Yeh ishq, haraamkhor! (Love, you bastard!)

Bahut ro liye hum ne aansoo
Poori na hui jo humaari aarzoo
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I Don’t Sleep Alone

I lay my tired body down,
head on my pillow,
pull up the sheets,
lids heavy…
when they appear before me,
a melee, making themselves heard.

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SHRINKING SPACES

Young turks, crass riff raff, a foot in the door and then gradually elbowing their way in. Desperate to control, a sign of the times.

The genteel, old fogies, value systems constrained, constricted and then crowded out, shown the door.

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