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  • proper_noun 15w

    Ilzaamon ke libaas utaar
    sach be-zaar hota rha

    na usne nazrein pheri
    jab khud pe rota rha

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 15w

    kabhi jo khwab tha woh paa liya hai
    magar jo kho gayi woh cheez kya thi

    ~ Javed Akhtar

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    मतरूक (Abandoned)

    A creature of calamitous connotation
    carries the cryptic curses
    reciting the vilified verses.

    A wishful reflection
    for a wistful darkness
    tracing the parted ways.

    A sempiternal insatiateness
    spurred in its elusion
    beholding the broken beckonings.

    A lorn symphony of 52-hertz
    douses the seas in blue
    searching the sunken that never resurface!

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 16w

    A forgetful afterthought
    lost in remembrance.

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    Debauched

    We count down
    for a start

    we ask out
    for an abandonment

    friends catalogued in secrets
    foes knowing it all

    rubies on slippers
    bullets in head

    kids in brothels
    animals in day-care

    truth in cages
    a crown of pretenses

    we have made our peace
    with sympathetic synonyms of disparities

    this circle never collapses
    the cornered troupes forever await!

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 16w

    ham ko maaloom hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin

    dil ke ḳhush rakhne ko 'ġhalib' ye ḳhayaal achchaa hai

    - Mirza Ghalib

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    Be-baaki mein sabr hai yahaan
    Khamoshiyon ki qadr hai yahaan

    Falsafii ko sukoon hai yahaan
    Sach ke kai saaye hain yahaan

    Raqeebon mein gumaan hai yahaan
    Ki waahid ek ishq hai yahaan

    Ek sifar ka hisaab hai yahaan
    Har khuda pe masla hai yahaan

    Har qatl jaayaz hai yahaan
    Hum waqt ke mureed hain yahaan


    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 16w

    Hum ko jo taane dete hain,
    ham khoye hain in rang-raliyon mein
    Hum ne un ko bhi chhup chhup ke
    aate dekhaa in galiyon mein...

    ~ Anand Bakshi

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    Suo Moto

    He didn't write back
    she waited to read otherwise.

    She kissed one too many
    he hoped his was the last one.

    On a need-to-know basis
    albeit deranged
    let's speculate it as love!

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 17w

    Nazron ki berukhi se saaye nahi jalte
    Maazarat mein koi yaad dafan nahi hoti

    Furqaton ke faisle labaada nahi oodhte
    Hasraton ki aah mein tehzeeb nahi hoti

    Karwaton ke silsile khoje nahi milte
    Khwabeeda rooh ki raat nahi hoti

    Kitaabon ke qaayde rukh nahi badalte
    Gaflaton ki lams mein razaa nahi hoti

    Sharton ki shaakh par sukoon nahi khilte
    Shikayaton ki ranj mein shifa nahi hoti

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 18w

    एक ख़्वाब वो इश्क़ था
    कुछ ख्वाहिशें उसकी मुल्तवी हैं

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    ना दायरों में रंज है
    ना किसी रब्त की दस्तक है

    ना तस्वीरों की तोहमत है
    ना किसी तख़्त की तसल्ली है

    ना दीवारों में रंग है
    ना किसी राज़ की ज़हमत है

    ना इरादों में फ़र्क़ है
    ना किसी फैसले की ख़िलाफ़त है

    ना इशारों में हर्फ़ है
    ना किसी निगाह की रग़बत है

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 18w

    There's no trick or treat!

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    Happenstance

    'Army ants' are infamous for their notoriety and predatory prowess. Under their societal hierarchy, there are three levels or sub groups namely, the queen, the soldiers, and the workers. The queen breeds, the soldiers do the heavy work and the workers are involved in the intricacies of menialness.

    Physically, the army ants are blind and they have to rely upon a different mechanism for navigation, communication, figuring out a pivot or a peril etc. They release a chemical known as pheromones which they pick up and transmit using their antennae which are one of their main sensory organs.

    'Ant Mill' is an intriguing spectacle that occurs in their ranks. It has been observed that when some army ants split from their rummager group losing the pheromone path, they tend to follow each other in a perpetual circle that terminates after they have excruciatingly died due to sheer exhaustion. It is also termed as a 'death spiral'.

    Interestingly, when this event is elementarily extrapolated, it does bear a resemblance to our lives. We believe or boast of a tangential escape yet always follow the encircled eventualities, all leading to a certain end.

    The clockwork eventually wears out after all the delusions of dictations and the decisions. We are meant to be a terminal travesty and there's nothing much we can do about it.

    Sure the grandiosity of purpose, pleasures and the philosophies can keep us amused for our own sake. Yet if we observe, the planets, the sun too are following the suit and would eventually be a subset of nothingness.

    So there is our volition, vehemently mistaken, I guess.

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 19w

    Definitions are prone to debates
    and then the doubts for the discretion!

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    Symptomatic Sidenote

    "Would you care for a denuded distraction,
    Or have you attained the art of a sheathed self-amusement?"

    'Wouldn't you call any engagement an enigma, a satiety or a satire on self?'

    "A philosophical curveball,
    and I wouldn't dare to rationalise any concurrence or a rebuttal,
    before being a little vulnerable first."

    'That admits a submission,
    a subtraction before hand,
    while inching close to possibilities,
    of a disaster or the distraction!'

    "I don't want to subterfuge the symmetries
    and then bother for the synonyms of regrets
    it is obvious, possibilities are indulgence with instructions."

    'You seem so ready
    yet unprepared for the fuss
    a foot on the floor
    and other in the dunk of darkness.'

    "I don't want to seem prying
    like a one legged heron
    and my intentions pigeonholed
    as a dance of desperation."

    'You shouldn't sell coins
    to a piggy bank collector
    where sufficiency isn't the score
    as it never satisfies its trench.'

    "Well, we needn't be a sinking titanic for the icebreaker,
    and we don't need coins to be corrupted by leisure
    just an intent that incites the inertia."

    ©proper_noun

  • proper_noun 21w

    What precedes the dot, won't outlast.

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    Modicum of Nirvana

    In an oversimplified world
    it gets uneventful

    you see the same old sun
    getting older
    with each passing day

    and the nights nudging words
    that aren't getting any wiser
    and are aborted as irked inklings

    it's either a horizon
    or an impasse

    the cause and the effect
    mothballed in an existence
    spiralling into a certain end

    the capes of continuity feel heavier
    cursing the beginnings
    craving for a nakedness
    that holds no secret

    a little indecency, perhaps
    just putting up hope for auction!

    ©proper_noun