There is someone I love

 

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There is someone I love

and she’s the only one.

She is not one of those

one-in-a-million girls,

there’s only one of her kind

and that is her,

that is my love.

 

I have written

more than a thousand words

about her,

for her,

and have said

more than thousands of times

“I love you”

“I love you” to her.

But it never seems to be enough,

there’s always that feeling

of writing few more words,

of saying it few more times.

One heart I’ve given to her

I wish I had more to offer.

 

I wish I could tell

the whole world

about my love

and the beauty she is

but I like the secrecy

because she’s a keeper.

 

I’m not gonna let

the world know

who she is

because it will try to

steal her from me

and killing the entire world

is not something I can afford.

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I miss her

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She’s in the tears
in my eyes,
She’s in the muteness
on my lips,
She’s in the pain
in my heart,
She’s in the sorrow
on my face…

She’s there
I know she’s everywhere.
I made her upset
I know
I’m imprudent.

I can’t think
of not thinking about her.
I can’t breathe without
missing her
every moment.

-Sudhanshu Chouhan

Pandemonium

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We live in a rat’s nest
all the time restless.
In the ever increasing entropy
it’s all just infinite chaos.
And I’m a squeaky sound
in the symphony
the universe is playing.
I’m a crazy one.
I’m a hazy one.
I should be damned
from this world.
I should be condemned
from this world.
This world
is too good for me,
for my thoughts
and my reality.

I walk ahead of them
they pull me back,
I walk behind them
they laugh at me,
I walk with them
they push me away.
I try to want to walk with them
but they don’t want me.
Why,
they’re all so confused!
–ugly holes in the fabric of
my reality,
morality.
They make me feel happy
to be a mortal;
what good is it
to live in a world
which doesn’t want to
change?
And they all want change.
I don’t.
I want them to continue
like this
and write the manuscript
of their own doom.
I don’t care
I’ll be gone soon.
In a millennium or two
they’ll all die too.
Morally, they are already
almost there.
There’s too much of
unused love
rotting in the pens of poets.
There’s too much of abhorrence
evolving
in the heads of gunmen.
There’s too much to hurt
too much to save.
Empty hearts
and empty graves.
I’ve been hurt
and I fight with it
to not let it turn
into lawless hate.
Guess I was too late.
Too much
I try
Too much
I feel
And there is too less
Time to heal.

-Sudhanshu Chouhan

My loneliness

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My loneliness is very beautiful,
it looks like you.
A little bit like me
but more like you.

My loneliness,
like wax,
keeps on melting
in the furnace of time.
I collected it,
moulded into a figure,
its face
looks like your face.
Not mine.
Only there’s no heat in its breath.
Only there’s no light in its eyes.
Only there’s no sound in its laughter.
Only there’s no truth in its lies.

I don’t wish
to win you anymore.
I can live like this.
I will live like this.
Just tell me once
does your loneliness
also
look like me?

-Sudhanshu Chouhan

A Scruffy Liver At A Bar

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Reality really sucks.

Sucks harder than my ex-girlfriend.

Several times I’ve thought of…

I’ve thought of

putting it to an end.

Drove it to the edge

but there’s no fun in that.

I still have some bottoms to hit,

still have some unpaid debts.

You see…

Life is

death wrapped in time.

Happiness is

monotony swaddled in sugar.

God is

but Satan drunk on wine.

And love…

Love is

pain draped behind pleasure.

I’m letting the reality

to grow on me

to beat me

while I ripe.

I’m at this bar

Oh fuck the rhyming!

It is killing

my Bukowskian vibe.

-Sudhanshu Chouhan

To the one who can’t love me…

I have been in love before but never felt like this.. this is new love.. Dedicated to her, the one who doesn’t hate me but can’t love me..

I first got my heart broken

when I was twelve,

wasn’t quite the age

in something stupid to delve.

First time it broke into two

second time in a few

third time in millions

and fourth time in billions.

I couldn’t care less

about picking the pieces.

You know, it hurts.

But I’ve got addicted to

A certain kind of sadness

A certain kind of pain

And

my senses ready to burst.

I wish

I choke on my love for you

and die

without blinking an eye.

I know you wouldn’t mind

‘coz you’re the devil in disguise.

I want you to live my life

the way I live it for you.

I want you to see you

through my eyes.

I want you to be me for a day

and see how painful it is to love you.

You’ll see my words are not lies.

– Sudhanshu Chouhan

NEW VIEW ON LOVE.

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I don’t love anybody. I dont think I can. I have experienced love but it hurt me like any other person from novels, movies or reality. So, personally I no more believe that I can ever love. I don’t even want to. I hate people who love each other, who love themselves, who love love, who hate love. Whatever it may be; I hate people.
I love my parents but that’s another love. That is inherent. Intrinsic. Implicit. Constitutional. Mandatory. Must. Source of Energy, life.
I can recall from the past events, say mishappenings, me telling girls that I love ’em. My behaviour after their response remained the same everytime. It doesnt matter they say ‘I love you too’ or ‘we are just friends’ or whatever; Usually just after saying ‘I love you’ my feelings die for a person. This thing I have in my subconcious mind. May be that’s why I never say and have never said the “love” sentence to my parents and brother. I love them more than anyting.
Am I jinxed? I am jinxed. Jinxed? Bullshit.
No more words. Just thoughts.

PACING PLACES, FACING PHASES — A True Instance

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“Well, don’t you think it’s quite late?” She said.

“How does it matter? We’ve got nothing to worry about.” I said.

“What?” She said.

“Nothing.” I said, “You do remember that I’m leaving tomorrow. Right?”

“Yes I do. Now stop talking like you’re going to die or never going to see me again.” She paused, “We will meet… we will. Just a couple of days and I’ll be there too and then we’ll again hang-out together. We’ll have fun, so relax.” We stopped walking.

I nodded. “Hmmm…”

“Okay, here’s something for you.” She said excitedly as she landed a chocolate bar in my jacket’s pocket. “Now, where’s my farewell gift?” Watching me smile, she continued “Ah! See who am I talking to. I knew you’d forget.”

“Ahem ahem! I guess you haven’t yet understood me.” I tried to add some humor and it worked, she smiled. ‘Oh the moment I’ve been waiting for is here’ I thought; I pulled her right hand and slid a bracelet made with all-connected colorful hearts. I emptied my other pocket as I gave in her hands the two of my favorite poems which I wrote for her. “Keep it… keep it and miss me.” My eyes were nearly full and my heart was flooded. My brain stopped working and my mouth was throwing out shivery  words.

She could see the pain in my eyes, she could sense the shiver in my words. She wanted but couldn’t do anything for she had her own limits. She tried to take my name and console me but her words fell down before she could even collect them. Sound of less than half of my name reached my ears as a tear drop got my attention, travelling down her soft cheeks like a fresh dew drop on grass, rolling down and down. My hands reached to catch it but they missed. It felt like I’d lost a battle, a battle of love and life. It was a moment of silence. Silence which seemed to never end.

Anyhow I managed to look back into her eyes, they were cold. I took her hand and said, “Look at me…” She rose. “…Promise me that everything’s going to be alright. Promise me that everything will remain as it is. Promise me… for I promise you.” Finally the moment of silence broke.

“I can’t promise you that but I promise you we’ll be together no matter what happens ,no matter it is right or wrong.” She paused, touched the bracelet with love and continued, “And this… this I’ll keep with me forever. You can count on me.”

I smiled and not knowing what to say then I said, “Thanks, allow me to walk you home.” I still wonder where did that come from.

We’re walking again. And this time the air was clean, cold and pure. The best thing about winters is that it makes you feel the romance in the air. Winter season is the home of love.

We walked and walked… and we’re there. Her home. We stood in the lawn outside the building and looked at each other for we knew we’d meet again after a long time. I wanted to carry the innocence in her eyes, the craziness in her talks and her moments with me; I gazed into her as hard as I could and the only words I could read were ‘I’m sorry’. I don’t know why but I had this strange feeling that my world’s going to fall apart and break down into pieces. We both knew this but we’re helpless.

This time she spoke first, “You remember you once said you never got hugged with love?”

“Yep, I did.” I said with a blank face.

“Well, this can be the moment” emphasizing on ‘the’ she unfolded and spread her arms, giving me an invitation to fall into her world.

I didn’t know how to react because I had a little problem with understanding the emotions. I looked at the widespread world of relief, joy and love; took a step ahead, then two, stopped and said “Oh! I’ll wait for it ‘til we meet again. Save it for me. I’ll need it that day.”

The expression on her face was unexplainable. Neither me nor the Shakespeare could explain that.  She thanked me and we shook hand. I knew this was the last time I was seeing the love for me in her eyes. I knew it. I was scared.

She left for the home, I left for nothing. I walked alone on my way to home. Yes, I was there… counting the steps, the beats, the blacks and the blues. I could feel her, I could sense her, I could see her but I could do nothing for I knew one thing – she never said she loved me.

I wish I had hugged her that day. Who knows what our present could have been! And talking of the present… there are some things untold… Nothing went as she had promised, I never saw that bracelet again, I never heard of those poems ever, I never received a long distance call, I cried when alone, I cried in the dark, I broke down when I met her again, and she said I don’t have the balance of emotions.

I still can’t recollect myself from the places she left me. It hurts and it’s scary. I’m scared of falling in love again because love’s a trap! Having said that, I’m not saying that I’m against love… rather love’s beautiful, it’s the best thing ever could happen to anyone. Love doesn’t hurt you, the bait does.

NAZRO VA DIL KE DARMIYAAN…

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Nazron va dil ke darmiyaan
Tu hi toh hota hai yahaan..
Pak lavzo me uljhi
Khamosh ho jaye zubaan..
Tu hakeeqat
Tu hi manzil
Tu hi raasta
Eh mere dil..
Nazro va dil ke darmiyaan
Tu hi toh hota hai yahaan..
Pak lavzo me uljhi
Khamosh ho jaye zubaan..

Khudai kya maine
Khuda badal diya
Kadmo me tere
Sar ko jhuka ka..
Ab is jahaan me
rakha hi kya hai
Sab kuchh hi paa liya
Maine teri panah me..
Lavzo me hogi na bayaan
Ishq ki ye daasta..
Karte mohabbat tumse
Beshaq beintehaan..

Nazro va dil ke darmiyaan
Tu hi toh hota hai yahaan..

Burden of Words

I came into writing at the age of 11. It was a drug for me and I, an addict. As compared to most of the children of my age group I was pre occupied with the sense of literature and humour. It’s always fun writing about the things that excites you, the things you can relate to, the things that belongs to you, the things you love.

I wrote about love, life, me, myself, my girlfriends, my family, the society, surroundings, mother nature, the sun and the moon. I wrote short articles and stories, and now, they are all lost. Lost in the midst of the never-born past and the never-ending future, rashing cars and flying planes, chirping birds and dying trees. All lost. I don’t know where.

Present, always, is something that don’t want discuss about. I don’t have time to discuss about the past. And can’t say anything about the future. Everything is discussionless.

Nobody ever criticised me. Even if they did, I never took that as criticism. The critics can only encourage me to write something more better, and better. It was always a game; a never ending game. Since then I’m my own critic. People can become the reason behind my writings, they can be my writings but none can certainly affect my writings. It’s mine, and something that none can steal. The sense of positivity and optimism was and is always there.

May be this makes me different from others. I look different, I talk different, I think different and I act different. Some are jealous of me, some envy me, few love me and most hate me.
I enjoy all the flavours of life. If this what people call a burden then I can carry it for many more years, years and centuries.