Contradictions Sometimes I borrow dawn's first light, Sometimes I dream through broad daylight. Sometimes I work till the hours all blur, Then lose three days without a stir. Sometimes I answer before you blink, Sometimes I don't reply for weeks. I love a room that's mine alone, yet hate the silence when it's grown. I measure every "what if" twice, then throw the map like rolling dice. I hold on hard, I let things go, both with a grace I'll never know. I chase the fire, I crave the rain. I run from joy, I court the pain. People call it contradiction. I call it weather. The sky has never apologized for changing. The sea has never explained why some days it kisses the shore, and some days it keeps its distance. Why should I? I am made of almosts and always, of unfinished sentences and perfect pauses. If I bloom at dawn, and disappear by noon— don't call me inconsistent. Call me human. Even the moon can't decide whether to stay or slowly let itse...
Watch - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAA74ND00dU “Yaad hai, ek din mere maiz pe baithe-baithe, cigarette ki dibiya par tumne, chhote se ek poudhe ka ek sketch banaya tha...!! Aakar dekho, us poudhe par phool aaya hai.” TRANSLATION - Nowhere close to what Gulzar Sa'ab's own words and voice convey here, but I've tried to translate it - “Do you remember one day while sitting at my desk, on a pack of cigarettes, a small shrub/plant you had sketched? Come and see.... a flower has bloomed on it!!!” ---- When I heard this in the writer's own voice, I felt like 'Life' itself was whispering this to me that a flower has bloomed, come and see it! And, I've been a little restless again since morning, eagerly... enthusiastically restless and searching.... for that flower! I vaguely remember, I might've sketched a small shrub or a plant on a page of an old diary that i've lost, or a paper napkin while sitting at a co...