Kaash Ki Mai Likh Pata

Kaash ki mai likh paata

Yeh uljhan, udaasi, zindagi
Aakhir ha kya yeh sab?
Kyun, kuch bhi samjh nahi aata?
Kaash ki mai likh pata

Yeh dooston ke aaye din
naye chehre; naye jhagde
Yah duniya ke badalte rang
Kaash ki mai likh paata

Aasmanon ki tarah dil bhi dikhayi kyun nahi dete
Ki baadal hain, andhera hai,
chaand hai?
Kaash ki mai likh paata

Aur us doobte suraj ki manind
Yeh dil agle din, phir ubhar kyun nahi aata
Kaash ki mai likh paata
Kaash ki mai likh paata…

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Masks and Us!

We constantly think about our images. What people think about us. What they perceive us as. And we often yearn to be in their good books. Likable.

For attaining this we often mould ourselves. Change to fit the other person’s description of good. Become someone they want to see.

This leads us to paint brushes. We carry them along. Everywhere. All the time. Different kinds and shapes. And we use them as per the person we meet. Happy, sad, agreeable, domicile. All kinds. We become everything.

But we never ask ourselves why. Why do we want to be liked. What would happen if they don’t? Are we so afraid to stand alone that we choose fake? Or are we afraid to be real? Do we fear facing the real us? Do we know the real us?

When was the last time you did what you wanted to do irrespective of what people would percieve it as? What was the last time you saw yourself?

If the answer is a long time back, or never, ask yourself. Why?