Mana ke mein teri deed ke qabil nahi,
tu mera shouq to dekh,
mera intezaar to dekh.

--

Faiz

Two's tale

When did it start, from where did it ensue,

of all the things between me and you.

Like a motleyed butterfly with richness and hue,

flower to flower without a clue.

Or a two tailed black sparrow with abundant skills,

and a blue eyed white pigeon innocently killed.

The groove was thick and thoughts profuse,

that he needs her soul to end this recluse.

Things of heart are difficult to contain,

love is in expression without restrain.

Like a pious daughter of a majestic sire,

or Mira poisoned by the societal ire,

curse of separation they both endured,

glory to them, their faith is now swored.

Otherwise noble, but in his mad unrest,

contemplating poems with fervor and zest,

he prays to the one at the top of the crest,

before whom all bow and request,

just like with April you give heat and sweat,

add more passion to my nascent quest.

--

By

the pigeon, skin not exactly white, eyes not exactly blue.

The More Loving One

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

That, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am

Of stars that do not give a damn,

I cannot, now I see them, say

I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,

I should learn to look at an empty sky

And feel its total dark sublime,

Though this might take me a little time.

-- W H Auden

words coming to my mind ......... frresh/aqua/cool/splash/play/enjoy/friends/childhood/neighbourhood/fever

i also like this

Arranged Marriage is the point at which the downward spiral of expectation meets the upward spiral of desperation :D

The story of the lucky cat

This is a story of a cat – a cat which wants to take a sip from the pot of curd hanging from the ceiling. Try as it might, it can’t reach the pot. It jumps… time and again… and fails each time. Once or twice it reaches oh-so-close to the pot, barely inches separating the two, but never actually manages a sip.
The cat almost gives up, [is tiring and sagging from the effort…], and finds something else to quench its thirst for the time being. Every day it attempts the same… fails each time… and its hopes grow slimmer and slimmer with each try. One fine day, finally the cat manages to reach the pot of curd up there. But as is is about to take the sip, the pot falls down and breaks… spilling its contents all over. The cat which till now wanted just a mouthful of curd now has all the curd in the world.

Does the cat lick any? No it doesn’t. It is now too shocked and surprised by its achievement to even consider licking a drop. It lies around listlessly and moves on. Thirstier than ever before.

For old times sake

Ishq di mere mitra pehchaan ki, mit jaave jado jid apnaan di.



Translation: Asli pyaar ka matlab haasil karna hi nahi hota