The Epitaph - My swan song

Have you ever felt that this would be last time you do something that is close to you? Like perhaps - "this would be the last song I'll sing"... or "This would be the last time I'll dance".. or "Today would be the last time I cook something special for someone I love".. I felt something like this today.. I felt like it would be the last time I'll write poetry.. I suddenly felt that the creative juices have run dry.. That theres nothing more left to write about.. It was a scary thought..

He sits with a pen in hand,
the paper as vacant as his mind..
I know this silent poet from an era gone by,
I try not to think, but he distracts my eye..
When is it you laughed, oh stranger?
When is it you felt and cared?
Tell me, oh spring! when you heard him last,
This stone cold boy from my wooded past?
He can stand it no more and picks up the knife,
I can feel his slimy blood - his last poem..
As cold metal touches cold skin, I laugh
He's left me nothing to write but this bloody epitaph..

Malhaar - The onset of the monsoon

Like I have confessed before also, I simply love the rain.. The miracle that the skies can hold so much water and just let it gush forth when it becomes too heavy to bear, never ceases to amaze me.. What does amaze me though is the fact that I suddenly felt the strong urge to try writing something in Hindi.. Now, I wouldnt really call my Hindi weak but be that as it may, I'm no Ghalib or Gulzar (whom I consider rockstars when it comes to Urdu/Hindi poetry).. But even then, the urge like the rain became too strong and then I just had to let it forth -

Aankhon mein mitti ka katra,
chubhta tha, khatakta tha;
Band aakhon se kya dekhoon,
Jo khuli aakhon se hi andekha thha?

Bade dinon se mann hai pyaasa,
yeh nain bhi sookhe hain;
Ek ehsaas, ek jazbe ke liye,
yeh saare lamhe bhooke hain.

Aaj behne do in ashkon ko,
Aane do bahaar,
Kabse pyaasa dil banjar thha,
Lo aa gayi malhaar