"Everyday from where I go ahead I come back to the same spot again,
The walls I have broken so many times
Are the walls I strike all over again,
Everyday new towns come into being
Everyday the earth subsumes them again,
Earthquakes at least had a heat of their own
Now they just recur over and again.
From the body to the soul an endless desert
No sun, no mirage, no shade,
So many hopes have perished in the desert waste
Who cares a damn for the grave,
The pulse dies and flutters again
The heart's natural attribute is anxiety,
At night the night whispered to itself
To go on living is a habit in itself.
A rainbow is a bouquet of but one colour
A goblet has its own trajectory,
If mosques begin to stand at every corner
What can the shape of the tavern be?
Somebody used to say he is the ocean itself
When not even a drop was with me,
Now I write to all that I'm fine
Now danger too is absent from my destiny,
I read the lines on my palm
Like I would the Koran or the Gita,
In the confines of a few lines
My life is imprisoned like Sita,
When Rama will return I cannot say
If only some Ravana would come and stay."
