Paratrooper

I feel like a paratrooper
But the brain goes blank, I’m in a stupor
It’s floating in a pond, like groupers
I feel like a greyhound, muzzled, snooper
I’m gonna make it, even if it’s just blooper
Lookin’ at the time, 5 O’Clock
I’m live, back on stock
This time round as tough as rock
Curtains down, suspended, wind-down
Look what I’ve found!
I’m in a mercy mode,
You stung like a snake,
I gulped it all, thirsty mode
Gratitude in solitude, courtesy mode
Had a nasty blow,
Came out alive, not gonna lie,
I’m back into my rusty flow
But that’s how it goes,
You go as far as the amount you row,
But I can’t go on no more, oars I’ve thrown
My nights don’t night, and Sun doesn’t glow
I ain’t got any keys apart from the one that’s low
It feels like I’m caged inside not my world,
I feel like I’m stuck, moving just to and fro.
...You think I really felt like a paratrooper?
Nah, you know I don't.

The Scrolling Trap

Platforms like Meta (Instagram, Facebook, WhatsApp) and YouTube are engineered to hijack your attention through the infinite scroll. They bombard the brain with thousands of disjointed micro-narratives—a comedy skit followed immediately by a tragedy, then a product advertisement—within a matter of minutes. The human brain is simply not built to handle this volume or velocity of context-switching.

Drawbacks of Algorithmic Overload:

• Cognitive Burnout: Force-feeding your brain endless, unrelated data points drains your mental battery, leaving you chronically exhausted even if you have done nothing physically demanding.

• Shattered Attention Span: The constant, cheap dopamine hits from short-form content destroy your ability to tolerate boredom or focus on slow, complex tasks.

• Emotional Numbness: Rapidly cycling through artificially inflated emotional triggers dulls your baseline reactions and spikes underlying anxiety.

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The Mechanics of Clarity

I am an IT professional who bypassed the traditional route of formal exams to build my own intellectual system. It is a framework grounded in reading widely and writing deliberately. I consume books and novels voraciously. I write poetry, and I write stories—one of which is already published. But the cornerstone of this entire framework is my journaling system.

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The Myth of the Infinite Reader – why can’t you read it all

The Myth of the Infinite Reader and the Case for the Worn Paperback

There are roughly 130 million books in circulation. That was Google’s ambitious estimate back in 2016 after attempting to digitize every printed work. With the explosive ease of modern publishing, that number is likely closer to 200 million today. Even if we conservatively cap the estimate at 150 million, and assume that only five percent of these are truly great works of literature, we are still left with 7.5 million masterworks.

The math presents a blunt and frustrating reality: you cannot read everything. If you start early at age ten and maintain a grueling pace of one hundred books a year—an extraordinarily high volume even for those who read full-time—you will finish exactly 9,000 books by your hundredth birthday. That equates to consuming a mere 0.12% of all the great books ever written. It is an impossible mountain to climb, and as a reader, you must simply accept this limitation.

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Still In My Veins

They told me love’s a gentle spring,  
But in this room I taste its sting.  
The IV’s drip hums brittle tunes,  
Like hopes that wither much too soon.

My mirror shows a stranger’s face,  
Soft hair replaced by time’s embrace.  
A thousand prayers caught in my breath,  
As if I owed a debt to death.

He said his love would cross the stars,  
Yet every wish dissolved by scars.  
I count my moments, trembling slow—  
A bandaged soul with nowhere to go.

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The Room I Never Left

I live in a room where silence speaks,
the walls are stained, the ceiling leaks.
A clock keeps time I never own,
its hands move fast, yet I sit alone.

The chair leans back as if it knows,
I’ve told my story where no one goes.
The table remembers each mark, each fight,
I left them unwashed to prove I was right.

The windows don’t show the sky or street,
they only return the face I meet.
A tired face rehearsing goodbyes,
a hollow smile, unfaithful eyes.

If someone enters this room one day,
what will they think, what will they say?
Will they see the dust, the broken bed,
or the ghost of words I never said?

They may believe I packed and fled,
but truth is stranger—I stayed instead.
For most of me has already gone,
though the shell of me keeps moving on.

ख़ाक-ओ-सुपुर्द

है तेरी रूह से राबता,
ये मेरा शोर भी, ये मेरी ख़ामोशी भी।
न बरसीं आँखों से बारिश की बूँदें,
न ज़्यादा, न थोड़ी भी।

हैं ख़ाक से पैदा ये ख़्वाब मेरे,
हैं ख़ाक-ओ-सुपुर्द,
ये शब-ए-महफ़िल भी, ये मेरी मंज़िल भी।

जला रहा हूँ दीवारों पर तहरीरें,
ये मेरे फुज़ूल ख़यालात की साज़िश भी।
तू कहता है, बेमक़सद है ये ख़ुदफ़रोशी,
मगर इसी में छुपी है मेरी बंदगी भी।

मुझे रंज नहीं कि उजाले कम हैं,
मुझे डर है कि ये अंधेरे भी कम न हों।
ये दिल भी ढल रहा है किसी तस्लीम की तरह,
इस दर्द में न आये क़िलत कोई, ये उम्मीद भी।

तेरी गली से निकली तो मंज़र बदल गया,
ये रास्ते भी हैं तेरी अदावत की गवाही।
है दिल को ख़बर कि ख़ाक में होना है फ़ना,
है आरज़ू भी, ख़ाक से पैदा हो कहानी भी।

दम घुट रहा होगा तेरा, ये सोच कर
अजीब सी दिल में ख़ुशी छा गई।
सुना है जागती रहती है तू रातों में अब,
ये ख़बर आई तो नींद अच्छी आ गई।

हैं राख में दबे हुए राज़ तेरे,
हो राख ही अब तेरी सूरत भी, सीरत भी।

हैं ख़ाक से पैदा ये ख़्वाब मेरे,
हुए ख़ाक-ओ-सुपुर्द दोनों,
ये तेरा अफ़साना भी, ये मेरी हक़ीक़त भी।

बीमार

कोई तर्जुमा बयान कैसे करेगा मेरी ज़ुबान को,
कि समझ न आने वालों में शुमार हूँ मैं।
स्याही ख़त्म हो गई है मेरी क़लम की ख़ुद को बयान करते करते,
कि ख़ुद को बयान करने के लिए अब भी बेक़रार हूँ मैं।
मैं तेरी आहट आज भी सुनता हूँ ख़्वाबों में,
तेरे अर्द-अल-इघराक़ का आज भी आमिल हूँ मैं,
ये दवायें ये तबीब तमाम, हार मान गए आख़िर में,
कि तेरे मुस्तशफ़ा-ए-हुस्न में पड़ा आज भी बीमार हूँ मैं।

Operation True Promise 2: Unveiling the strategy behind Iran’s October Missile Attack on Israel

The Iranian missile attack on Israel in early October 2024 was the result of extensive planning, likely initiated months prior. Here’s a detailed breakdown of the background, execution, and potential future conflicts.

Background and Planning of the Attack

The attack stemmed from heightened tensions in the Middle East, especially following Israel’s assassination of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah and other strikes on Iranian proxies in Lebanon. Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and Hezbollah, both known for their deep intelligence networks and logistical capabilities, had likely planned this retaliation for several months.

Iran’s missile arsenal, including Fattah-1 and Kheibar Sheykan models, are highly sophisticated, with long-range capabilities. These missiles were developed indigenously by Iran, but parts and technology could have been smuggled into the country through covert networks. Iran’s reliance on shell companies and intermediary nations for technology acquisition (similar to historical precedents) helped disguise its missile procurement efforts. Despite international sanctions, Iran has maintained a robust supply chain for acquiring military technology, often using third-party nations in Eastern Europe and even East Asia to source parts.

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The Pyre Burns

When I count my days, they seem all spent,
Writing rhymes since '09, like a message sent.
Now it's time, feeling every line so fine,
Like a higher force guiding me, making me shine.
But when I glance at the clock, it's already nine,
The hours slip away like I'm losing time.

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Tickling

You know my back tickles,
You had caressed with your hands
Your whisper mingles, Drifting like the sands
Felt the wrinkles forming when you started to fade
Love turned brittle, in the mess that you made
You promised forever, but forever was brief
Left me with mingled memories and a pocket full of grief
Wrinkles on my soul, etched deep from your game
Thought you were different, but ya'll just the same
Now how do I make a comeback?
How do I get stronger than before?
Your touch's just a ghost, can't haunt me anymore
Back tickles, remind me of your deceitful parade
I'm moving on, from the mess that you made
Your nails lingered, sharp like splinters, little pricks and sickles
I still won't deny that my back tickles

Bidding The Past Adieu

The sunshine shines so bright.
I ponder if it was you or I
Who was wrong, who was right.
Your departure, so abruptly declared
No closure, my heart felt bared.
Not dwelling on the good moments past,
But on the moments that hurt, that last.
Each verse dipped in a tear-filled fountain,
My heart's ripped, feelng cursed, barren mountains
I lurked to watch you while you used to sleep,
A feeling so profound, forever etched, so deep.
In the end I realised it’s time to let go
To heal, to grow,
To find in the darkness, my own glow
Never received any closure from you,
Thus, the pain lingers, I’ll find it anew
Embracing the future, bidding the past adieu!

We Came to a Huge STOP— Sunday, December 3, 2023

I Tell Myself

बाक़ीमान्दा

उम्र हर बरस जैसे दो बरस आगे बढ़ रही है मेरी,
ये मेरी पेशानी पर झुर्रियाँ बेवजह तो नहीं आयी हैं।

मेरे माथे की शिकन में तुम हो,
मेरी ख़ुशी का सिला न सही,
मेरे हर एक ग़म में तुम हो।

तुम से गिला करें भी तो क्या करें?
तुम तो आख़िर तुम हो।

कभी हाल अपना बयान करने आना ज़रूर,
कभी कोई बात सताये तो बताना ज़रूर।

सुन लूँगा हर परेशानी तुम्हारी,
पर करूँगा कुछ नहीं।

सह लूँगा चाहें चुभे आवाज़ तुम्हारी,
पर कहूँगा कुछ नहीं।

क्या कहा? ख़फ़ा हूँ तुम से?
नहीं, सच-मुच नहीं।

बस अब करने-कहने को बाक़ी रहा कुछ नहीं।

अभी दिन हँसने के हैं तुम्हारे

कहीं तमाशा है, दौर है, बादस्तूर क़ुर्बत है।
कहीं कोई मुंतज़िर, इज़्तिरार, रश्क़-ए-क़मर है, ग़ुरबत है।
मुख़्तलिफ़ हैं हम दोनों,
तुम्हें तुम्हारी मुसलसल मौत्जा मुबारक़,
मैं ठीक हूँ मेरी सिफ़र से।
हर्फ़-हर्फ़ लिखे वो सैकड़ों पन्ने झूँठ के,
ख़ुद ही खो चले सब रूठ के।
कुछ तुमसे ज़्यादा है मुझमें तो शायद वो ग़ैरत ही है फ़िलहाल,
मुझे मेरी ग़ैरत मुबारक़,
मुझमें अभी अफ़सोस की कमी नहीं।
दौर बदलते हैं, दिन बदलते हैं, बदलते हैं वक़्त के साथ हालात।
बदल गया हूँ कुछ मैं भी, मैं बेशक़ अब तुम्हारे “काम” न आऊँगा।
ख़ैर ये अहसास अभी नहीं होगा तुम को,
ख़ुमार अभी जश्न का है तुम पर,
अभी दिन हँसने के हैं तुम्हारे।

Ink’s Return: A Renewed Quest

Once a quill lay idle, untouched for too long,
But now, it awakens to the siren song.

Words, dormant in silence, now gently stir,
As a poet's heart remembers what's sure.

The verses, once hidden, like stars in the night,
Illuminate the path to poetic light.

Though I strayed from this art, from my love and my soul,
I'm finding my way back to make my heart whole.

For poetry's a journey, a lifelong quest,
A return to the words, the very best.

In the rhythm of lines, and the beauty of rhyme,
I discover the magic, lost through time.

So, here I stand, once more at the door,
Embracing the art I was yearning for.

Ink flows on paper, a dance that's so free,
I've rediscovered the poet in me.

The lost habits, an eternal embrace,
In the realm of poetry, habits again find their space.

A Journey Towards Hope

In the realm of broken hearts,
Where solitude tears us apart,
Sorrow engulfs the night,
But we choose to fight,
For hope resides within our hearts.

With every step we take,
A brighter future we make,
Through the shadows we roam,
Finding strength to atone,
For the love we once had, now at stake.

In this battle against despair,
We rise above, we repair,
With resilience as our guide,
We won't let love subside,
For hope is the answer we share.

Let the echoes of our fight,
Illuminate the darkest night,
With courage we will find,
A love that's redefined,
A journey towards hope, shining bright.

When They Met

Two damn good friends
with hand in hand
She was his woman
He was her man
Their chemistry, ever persistent
No flaws, no resistance
Kind of a coexistence
In the world of evil rituals and bad influence
Against the society, met their lips
And they shunned the distance.

The Betrayal

In the depths of my shattered heart,
A girl I loved, torn apart.
She left me for another guy,
Leaving me here, asking why.

Promises broken, trust betrayed,
In darkness, my soul has decayed.
Once friends, now enemies we stand,
Lost in a world of shifting sand.

A love once pure, now stained with lies,
As I drown in sorrow, time flies.
Betrayal's sting, it cuts so deep,
Leaving scars that I'll forever keep.

But I'll rise above this pain and strife,
Rebuilding my shattered life.
For I am strong, I'll find my way,
And brighter skies will come one day.

So let this be a lesson learned,
From the flames, my heart will be burned.
I'll rise again, stronger than before,
The betrayal won't define me anymore.