The year of Brutus

As the year dies, I decided to have an evening that would put some make up on the wound that the year has left.

I sat in the balcony with my camera and a book. I finished a bottle of wine. I imagined my utopian worlds again. I reminisced your touch again. I heard my favorite voices again - of Regan, of AB Vajpayee, of Kishore Kumar, of birds, of yours, of mine.

It was a good ending to a terrible year, albeit a week too early. As I lay in my bed, half drunk, half asleep, half hurting (for, you know by now, I'm more than one man)... the only thing still hurting is that knife. Can you please take it off my back now?!!

हाय ये तक न कहा मैंने कि "ब्रूटस, तुम भी?!!"

मेरे दिल में ये रहा दोस्ती बदनाम न हो।

बैठ कर देर तलक सुनता रहा ख़ामोशी,

इस इरादे से कि इसमें तेरा पैग़ाम न हो।।