There is a very fine line between inspiration and plagiarism. As a writer, my biggest sin would be crossing that line.

The enlightening nights

Maybe, if it was 18th again
or the inches of my body
be in right lengths and widths,
I don't want to grow
as old and as untimely
as I have been, or if
I was just capable of writing
all that never gets written,
why can't this stupid clock stop ticking!
An endless record of things gone wrong
surrounds me, as I keep tossing
in my unmade bed.
I wish I were in different country
since everything's wrong with mine,
in fact in a parallel universe,
is there any?
Maybe I'm here, in this one
to mend it, to give it more
than I can take.
I'm on to it tomorrow.
The things that can't be rightened,
followed by a zillion purposes
of life, for life.
Only if I survive the fan above me
in case it decides to plunge,
Would she cry if I die?
I told her,"We aren't friends anymore."
But nights were meant to sleep
this ain't anything like that,
also, mom promised, night sleep
could get my skin glowing
maybe that's something,
one thing that can be rightened.
And I'm back to sqaure one now.
This could go on and on
the umbras and penumbras
in the light of the night.
How much I wish though
it to go impossibly long
for night's still been kinder to me
like a noiseless friend
in the emptiness of hours
a hope
in the enormity of chaos,
flickering in the rays of darkness
black and deep,
like a brighter morning.

Astray

A few lot of eyes
speak for the people
who have lost you
in the process of finding you.
The only thing that can find you
on this dark winter night, is
the unmentionable,
inexplicable
an obscure feeling that
hasn't yet made it to any diction
but has made an immutable dwelling
inside you instead.
How it blankets you
with the immensity
of chills that can not be told
for no words would cooperate ,
so all you have is jumbled words
and no one to understand,
but you see
there's whole another world
they avow life on foreign planets,
would it be free
of love and war

and of everything on this one.
can't know, maybe
you'll never know, though
you've enclaved yourself,
whereabouts of which are alien

to the defined geographies and
to all who are out to love you
but you have come a little too far,
too far to be found.

That's what being has been

Only when you search
till you find self
caged,
in two hundred something
of fragility and mortality.
Some light years away
must have you done something
horribly beautiful
to be here,
here in existence.
For nothing conceals
the glum eyes on happy face,
a shallow heart,
and empty soul.
For you couldn't be kept
from distortion
of bruised knees
cracked heels,
pimpled cheeks
cramped feels,
kindly so
not a thing irreparable,
that's what living has been
a mortal bod
of impairment and beaut
an expeditious age
of being to not being
a vicious lifetime
of warmth and hurt,
an endless trail
of hoping and healing.

I don't care about money or fame. I just want to be immortal. 

An independent, uninspired, self opinionated ability to think and make decisions is the most magnificent trait a human can possess.

But, they said that Love was meant to heal. 

Maybe Love was meant to heal.

You can not change people.

Let them be or Let them go.

If you are always expecting in return for the good you do to others, you aren't really doing any good at all.

Nothing worth having comes free. 

Unlike the miles

Between you and I 

is immeasurable 

untravellable,

an empty space

between your heart and mine

Forgiving and letting go at the same time makes you stronger, smarter and a winner at the same time. 

Two generations feed on

one body of yours,

served for starve and lust.

You are made love to 

sadly, sans making you feel loved

leaving thou empty yet

so much so it hurts

through each lump of every organ.

The touch of your own hand

more promising though

doesn't feel the same,

You've let men guest on you

for the fantasies of your love

you aimlessly accommodate

in and out

blood, bones and bodies,

till letting go

becomes forgetting and 

forgetting becomes familiar.

You've been taught to hold on 

till forever.

So you hold on 

to being a woman

to being the stronger version of humanity.

The Road

Asphalted beautifully,
in my country not so fine though 
somewhere grey, somewhere fawn
somewhere dense, sparse somewhere,
promises me and thou
a companionship
through the wandering,
diverging into rights and wrongs
reaching everywhere
ending nowhere.

There are no shortcuts in life, only Displacements.

Charms Now and Forever

It keeps me wondering

What fascinates more about it,

Curves or the steeps?

For it oscillates me

while driving my blue

and thrills my adrenal,

clambering the sheer trails.

What's more bewitching

Beauty or the wildness?

For the sight, I capture

in my vision gets me through,

and the viciousness

helps me resolve within.

What is more adorable 

Chills or the companion?

For gales cross my face

whispering the nature secrets,

and a caring shirt covers me

every time I take off my shrug.

What makes it more wanted

Tranquility or the memories?

For it soothes and heals

every wound out & in me,

and souvenirs with echoes

to be recollected for life.

It keeps me pondering

What is more loving about hills,

Everything or beyond?

I write, again

Was

on a high-highway

sorted all, all in place

fenced by will

and the trues.

En route, I found

a branching-boulevard

overfilled with passion

and with escape.

That

gleaming grin 

for me, imparting

Excursion-Endearment-Esteem

Replenishment!

Yes! 

a chaotic attractor

instilling into my soul

promptly nurturing me

to accomplish.

But

Farawayness-

of time

over again.

Yet

Hours-Days-Weeks

of wait for

the needful 

and untimely

rains.

To fill up the

deepness of 

Oblique-Emptied-Hollow

river ‘tween us.

So

Waiting 

to float across

and waiting more-

for that

desired touch 

to create.

Moreover, to attain

our notion of 

unending embrace.

And

queries dinging

in my mind-

While I reach, will you be there?

Or will just fade away?

Reigning Love? 

Or hurt again?

That’s why

I write,

Again.

-Abhinav Chhabra

Happy New Year

December is assuredly the most positive time of the year, probably because it's when you start accepting the evolution of past 11 months, it is absolutely astoundingly beautiful yet scary how things changed and you ultimately lived through everything. Irrespective of the hard times, you sit back and realize how right it was and then there is a new beginning waiting for you.
Although, not many would disagree with me that the promises and plans you make in the beginning for the whole new year is no where close to the actual when it ends, because we'll never be ahead of time, not even close.
I feel each year is like a friend, who solely plans and also implements it all, creates and retains memories in its name, does the right thing irrespective of the hurt it causes, because in the end, you'll find yourself in a place where you couldn't plan to be, by yourself. Each year you befriend a number and have it added to your age and memories. Maybe a decade later you'll be like "2010 was the best year for it  made me meet the love of my life" or "The proudest feeling was getting honored with a graduation degree in 2013" or "If it wasn't in 2014 when I moved to this city I'd still be sulking in that restless job." The point is that the contribution of each year to this thing called life is inevitable and equally significant.
Year concept is so beautiful, like it's not too short to lose it's importance nor long enough to lose hope for a fresh start. It's so amazing to be able to genuinely move on with not-even-followed-for-a-month resolutions for life. Maybe it's the hope that keeps us going. I remember how hopeful I was that 2014 was going to be good because it's an even number and now 2015 is going to be so much better because ironically it just doesn't sound that odd. Whatever the number might be, a year will always embark on excitement and end on a contented note of acceptance.
I raise my glass with ecstasy to this very ending year and forthcoming start.
Thank you 2014,You guided me back home.

War against the Unjust

I've been fighting my urge to write this for so long due to paucity of knowledge. I don't think I understand much about these terrorists, politics, religion or anything at all. Honestly, I still don't exactly get what and why this 'Taliban' thing is after an hour of googling, maybe most of so many people who lost their lives of this neither.

I can't recall much from my time though I do have fair flashbacks, in fact we all have that, from 2008 Mumbai Attack, that Virgina Tech shootings, 7/11 Delhi Bombings, then elementary school shootings in Connecticut back in 2012 and so many incidents that our minds fail to retain. And now learning this attack in Peshawar just breaks my heart. I no longer know who I want to pray in front of for those little souls to rest in peace and for those who lost their loved ones to nothing and will never know peace anymore and are just going to fight the rage of helplessness for rest of their lives.

I don't want to refer to the poor laws or any political leaders or parties for not doing anything about it, Maybe they can't help it either, for they are just as destroyable as we are, the normal people. This day, I question the existence of any God at all. I believe this has to be His job to step in and concede justice.

Why is it always the innocent who suffers, not just in attacks but of diseases and accidents too? Why not ever one of the terrorists who are after lives of the innocent, accidentally hit his car and just die? Why aren't they ever the victims of Cancers and tumors because they totally deserve it? Maybe I'm just emotional and naive. But seriously why don't bad things happen to bad people and good things to good? Isn't this the logic? 

And if nothing is fair, What is the whole point of life? or religions or countries or law or anything? Why do we have to live for the day when someone shoots a gun aimlessly in our face and walk past without having to pay for it?

Hard to absorb but this is never getting better, this will never be better. This world is and will always be unfair. Maybe a complete restart of humanity could work or maybe cruelty and humanity go hand in hand.

The Unleft

Because I let you take our cat
and upcoming vacation tickets 
and our favorite polaroid 300
and all our stuff, now yours,
leaving nothing to myself
but independence
of starting over
may be a little sadder, but wiser,
after 'we' are hopelessly done
like my shallow crave of growing
an inch or two taller or slimmer,
Not that I don't sense you now
in every sip of our favorite coffee, sadly
the guy at cafe smiles and lifts his heels 
to see from how far you follow me in,
or when I put the same shirt 
I wore the first time you hugged me,
hard to get why it still whiffs of
your bergamot and olive blossom, aroma
that grew on me like a tumor. 
I still see you in my dreams 
laughing with me, sometimes brawiling,
defining and undefining 
the meaning of love.
Each morning tastes of yesterdayness 
and of dreams of betrayal.
I see you through all the places
we explored, the cities we toured to,
those roads now mapped on my palms
to be read like horoscope,
un-do-able. 
Come what may,
I shift from where
You were my way in between 
the rights and wrongs
to some way in between bereft
and the reaches you never left.