Tere mere sirr-e-ulfat

Toh kuch aisa hai,

ki maloom nahi tujhse roothna kaisa hai..

Tere lafzon ki ruhaaniyat zehn mien rehti hai,

tujhse naraaz hona manzoor nahi mujhse aqsar ye kehti hai..

Mera sukoon kab teri inaayat ban gaya,

kuch dabi dabi saansien aur mai tere ishq mien qaid reh gaya..

Kaafi dur ho gaye hum, sab kuch thoda dhundla gaya,

intezaar nahi kia maine par teri awaaz ke lie khud mien hi mayassar reh gaya..

Meelon paar aur kuch arso pare,

musalsal tera gun gunana mujhe iss duniya se aghwaa kare..

Mai hasste hasste teri justujoo mien doobta jau,

koshish meri puri thi ki mai ye dill sambhaal lu par teri qurbat mien mai kuch bhi na soch pau..

Lekin maanga toh maine usse yahin tha ki ho jau mai tujh hi mien muqammal,

akele aaya tha tujhe vapas bulane bina shiqwe, bina kisi halchal..

Dheere se tujhe bataye apne saare sirr-e-ulfat,

tab jaake samajh aaya tu hamesha se hi toh mere saath tha, bina uzr aur bina kisi mazrat..

Until next time,

Love, always

Comments

Miles of space to play with

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There are two kinds of people in the world: the ones you meet, exchange pleasantries with, and promptly forget the moment they leave the room—and then there are the ones who, for no logical reason at all, get stuck in your head like a poorly-written pop song . The kind that shouldn’t linger but does, that worms its way into your subconscious, popping up at odd moments—when you’re tying your shoelaces, when you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, when you’re halfway through a meeting pretending to care about synergy but are actually wondering what someone drinks on a Saturday night. People never really choose which category someone falls into, and if Miles had been given the choice, he probably would’ve filed Her under forgettable and called it a day. Except he wasn’t given the choice. It wasn’t love at first sight, (blows raspberries) or even admiration. Nothing theatrical, no fireworks, no grand epiphany. Just five seconds. A glance across a jazz bar, a half-empty drink, a laugh h...

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