with some dim witted pauper. My original tomato stealing parents never put up a lost and found for me or my timid father (I say timid ’cause he caved into my mum’s demands of stealing…rather he have belted her) come fighting through thorny weeds and dragons for his only forlorn daughter. I actually like my wicked mum because she had better plans set for me even before my birth (my original mum had full plans of birthing me incarcerated had my wicked mum have not been such an evil witch). So, I ended up with Prince, though my wicked mum couldn’t endure the loss of me and she tried to kill the handsome, chivalrous prince…only, I was kinda sick of seeing such an ugly old hag each day of my life and she was so overwhelmingly overbearing! I needed a life of fancy shoes and frilly frocks. So, without a second thought and much ado, I pushed my wicked mum out of the tall tower window. I haven’t heard from her since then, but I do know she isn’t dead. She’s a witch remember! And I do believe she had hidden wings.
The end.
-Sheikha
PS: I thought it darn cute 
Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.
Let me be the one to take your heart away,
Let me make you in madness sway,
Let me be the one into your life to walk,
Let me give to the door of your heart a knock,
Let me be the one for your love to turn weak,
Let me for you from all the world happiness seek,
Let me be the one to know this pain tender,
Let me for your one smile my life surrender,
Let me be the one when in love that you punish,
Let me from your life all the sadness banish,
Let me be the one with you to go through all,
Let me catch you if ever you should fall,
Let me be the one on this wild horse to take you round,
Let me in wait for you into the sea of time drown,
Let me be the one to live in you if ever we part,
Let me like a pulse beat in your heart,
Let me be the one in rain with whom you’d play,
Let me live only for you night and day,
Let me be the one whose name you call in nights alone,
Let me in search of you all the dark streets roam,
Let me be the one to whom you’d fly as lonesome dove,
Let me for you win your losing battle of love.
Sheikha.
