In phrases of phases..

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  • pa_luck 2d

    It's never a home away from home !!
    (Sometimes you don't feel well to write something well)


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    This new city was
    just a station on my map,
    closest to the unseen possibilities.
    Instead, it didn't turn the way, it could have.

    I'm allergic to its dust and fumes.
    I probably left immunity in my town.
    Levocetrezine is trying to take care
    and paracetamol is too lazy to expand from PCM.

    I keep sneezing and clearing
    the expectation droplets on strangers.
    I say sorry and cover my face.
    I should have put hands before hand.

    The air here is too polluted
    and streets too populated
    to accommodate my fears and desires.
    So I have packed my spectrum of emotions
    in a suitcase, lying in the corner of
    a small room on rent.

    My nose isn't ready
    to feel at home here,
    I dare not ask my heart,
    How are you?

    I think smoking can help.
    As pain kills pain,
    but remember they never say,
    pain cures pain.

  • pa_luck 4d

    Please, let me speak. I'm talking to walls.
    I'm sorry I couldn't make you cry !!


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    Instruction Manual

    * Close your eyes
    (Oh !! How will you read then? I know you'll manage.)
    Reading is your habit and I'm no more one of them. It's so refreshing to drink new glass of water, but water is water. Should I try poison, just for a change. Change is so much required, not comfort. Out of trends is also a trend, nowadays.
    I lay as dormant as a doormat(e).

    * Unbutton the collar button
    (The one missing since childhood)
    I want to spit in your laryngeal pit. I don't leave love behind anymore. All you'll crave is for salt. More or less, never when it was most appropriate.

    * Open the next two buttons
    (Of the shirt lying on your sofa)
    And so I never like the numbers. They remind me the nth position, I had in your life and that heart has only four chambers. Percentage behind numbers fear me more about the battery than report cards. Numbers can be infinite as possibilities but they also speak about probability. They are diplomats and not definitive. See through my minus two lens. Random numeration is such a stress. They cause flashbacks about contact numbers not in contact.

    * Fold your pants in proper crease
    (Out of many printed pajams, hanging behind the door)
    I don't put my letters in an envelope. I put them on display. Play with words, but don't fool around. Words are meant to mean. Well no more of them now. That doesn't indicate, spell my silence. Interpretations are only intentions.

    * Rub your erect (hair) to make them sit
    (Erection isn't that difficult, when it's mid way)
    Recall all the calls you missed. Door swings only one way.But, then it works in two direction. Entry and exit. Your weed doesn't need a window. Everything is taste and taste is tongue.

    * Hold your pen straight
    (Between fingertips which create deep bruises)
    Don't jerk off to spill. Hold back, absorb, breathe deep and confine. Feel the suffocation and how it leads to orgasm. Accumulate every drop of it. I'll savour in one sip. I'm there(always).

    * Open your eyes
    (You don't want to see me, don't worry. I have left, your left side. Don't check in the mirror.)
    I hate full stops. I never write my name on books. I don't leave marks and memories are always optional. Do photographs also lie. I doubt every stone to be alive.

    Life is beyond books. Am I right. Am I still on the right side...

  • pa_luck 1w

    Call me insane, is that enough ?
    I'm honest but I'm not brave !!


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    Burkha or Bikini

    I wipe away some milk
    From the tips of my erect tits
    To dip the nib and ink it white
    But it coagulates, as it sits
    Leaving an imprint, like a watermark
    Just visible enough as I adjust
    Behind the brassiere, my ballooned bust
    And pick up my drunk panties
    From the cleft of burdened butts.

    In partial dreams and partial tosses
    After burning my nude nights
    I wake up wishing for morning kisses
    Being drawn over my lips by bites
    But I beg to sleep at dusk
    Exhausted and surrendered
    As I rub fingers over swollen eyes
    Crumbling salt crystals in corners
    Leaving the traces of uncared advise.

    Sheltering my skin under clothes
    Is the first task, I do for the world
    And every other step taken for viability
    Is the test of testimony, written or heard
    The wrap of wrath, kills the smile
    I try to build, under the black pride
    And I safely hide behind the robe
    My origin, an empty castle for groomless bride.

    I evaporate the sweat and pant out lust
    As I rush back to bed, uncovered
    Walking out of veils, woven by dust
    To bathe in shower of words, whispered
    Which withstand only this night and again
    Revolve around the same path, left undiscovered.

  • pa_luck 1w

    It took time and is taking a bit more. These are some fragments dropped behind. Collect them.

    Don't ask for the next one, I won't be able to justify.


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    Packers and Movers
    Box 2: Fancy but Fragile (Feelings)

    # A slap of robbery that hits me, when one of my words match with anything I read, even on road. I drop that idea instantly and so, so many incomplete tales I leave unwritten, in a doubt of being labelled as rewritten.

    # My stranger face people wish to touch, but walk away once I unmask the cloak. Too much comfort, is the most uncomfortable zone. You undress and shoes walk over your dress.

    # All clichés which never work, but nothing else works too. Though anything works anyway, if it's taken impartially (by man or by man-made God or by God itself).

    # The fear of everything, right from a spider to the Spiderman. I regret not fearing nothing. You lose it when you don't have fear of losing it.

    # The hunger of knowing the rusted hearts and undusted desires. I can put on pounds, if nourished with uncensored souls.

    # The hesitation I always had, I took a break from, was wonderful for the while. But I need it back to paste on my unplastered walls.

    # My patience with myself, watching me turn into a patient. I have seen myself being dissected, un anaesthetised. I was once a human, a whole package of beauty with brains. Now, sold as a rotten mind, shapeless shoulder, hypertrophied heart, asexual sensuality and an ordinary ovum.

    # The blank space between me and the other me, better or bitter. Since I can't call it "You". I can't call you.

    # See, I have stopped using the word "love". Actually it all starts over a coffee, but nobody tells you, it can end with a wiskey. But, keep it safe, it may return, simply as a Hello !!

    # The weight of wait, heavier than hopes, would be worth, if not goes in vain. But these are all words and words are all waste.

  • pa_luck 2w

    Sirf roshani ke waste, kyu jalye etne diye
    Jab ek chingari hi kafi thi, aag lagane k liye !!

    Eid Mubarak !!


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    Har dharam ki dua me, us fakeer ki jholi
    Naa kabhi bhari, naa rahi khaali

    Us kaafir ki kya Eid aur kya diwali
    Jiski shaam aur syahi, dono hi kaali !!

  • pa_luck 2w

    Kindly put the following in a chest (it's too heavy on mine)
    If you manage to do this well, I'll hand you the next list.


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    Packers and Movers
    Box 1: Handle with care

    # The half wrapped chocolate besides my bedside, left untouched since I last touch myself actually.

    # An extra pair of my glasses, I only change to click pictures, meant to be read and not only seen.

    # All the earphones decorating the vacant side of my double bed, solving their tangles is my job.

    # All my pens which are empty, as I am. They once created magic between fingers and now run dry and deserted. But I don't use and throw even things.

    # A diary in the era of drafts, that holds only my dark desires, when I hold back nothing. It also hides the unwritten details of little things that count to make difference.

    # The cup which kisses my lips every evening with bitter but balanced taste, simmered on low flames of endlessness of time and efforts to make it mine.

    # The best bitten brownie, I couldn't finish alone. It was overloaded with complaints, comparisons and conclusions.

    # The centre of swing which shared my critical mood swings along with to and fro hopes of being heard.

    # The list of deleted words, I fear to use as I failed to realize, that realisation is the strongest feeling which avoids repetition.

    # Lastly, a new sapling growing in my thirsty throat, which got watered by first monsoon, to look at the world as it is.

  • pa_luck 2w


    And before it was born
    No one was there to see
    Two naked stones
    Rubbed against each other
    To ignite a fire never known.

    Like an experiment with the
    Available objects or organs
    Bare and bottomless
    Hiding behind the transparency
    Since it was all unknown.

    I'll call it the real stone age
    As it was same, skin to soul
    A vaccum that couldn't be called void
    A hollow not filled yet wasn't empty
    A touch which made the mind pregnant
    And delivered a heart out of stone.

    Was it easy then or is it now
    To know nothing or know it's nothing
    The naive beginning or the saturated end
    When it's all similar for the zero
    But so different for you to understand.

    That was it an idea
    The ideal way to proceed
    A discovery which sparked out of idleness
    An invention which sounds poetic in the idylls.

  • pa_luck 3w

    Ramzaan special !!


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    Teri aawaz ki azaan me lipta
    Wo ek kalma dohrana chahti hoon
    Jo meri zubaani, teri kahaani ho
    Par bezubaan, meri ek nishaani ho !!

  • pa_luck 3w

    Some drafts are heavier than smoke !!

    Clearing some dusty desires in coughs


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    Cigarettes and You

    * Sounds as the best couple ever. Most satisfying for you, although I know how badly you hate this word, when it's with me. I'm in for a threesome.

    * Who knows her better than you and I know how she fits perfectly between your lip curves. You were born to be her's. I envy her, she's your soulmate and don't deny that you won't give up your soul for her.

    * She sticks to your lips, tongue, palate. Yes the route I wish to travel.

    * She lives in your lungs bending over your little heart. What a vacant space to dwell in, since heart's always overloaded with applications and rejections.

    * She is shorter in height than your middle finger. You know how I love to have that inside me but she keeps you busy. I remember you like taller girls, try me.

    * Your lower lip is most juicy when she has just kicked your paddle and I snatch a breath between smoke and smooches.You have flown in my juices, when you waste your smoke in our lip sealed enveloped mouths.

    * She is the only constant and closest lady to you, yet I recall her probably more than you. Your duo is asphyxiatic yet orgasmic. I'll shift down to be your second lady.

    * The high you get in every successive drag is less than the one I climb on while kissing you in continuous spells. That's chain smoking for me.

    * My crave is like the never ending stocks of her in your pants. I like you with her but I love you without them.

    * Didn't ever the tobacco inside her, remind you about my shades of brown. Next time, fuck me as long as you suck her.

  • pa_luck 3w

    Folie à deux, or shared psychosis, is a psychiatric syndrome in which symptoms of a delusional belief and sometimes hallucinations are transmitted from one individual to another.

    This is my take on the psychiatric to a philosophical talk !!


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    Folie a` deux

    It's rarest of the realities
    To find someone who works
    The same on seamless possibilities
    And clicks on laughter of claps
    When the sins slips
    In the glasses of vices
    And celebrates the delusions
    Through the shared glasses.

    As it's always a pair that walks
    With or against each other
    The dumbness of drama
    On the brink of emptiness
    The sanity behind intended insanity
    The duo of darkness and devils
    Percussion from perceptions
    Of indifferences for differences
    When clarity veils the confusions
    In answers of unasked questions.

    I often wonder about such couples
    Who talk about souls but never soulmates
    For this life is a rhyme of couplets
    Who see association in opposites
    And admiration is just a state of mind
    Where you and yourself are the real shared madness
    In front of the mirror, to stay one of your kind.