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Karan Jetwani
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When did we change , From throwing paper planes , And driving pillow trains , To this . And when did we grow , From angels in the snow , Lots of things we didn’t know , To this . Can you put your finger on the day , When we never again did play […]
When did we became this.
When did we became this.
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Perhaps we are not afraid of death  We are just afraid of memories,  That will slowly fade away from hearts We once conquered for centuries. May be we are not afraid of our nonexistence  We are just afraid about our name, And whose gonna remember us  When…
A writer is immortal.
A writer is immortal.
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मंदिर मैं दाना चुग कर चिड़िया मस्जिद में पानी पीती है , मैंने सुना है राधा की चुनरी  कोई सलमा बेगम सीती है, एक रफ़ी था महफ़िल महफ़िल  रघुपति राघव गाता था , एक प्रेमचंद बच्चों को  ‘ईदगाह’ सुनाता था  डॉ शरीफ़ हर शाम मंदिर के बहार  मुफ़्त मैं खाना देते हैं ,…
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अफ़वा सी थी की मेरी तबियत ख़राब है  लोगों ने पूछ पूछ के बीमार कर दिया , दोष तो तुम्हारी मुस्कुराहट का था  हमने तो सिर्फ़ बेहद प्यार कर दिया , बोला था सच तो ज़हर पिलाया गया मुझे  अच्छाइयों ने मुझे गुनहगार कर दिया , इंसानियत ने जब आख़िरी ख़्वाहिश पूछी तो…
कफ़न सा मेरा प्यार ।
कफ़न सा मेरा प्यार ।
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इश्क़ है तो इश्क़ का इजहार होना चाहिये, आपको चेहरे से भी बीमार होना चाहिए । ऐरे ग़ैरे लोग भी पढ़ने लगे हैं इन दिनो, आपको इंसान नहीं अख़बार होना चाहिये। ज़िंदगी कब तलक डर डर फिरायेगी हमें , टूटा फूटा ही सही घर बार होना चाहिये। जब माँ का प्यार काले टीके में…
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There are some nights when I m dead early, There are some mornings when I m still alive. No master if it’s 11 in the night, Or early morning’s five. I can break this pain Any day any night  I m on the high hill. All I need is a will to dive.
Will to dive.
Will to dive.
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                     A bird who hurt her wing,                       Now forgotten how to fly                         A song she used to sing,             … Continue reading Love cage.
Love cage.
Love cage.
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Day after day, I walk the same street,  Waiting for a moment,  When somebody’s feet,  Stop traversing the sidewalk,  And simply stand,  Beside my lone figure,  And reach for my hand,  A gesture so simple,  Yet so hard to do,  To stick too the promise, …
Just me.
Just me.
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Day after day, I walk the same street,  Waiting for a moment,  When somebody’s feet,  Stop traversing the sidewalk,  And simply stand,  Beside my lone figure,  And reach for my hand,  A gesture so simple,  Yet so hard to do,  To stick too the promise, …
Just me.
Just me.
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Her story's written on her skin An artwork of her pain, She tells herself the art's complete But keeps adding lines again.
The incomplete story.
The incomplete story.
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