अब तो बुखार भी रूठ कर चले जाता है,
कहता है भाई अब कोई मज़ा नहीं आता है,
तुम्हारे शरीर में अपना घर बनाने से,
तुम तो अकेले रहने लगे हो,
ना माँ है गर्म पानी की पट्टी लिए,
और ना नानी माँ बुरी नज़र उतारने के लिए।
ना पापा को जल्दी है दफ्तर से घर आने की,
तुम्हे डॉक्टर के यहाँ ले जाने की,
और ना भाई को झंझट दवाई लाने की।
अब तुम्हारे पास आकर बोर सा होता है,
अब तो ये शोर सिर्फ फ़ोन पर होता है।

The Ladies Compartment

The maid that sweeps my house,
Was last night again beaten by her spouse.
The single mom which preapare my meals,
Seeks justice for her husband who came under some rich wheels.
The orphan girl who sells the bestseller ‘I Am Malala’,
Does not crave for the Noble Peace Prize,
But only wants a cute pink dress preferably of her size.
And the girl who sells that dress,
Aspires to wear the Miss India crown,
But is rejected everytime with a frown.
Yet when they meet in the ladies compartment,
They share a smile and try to be happy for a while.

The Dot Theory

We are nothing but dots on this big circle,

Different colored dots,

Divided by some crooked lines.

Most of us live and die as dots,

But some aspire to be as big as the circle.

For this they resist the pain of the compass,

Both in their heart and mind.

They go beyond this crooked lines,

For they want to be as big as the circle.

Every Da Vinci needs a Medici

When I try to fly like Da Vinci,
Please be my Medici.
For if you give me some tolerance,
I will build you another city like Florence.
You call me a lunatic,
I say, your brains are antique.
My mind works at a frantic pace,
Just give me my own space.
I am not a genius, just a little curious,
About things which make me furious.
And my curiosity goes beyond,
Arts, Science and Commerce.
I will not be your cliched bait,
For I am here to create and innovate.
I will not be another appointment letter,
For I am here to make peoples’ life better.