#Breakup

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यूँ दो चार घंटे के लिए नहीं

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My poetry is not for foreplay. It's for after sex.

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My poetry is not for foreplay. It's for after sex. When you'll light the Marlboro and move to your side of the bed, my poems will be the breath of fresh air in a room filled with smoke. But do not underestimate me. My poems won't be sweet, gentle or mellow. They will be brazen, brutal and bold. I will present them on a sharply-edged knife. The blood on the knife will be hot. Fresh from the wounds I don't allow to heal. You will take a drag from Marlboro - but served with my sinful words - you will feel as if you've snorted cocaine. You will not get high, though. You will see the world in a different light. Murky lanes leading to posh hotels, board rooms and high-rise apartment buildings. In one of those aesthetically decorated rooms, you will see a man f*****g someone's life just for a little pleasure. You will see him getting hard on someone's misery. A woman pleasuring herself while watching a wrecked home that she takes all credit for. To watch
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If you told me at 22, I would be single and happy, I'd have shunned the thought right away. Happiness was always dependent on external factors - money, fame or lover. It was never something that stemmed from within. Betrayal, failure and being penniless has taught me -- of all the things in the world -- happiness is something that comes from within. It comes from who you are as a person. You have to be calm, confident and secure with who you are, what you have and most importantly, with what you can't have. I'm single, starting a career from the very bottom and discovering myself. The journey is not a fairy tale. It is a fucking Hollywood movie that gets nominated for an Oscar. It may not win one. But who the fuck cares! On weekends, after taking a long luxurious bath, I light bergamot candles and keep freshly-cut flowers on the desk where I slog 45 hours a week, my bedroom doesn't reek of loneliness, it looks sexy as fuck. I watch a travel video of Matera and dream of
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