कविसाब.
Just that. No surname. No city. No credentials.
Hindustani — in the truest sense of the word. From a land where poetry isn't performed. It's lived.
Jab se jasbaaton ka ehsaas hua, tab se likha. Not on a particular day. Not after a particular moment. The moment feeling became feeling — that is when the first word came. And it hasn't stopped since.
The themes don't get chosen. They arrive on their own. The silence of a man who has too much inside and nowhere to put it. The fraction of a second when a glance lasts just a little too long. The strange patience required to love someone who doesn't know you exist. The loneliness that sits quietly in a room full of people.
These aren't subjects. These are places Kavisaab has lived in. Some briefly. Some for years.
150 verses written so far. Some shared. Some kept. Some worn on the chests of strangers who felt exactly what the words meant without being told what to feel. That last part — that is the whole point.
Kavisaab once said — "I am myself in the search of those words that would define my shayari."
That search continues. It probably always will.
The poetry belongs to anyone who has ever felt something they couldn't name.
The words belong to Kavisaab.
Seene Pe Shayari.