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  • shivangi_khajuria 69w

    खुद को बदनाम कर लिया हमने भरी महफिल में,
    सब की नजरों में तुझे खुदा कर चले

  • shivangi_khajuria 72w

    तुम दूर रहकर भी एहसास करवाना
    अपने पास होने का मुझे,
    कि खुद की साँसों से बेगाने होकर
    तुम्हारी खुशबू से जिंदा होना बेहतर लगे मुझे.

    मैं बिखर जाऊँ रेत सी,
    इस कदर तुम देखना मुझे,
    फिर छूकर प्यार से,
    वापिस तुम समेटना मुझे.

    में शीशे सी टूट जाऊँ,
    दूर जाने की बात कहो तुम जब भी मुझे
    फिर कुछ पल औऱ साथ रहने की खबर से,
    वापिस जी लेने का एहसास हो जाए मुझे.

    ठंडे रहेंगे मेरे पाँव,
    चलना मंजूर होगा उस गीली रेत पर मुझे,
    बस नजर झुकाकर,
    एक ग़ज़ल सुना देना अपनी महबूब के नाम तुम मुझे.

    में बन जाऊँ उस शहर का वो आसान सा रास्ता,
    हर उस शहर जहां जाना होगा तुझे,
    मेरा हर बार बारिश में भीगना,
    बादलों की गरज़ में,
    हर बरसती बूँद के साथ,
    तुम्हारा प्यार से छू लेने का नया सा एहसास होगा मुझे.

  • shivangi_khajuria 74w

    Reading my random notes,
    It's been 4 am in the morning.
    I just heard a bird chirping near my window.
    A little It is thundering outside,
    A more inside me.

    Empty cold roads, with just the noise of a heavy four wheeler passing by in a sudden rush who wants nothing that can stop him.
    Which is exactly the opposite of his fast passing scooty, from which the eyes always searches for a reason to slow by.
    In the silent slow city, only his heartbeat could add a chaos after seeing her standing nearby.

    Just while thinking, i opened my eyes and saw through the window
    Lighting and the moan of the cloud,
    The drop falls, one after another.
    The black sky slowly fading and turning into blues
    The birds stops chirping, or maybe they were no more loud enough.
    The playlist on shuffle suddenly sings for me,
    (With some soft piano notes)
    For a while i couldn't stop my heart from smiling
    My silent lips followed the lyrics,

    It's love,
    Yes all we're looking for is love from someone else,
    A rush,
    A glance,
    A touch,
    A dance.
    I smiled there and continued,
    To look in somebody's eyes,
    To light up the skies,
    To open the world and send them reeling,
    A voice that says, i'll be here and you'll be alright.
    I don't know if i know,
    Just where i will go,
    "Cause all that i need is this crazy feeling"
    A rat-tat-tat on my heart,
    Think i want it to say,
    City of stars...
    Are you shining just for me...

    In the end i only knew,
    I always loved sunrises more then sunsets,
    He was singing with me along in this.

    My eyes suddenly fell asleep,
    And the song repeated itself.

    Read More

    City of stars

    (Read the caption)

  • shivangi_khajuria 74w

    सुनसान रहती हैं मेरे शहर की सड़कें,
    इन्हें तेरे शोर से आबाद होने का इंतजार रहेगा.

  • shivangi_khajuria 75w

    बातें जहान भर की होती हैं उसके पास,
    हमेशा अगली बार लिए कोई ना कोई छूट जाती है

  • shivangi_khajuria 75w

    This is incomplete.

    Read More

    What else is poetry.

    All the raw wood and paper an epicure soul smells,
    All the vivid silk dresses on a beloved, which dwells,
    Glitters and material that our eyes captures,
    Maybe a nest with some small lives under shells, that a mother nurtures.
    Every little sound,
    To the friction in matchstick and the surface,
    When lights the campfire,
    And the friction in a gentle touch on a smooth skin
    When lights the body to get hired.
    It recites a poem,
    It is also poetry.

    The movement of hands while drawing a painting,
    The turning of eyes of a lover being aroused while touching,
    The marks of feet on dry sand,
    Fingertips, when they moves with the walls, while the feet walks on land.
    It is a poem,
    It is poetry.

    His hands undressing her fine sticked fabric
    Her hands pushing him away,
    When her heart and curves still craves for his gentle touch a little more.
    The eyes that shine, while the hands that are held.
    It tells a poem,
    It's an another form of poetry.


  • shivangi_khajuria 76w

    अंदाज़-ए-बयां रंग बदल लेता है
    वर्ना दुनिया में कोई बात नई बात नहीं

  • shivangi_khajuria 77w

    At times when i sit blank and empty, i always search for different techniques and styles to communicate my ideas.
    In rare instance, via music or less complex words.
    Every person who writes something is either a confession or a try to understand about himself or things around him.

    Experiences differ, ideas differ, words differ, rhymes differ all these things a variety in the paragraphs or poems we see.
    Sometimes it's too romantic or truthful or perfectly putted in words that every single word leaves a sensational touch inside us and sometimes the words brings lies and false hopes and drags us emotionally back and makes a person feel mentally uncomfortable and dead from within.

    A writer carries an audacity to convince a person to pull him near to death and sometimes helps in filling a life even in the burnt ashes.

    But imagine,
    Imagine a person, who is about to end his life falls out of words, his suicide note writes "i don't know what to write" or a sick man feels blank while dying and couldn't give his last message to his son and wife.
    Imagine a person who just finished writing a novel gets empty while giving it a "title".

    Imagine all the poets and writers have absolutely nothing to write even after they saw a beautiful evening sun, or his beloved in a red silk dress, he don't have words to write a love song for her lover. Tea and coffee, sunrise and sunsets,
    Water and sand, sky and land, flowers and plants or being blind when they see people near bus stand.
    Imagine us not reading someone's eyes, imagine us not looking for a way of life.
    Watching the writer inside you dying slowly,
    A slow death of paralysed minds and hands.
    The world will end before it's end.

    So, find beauty in things, this is what everyone's work should be.
    See someone's dance or paint.
    Or listen to a person's voice in rain.
    See your lover's folds and edges.
    See an animal and their sledges.
    Listen to the rain drops falling on a stell,
    Or a fold of a thread, or smoke rising from an ash tray.
    See the mere folding of a fabric, see the mating of clouds and thier showering.
    See the lights, see the rays, listen to the humming of a steel or shdes of Grey's.

    Feel yourself lucky that your hands can still strike a canvas and will never left the canvas blank.
    Even after there's a painting that even you won't understand.
    The world's cold and you are warm.
    Draw/write and love the warmth that your pages and your hands together creates.
    Don't mind critics, don't forget art in little things,
    don't forget all your gloomier moments, don't let the things die,give them a life through your pens and drawings.

    Write about anything,
    Maybe not in an intellectual/professional way but in a loved way.
    And never make the writer inside you feel,
    That you fell out of words while writing.

    Because a writer is never,
    Never ever out of words.

    Read More

    When a writer falls out of words.

    (Read the caption)

  • shivangi_khajuria 79w

    In a rush, in the crowd, in the traffic full of lights
    In chaos, in silence, in all these empty nights,
    I have him in my closed eyes.

    Making me fall in love with the stars and sky,
    Depths and heights.
    Discovering Movies, cinema, romance and drama,
    while wandering between the city lights.

    He's as pure as dry woods,
    His voice strikes like soothing humming of the steel.
    His touch falls like the drop of water on dry sand.
    His smell calms me like of a newly opened novel.
    And I still don't know if these comparisons can draw him justice.

    The thrill in feeling his love makes me explore the best words and lyrics from the whole world,
    To adorn him in a beautiful love song.
    Discovering and visiting all the beautiful places,
    To embroid an adventure with him along.

    My crayons will paint him in the most beautiful portrait one day,
    Appealing a steady gaze of him, of what he looks like if he sees himself through my eyes and heart.
    For me, every beautiful thing in this world is a part of this art.
    Art of purity,
    Art in him.

    Starts would still have a count,
    But the sonnets and love lullabies won't stop its count even after all the dead bodies collides.

    On the day when world will be on the edge of destruction,
    All the sonnets and love songs will not be the part of that apocalypse,
    Not letting the lovers of the beautiful world die.
    Likewise, you'll live in my words forever.
    And that's how, we'll never have to say goodbye.

    Because of him,
    I felt, i could write,
    What was "love".

    Being with him, had started to make me feel things.
    With him every end was a new beginning.
    I never had guts to tell him what he was to me,
    All i can tell is,

    Read More

    He's an art.

    (Read the caption)

  • shivangi_khajuria 80w

    A life that peeks through my eyes.

    In a void dilemma,don't wanna be at,
    Figuring out bodies, which stands near her head.
    18 and confused,
    Lost, destroyed and used.
    Keeps her hand open in the air
    To grab again what she lose.

    Wanna be drunk and get so high,
    To dim the light that dries her eyes.
    Wakes up with the dreams still on,
    Wears her favourite shade of lipstick and smiles in the mirror to her only "another one."
    Travels in the buses, with tangled earphones everywhere,
    She adorns with the fingers,the beautiful mess of her hair.

    Clicking and deleting the image,
    Scribbling and tearing the page.
    Figuring out, what she's tryna next,
    To unpack her undiscovered self.

    She cheered to the unstoppable journey,smile or maybe herself.
    That makes her face glow
    From which the moon used to be jealous of.

    She woke up, looked herself on a glass window,
    Stares at her own face and smiles at her own shadow.

    She saw,
    Under her specs,
    From her eyes,
    There peeks a "little her",
    to live a LIFE.