वो मिले तो सही

दिल की पतंग जब भी उड़ाने हम चले,
इन हवाओ ने रुख पलट लिये।

ये कश्ती कभी हमारी भी पार हो जाये,
गर लहरें साथ दे जाये।

उनकी यादों मे गमगीन हो जाये अभी,
अगर वो हमे मिल जाये कभी।

आते भी नहीं वो हमारे सपनो मे,
आये तो नींद भी उड़ जाये हमारी आँखों से।

बाग़ मे बागबानी की चाह है हमारी,
पर गुलाबो ने हमसे कोई दुश्मनी है पाली।

तितलियों से केह दिल का पेगांम पहुचा दे,
बस वो है कहाँ ये कोई बता दे।

नाम भी उनका हम लिख देंगे किताबो पर,
चाँद की सेर भी करा देंगे बैठ सितारो पर।

उनसे गुफ्तगू करने को बस दो पल की मोहलत मिल जाये,
और वो ज़िंदगी भर हमारे साथ रुक जाये।

My Grandfather

I once had a grandfather like many of us do,
But in his old age, he went a little cuckoo.
He was a lovely guy, who loved all things great,
He was a man of calms, riches, composures, and fate.

He was a comic by passion and a romantic by heart,
Thus to make extravagant claims, that was his art.
His parables were always too ornate,
Believe me, there is no scope of any debate.

How it all started no one knows,
How can one fathom his love for purple prose?
He once compared happiness with a sunken pirate ship,
And at another time also to a young unicorn’s yip.

But you will have to admire him for the craft;
To be in love with something so daft.
Now, I will surely quote his words in a while,
But when I do, please don’t be hostile.

“Son, love might be an emotion, but true love is not,
For it’s a journey, from ashes to glory, and what not”

I puked then and there,
While gasping for air.
“Son, True love is the elixir that can change heart’s barren land,
Into a mystical garden, roamed by unicorns, nymphs and their band”

I rolled my eyes,
But no one was there to hear my cries.

His favourite phrase was as old as time,
And I wrote this line, just to make it rhyme.
But maybe in his choice, he was quite right,
For the phrase is, “It was a dark and stormy night”

He would say many things, even while tying up his dhoti,
I once, for goodness sake, even saw him reading Don Quixote.
He was taking inspiration from the man of La Mancha,
And I scurried away, wishing him not to make me his Sancho Panza.

And as I left him there, I would also leave you now,
There is no need to look at me with that raised eyebrow.
And I do hope you won’t mind all the adjectives and insane verbs
Because it’s time for my grandfather to recite his purple prosy words…

Put Down Your Phone

An average adult spends almost a third of his waking life looking down at his phone.
Weird isn’t it?

You wake up and its the first thing you see.
You go to bed and it’s also the last thing you see.
You rely on your phone for every information,
Who’s doing what or who’s on vacation!

You stare at your screens and remain silent among friends.
You choose to be online instead of an evening well spent.
You keep scrolling and reloading even when there’s nothing new,
You would much rather write an angry post than to get to know the real you.

I feel strange to be a part of this generation Next,
When people can easily turn into a text,
And a face to face interaction is just a video call.

Who needs laughter when you can just say “LOL”.

We live in this age of media overstimulation
Where more likes is a cause for celebration,
We crave adulation, by using abbreviation
and emoji instead of having a real conversation.
Yet we don’t question our state of sedition
by this technology owned by some rich corporation
which sells us our own social isolation
in the name of another flagship creation.

Our phones may be smart but we are not,
It takes up all our time, when we can have a real thought.

But wait…

Most people can’t do that.

Because some studies show this result,
That even a goldfish can hold a thought longer than an average adult.

There should not be a need for me to come out and say it,
But I think we are all addicted.
Our generation has an anxiety disorder in the form of a phobia;
The fear of not being able to use your phone is termed Nomophobia.

They say the sign of good health can be measured by the glow of your skin,
They didn’t mean the glow from your screen but from your within.

So do this once, or do this once in a while,
Just be nice and put down your device.
Talk to people, go out more, be adventurous, or be a recluse,
Just don’t be a slave to your phone, and put your life to good use.

Don’t try to capture every moment, just live them.
Don’t try to post your meals, just eat them.
Instead of taking the perfect photo every time you smile,
Try to savour that feeling for a while.

Nothing bad would happen if you don’t have your phone,
There are many people around you, you won’t feel alone.

Don’t make it the first thing you see when you wake up,
When you can talk to your loved ones, or play with your pup.
Don’t make it the last thing you see before you go to bed,
When you can just relax, or develop a new thought in your head.
So stop looking down at your phone, and shut down that display.
Don’t be an average adult. go out in the sun and enjoy the day.

Sips and Drags

As she sipped her morning whisky, she heard his son crying. She often heard that. She looked out the kitchen window and felt the sun. She was a romantic woman, and like a romantic she took another sip. She never liked the taste of whisky in her mouth, but that was the taste of unrequited love – Whisky and the smoke of an unfiltered cigarette. She took out a loose one from the kitchen drawer and lit it. The gate swayed and creaked, and she once again heard his son’s cry.

She thought, between her sips and drags, of the day before when he came home late at night, laid down by her side and said, “Good night”, and then there was silence; as if the words were drowning all other sounds. She didn’t sleep that night. He kissed her good morning, but he never used to.

“Is everything all right?” she goes.

He kissed her again and the romantic in her died a little. He didn’t say anything; he just upped and left. He returned again late at night and found her waiting. The child, not more than a month old, was crying.

“Remember that fair?” he goes.

She nodded.

He goes again, “I still believe in what I said.”

She turned and remembered.

“Do I get a chance?”

She was talking to herself like this. Does he get a chance? We are now into something big. It is going to affect our lives. I don’t want to, but how could he. Pointing to the child she goes, “What about it?”

“Can’t we just forget?” He goes.

She goes, “Do I get to think?”

And without a word he went away with the child. That night she didn’t sleep, the child was crying. He didn’t too, the child was crying. And just with a cry, not of the child’s, but of the sum of thousand echoes she heard in the void of her inner self; feeling rejected by the man who had promised her his love – the man who had promised never to sleep by her side silently.

He never returned. He still loved her, but his love for the child was unrequited, with a certain looming uncertainty, which thrilled him. At first he used to talk to himself like this. We are into something big now; our lives won’t be the same after this. Then, later, he told her all.

What will the woman do without her man, and the man without his child!

She lit another cigarette and let the smoke hover around her, as if trying to submerge the infinite void, bridging what she felt, that was far too incomprehensible to be put into any worldly language, and her desire to shout. She started crying. The smoke reminded her of the day when she was a little girl and her pet dog died. She begged her father to bring about Spot, but he never did. She thought of that and cried even more

Blue Paper Films

Stop motion animation logo for my film production house.

Shot with 5 MP mobile camera with steady (more or less) hands, i.e. without a tripod. Edited using DragonFrame and Windows Movie Maker. Audio – Jenny’s Theme

The Unmindful

It may be raining
But neither the rainbow
Nor the halo
Of the seven horses of sun
Shall be retaining
The oblivious none.

Like a Petal

Like a petal of the morning flower
In the first light of spring
Your bloom perfumes the bower;
Flame and lust with it you bring.

My heart aches by the gale
Of your passion and devotion.
O! With old and tattered sail
I ride the sea of strange emotion.

Nightingales sing at your smile,
A sigh upon your touch turns gay.
How elated by you I have been all this while,
My words could never say.

Like a petal of the morning flower
In the first light of spring
you render me by your power
all at once, nothing and everything.

My New Year Invitation


As per the obligation that comes with being the “Host”, I invite you all to the most not so happening New Year Party of the year.

And to make things worse, there is a dress code.


Once in a year we celebrate

With all our friends and nauseate,

Drinking whisky, gin and rum

And dancing to the sound of drums.

But you are a fool in thinking that,

It’s not going to be a party that great.

Neither it is in Gatsby’s style,

Nor it is in Gangnam style,

Rather it will be pale and dumb

And I hope you guys won’t ever come.

So let’s get disappointed together,

Unless you’ve got a better offer.

Welcome to the worst party of the year

At a place where trains are near.

(In case you decide to jump in front, totally not kidding)

You have to bring your own booze,

And in the house, you can wear your shoes.

(Again, totally, definitely, and most positively not kidding)

But as the last New Year comes to an end

Thus, the death of it we must attend.

(You pathetic, pathetic people. How could you!!!!)


P.S. – On a very severely serious note –  if your life sucked last year, it’s still probably going to suck tomorrow.




Yours truly

Harshit Saxena

प्रियसी, मेरे पास नहीं तुम

दो-पल का यह निर्मम जीवन,
उसमे क्षणभर तमका यौवन,
आवरण विमुख नभ का, आलिंगन बद्ध थे तब हम-तुम!
प्रियसी, मेरे पास नहीं तुम।
जग को कर मे दी थी हासी,
तुम ले आई रसिकता दासी,
उन्माद तरंग उर मे मेरे, उसका प्रेम सागर थी तुम।
प्रियसी, मेरे पास नहीं तुम।
मधूप भी अब बाग से रूठा,
करुण-कंठ-अश्रु का नाता टूटा,
स्वप्नलोक की परछाई मे बिखरा सुभग ख्वाब हो तुम,
प्रियसी, मेरे पास नहीं तुम।


Don’t ask where,
But somewhere,
In a place unknown,
On a stern stone,
Someone wrote for you,
Yes, dreams do come true.

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