le chal wahan
jo mulk tera hai...
jahil zamana
dushman mera hai
akele kahada
veeraan savera
mujhse begairat
vatan mera hai
le chal wahaan
jo mulk tera hai
nazren bole,
duniya tole
dil ki zabaan,
aur hai mera jahaan,
ye bikhre se mausam,
mit ti see yaaden
aur geela samaan,
nange pairon pe,
akelee raahon mein,
haalaat se bedum,
yeh zindgi hai marti,
bahoon mein jalte,
khwaabon ke sholey,
kaali syaahi mein,
liptee si vaajah hai,
khilafate gawaahi mein,
mere apne khade,
kuch dil se toote,
sapne jo na judae,
ye mera vatan,
ye mera jahaan
aur tadapta hoon phir bhi,
ki mujhse rootha falak hai,
le chal whaan,
jo mulk tera hai.

well. i wouldn't drink ever, like all those things i never said, i mean it. Just tell me one thing before i do it though. would i still be able to think, write or say things like these? if i weren't sane, would i still be me? without playing to be me, would i still send this message? would i still talk about things that i think about? would i still think about things i do and things i should or shouldn't do? would i still think about the things i talk about? would i still be the same? tell me that life would still be the same. that i'd still have these random feelings - of being alive, of falling dead, of insanity and the impression of ingenuity, the memories of past (and vivid too), the love for present, the hatred time has bred, inside, outside and within myself. would it always be like that? i wonder why? why do we have to drink and behave? why am i supposed to be the good boy while the world plays bully with me, him and you? when talk is sweet and it's meaning dirt cheap. why should one maintain the impression? smile through their depression when they feel like crying, when people laugh at you when your dreams are dying. when you are alone in the crowd, when loneliness is all you get and privacy is all you care about. tell me this, tell me that i'm not right, tell me that all that goes through my mind is just crap, u don't have to make me believe, i'd do so gladly, i'd change a ton for just an ounce of truth, i'll be the one they say i should be, but for one moment of truce.

Too many Questions and no answers.
too many songs and no one to dance,
too many friends and still Loneliness,
too much of it feel and still,
too much is left
too many thoughts and no time to mull over,
by time you become you,
your life is over.

Over and out.
time to raise one more doubt,
time to die for the thing u live for,
time to cry with pain
and call out their names,
life conspires to bring the end,
and i thus need,
all wishes you could send,
a bottle of whiskey,
or a bottle of rum,
all i need are my thoughts,
ripe as plum,
ready to be plucked,
sold over the counter,
and some bad luck............

I'm your stereotype drunkard,
who says things,
that are not meant to be said,
and if i've already said them,
well! there's still a lot left unsaid.
Pardon my crime,
for the sake of rhyme,
and if there's none,
forgive me still,
cause i'm drunk on wine,


life doesn't go on, it just keeps pushing forward.
we invented it all to avoid calling ourselves failure ...........

something has to end, before another could begin.

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