tough call

Hate me when I say
'I can't go on anymore'.
Scorn me when I pity myself
And justify my failures.
Turn away in disgust
If you see me miserable
And snap at my hand
Out-stretched and begging for help.

In my eyes, if you ever see helplessness
Swear to me, that you will corner me further.
If you see something in me vulnerable,
Expose it to the naked daylight of the world.
If i am pleading, lying down on ground,
Trample me under your feet.
And along with that squeeze out
The last vestige of weakness.
As then, all that would remain
Would be strength, strength, strength.

orchha-2

Jungle

The arrows of the world
Are scorching and merciless
As the sun of June and my fate.

Come, take shelter
in the fortress of love.
Love is all you need,
Do not worry about your desires,
They all will drop off from mind
At the touch of love.
Like a toy from child's hand
When it sees its mother.
How can after all, in a well
Filled with rain of monsoon
Can the frogs and fish be thirsty still?

Do not go out.
Do not yield to,
The temptation of the hunt,
To the lure of green jungle,
The sweetness of overflowing streams,
The scent of the wild lily,
The song of the nightingale.

Because, the jungle is not
As it seems now.
In the dusk
It changes colours.
And its true form is revealed
Only in the light of the dark night.

There is none but
Stark darkness to grope about.
There is no music but
The noise of crickets to scare.
No sleep will be kind to your eyes
Wary of wild animals of prey
Ready to pounce and feast.

No bed of grasses but ivy
To place to rest your head.
The roads will mislead you
And the walk tire your body.
The thorns will lacerate your feet,
The stream will be elusive
As will be the prized hunt.
And before you realise
The hunt would hunt you down,
Drag you by its jaws,
And throw your bones
To the bloody stream.


As usual - I am worse at titles than I am at the poems that follow!

orchha-1

The hills and valleys I saw,
And the rivers and skies.
But what I did not see was
Your kind hand behind it all.

I read the scriptures, poems, hymns,
Verses and prayers in many languages.
Did not read my own self alas!
And neither did understand you my Lord!

Sat at the feet of men wise and learned,
Heard them explain your creation -
This world. Also Dos and Don'ts
None of which I followed.

They say this path is long and arduous
And to reach the end, prsevere I must.
My flesh and spirit both willing,
But for the wine of passions.
The intoxication of illusion is heavy,
The addiction to 'Self' fatal,
Which again and again
Makes me return to the dust.

Won't you let a drop
Fall on my thirsty lips?
Of that aged wine of Spirit:
Which sets my heart aflame,
Burns my senses, mind, intellect
And sets my soul - buried in tomb of flesh,
Dancing in joy ecstatic,
Inebriated and lost in 'Thou'.

prayer

Let this be the punishment of my eyes

that they be witness to all ugliness of the world

but not your benign, beautiful face.

Let this be the plight of the fleet of my soul

that it wanders without direction, battered by storms,

unhinged from the anchor of your guidance.

My forgetful memory lets me burn my hands

again and again in the fire of trails

and renders me vulnerable all the times.

Look at the pitiful state of my ego,

that is trampled under the feet of men

of the world, only to raise its hood to be crushed again.

Let me break my back by working day and night,

to pay off the interest of my actions

which with the capital, remains unpaid.

Let me be born a thousand times

and die ten thousand times or more;

till the seeds of desires are roasted to infertility.

But promise me O Lord ! that at the end:

even after millions of years
of carrying this wretched self in this world.
You will let me return to you,

And at the end,
only You be my End,
only You be my End !

p.s.][ as usual, the title is still un-carved in stone. please do suggest title. 'prayer' is WIP

your memories

i put out the wet balanket

of darkness, to dry

on the balcony of my house.

the embers of hope

i kept alive,

by placing my warm hands

over moist eyes.

i separated dust and wind,

that were as entagled

with each other as milk and water.

heavy lumps of loneliness,

i hid under the sheet

of falsehood.

scattered and restless body

of mine, i clothed with

scattered and careless clothes.

cleared all cobwebs of memories,

by the duster

of today's thoughts and activity.

God, I put back

at His place,

Everyday I put Him on His place

Everyday but He falls down

so low.

I released the emotions,

Now, incarcerated in books

as bookmarks.

Lent them

the wings of my breath

To fly.

I put the oven on;

waited for it to get warm;

mixed the flour of eagerness;

baked our conversations;

and served my heart

on the plate of the evening,

if not you my beloved

let your thoughts come.

This poem is a free translation of "Tera Khayal" posted on this blog before.

again untitled

ये जो सीधा साफ़-सा रास्ता,
काले जंगल के बीच से उसकी
गहराई को चीरता हुआ निकलता है,
कितना वीरान है देखो ।

मायूस, अब इंतज़ार भी नहीं
किसी क़दमों के चोट की ,
बिन बुलाये आँधियों ने मिटा दिए
सारे चिन्ह बीते हुए कल के ।

कभी इस पर भी उम्मीदों के तिनके उग जाते थे
और अलसाई किरणों को छूने को
अपने नन्हे हाथ बढ़ाते थे ;
आज आंसुओं के सफ़ेद मोती बिखरें हैं बस ।

एक सैलाब ही भर सकता है अब
इस वीरान से रस्ते का सूनापन ।
किसी के वजूद का निचोड़ा हुआ
सुन्दर, पाक, लाल अब्र का सैलाब ।

untitled:suggest

poem written in two parts.

the first part was written much before the incident that triggered off the second one.

sometimes poetry follows life...sometime life follows poetry!!

-part 1-

तुम्हारी रात सी खुली जुल्फों से कह दो

यूँ हवा में लहराते हुए , झूमते हुए

मुझे न सताएं , न डराएं .

कहते हैं "हम तो लम्बे होते -होते

इस शहर के रास्तों से भी लम्बे हो जायेंगे

तुझसे , तेरे घर से , मोहल्ले से आगे निकल जायेंगे "

"तू कहता है बड़ा सब्र है तुझ में !

हम भी ले कर देखेंगे तेरा सब्र-ए-इम्तेहान

अपना रंग हम भी बदल कर देखेंगे "

लगता है , मैं अगर कायम रहा

तो तेरी ये रेशमी जुल्फें ही मेरे गले

के सख्त फंदे बन मुझे निजात दिलाएंगे .

-part 2 -

चौंक गयी थी तुम उसे देखकर

मैं भी चौंका था .

कभी सामने आता तो कभी छुप जाता था वो .

जुदा कर दिया उसे अपने घर से तुमने , मैं तो वैसे भी खुश था .

अब काले बादलों के बीच

एक चांदी की तार सी बिजली कितनी सुन्दर लगती है

क्या बुरा था अगर तुम्हारी एक ज़ुल्फ़ ने

अपना रंग बदल लिया था !

--

tanhai? suggest a better title please

तन्हाई के साथ इतनी गहरी रातें

और लम्बे दिन काटे हैं कि

अब तो इस तन्हाई के बिना तन्हा लगता है .

ज़ालिम की मेहर तो देखो, देती है ग़म

मगर गमगुसार कोई नहीं .

होटों पर देती है हंसी,

पर बाँट सको, कोई ऐसा हम दम नहीं .

यादों की भीड़ अब कबाड़ी के सामन की तरह

इर्द-गिर्द जमा हो गए हैं .

कभी-कभी उम्मीदें भी टूटे दीवारों

से धुप की तरह झांकते हुए अन्दर आते हैं .

कभी-कभी तुम भी उम्मीदों की तरह

चुपके से इस घर में आओ तो ,

इसी की रजा चलती हैं अब मेरे घर पे,

अपने सौत से तुम्हे जलन नहीं होती ?

dedicated to a busy week at work

bahut chaha humne ki

humaara kaam hi

humara nasha ban jaye

woh to na hua

par mera nasha hi

ab mera kaam ban reh gaya hai

tera mera rishta

कोई शायर अचानक ही आये
किसी ख्याल के तोहफे को
एक नज़्म का लिबास पहना कर,
किसी सफ्हे पे लिखकर, बहुत संभाल कर
कहीं रख कर भूल गया हो जैसे ।

या कोई गवैया कोई सहर का राग
शब् में गुनगुना कर, डर के चुप हो कर,
उसे याद कर भी
याद ना कर पा रहा हो जैसे ।

या कोई साकी कोई जाम बना कर,
किसी शराबी की कहानी में
अपनी कहानी सुनकर,
अपना होश और जाम
दोनों खो बैठा हो जैसे ।

तेरा मेरा रिश्ता भी ऐसे ही
रह जाये कहीं भूला हुआ
ना तू उसे ढूंढें फिर से
ना मैंने उसे रात भर याद करूँ ।

this is not a completely new poem. i had left out the middle two stanzas. thanks to two friends - one for being a huge fan of the first and last stanzas and the other for encouraging to write the other two. waiting for them to read and get back. thanks for title suggestion.

रात का चेहरा

रात का एक चेहरा होता है,
और हर चेहरे का एक अक्स होता है,
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

रात के सीने पर हाथ रख कर देखो,
वो धड़कता भी है, दर्द से तड़पता भी है,
और रात के आँखों गौर से देखो तो आंसूं हैं
जो पहाड़ों पर पड़ी शबनम होती है ।
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।


रात की चाह को तो देखो
के सहर तक, सहर के इंतज़ार में सुलगती है
और ज़फ़ा-ए-सेहर का क्या कहें
कि उसके आने से ही रात राख होती है ।
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।


हवा में खुशबू के रंग
और पत्तों कि मौसिकी होती है
तारों की रौशनी में, चाँद की याद में
रात जब नज़्म कहती है तो बारिश होती है .
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।


रात बेजुबान नहीं
रात बेज़ार भी नहीं, हर बात सुनती है
कभी रात के साथ पूरी रात गुज़ार के देखो
हर रात की अपनी एक कहानी होती है ।
रात का एक चेहरा होता है
और हर चेहरे का एक अक्स होता है
कभी तो तुम रात में होती हो,
और कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

acknowledging the 'khaloos' (sincerity) of a good friend in editing, vocabulary and other valuable contributions including the title.

the pic was taken by me at rishikesh and the poem was written at bhopal. incidental.

Ek Aur Trasadi

A play on Bhopal Gas Tragedy 'Ek Aur Traasadi' or 'One more tragedy' is based on real stories of real people with real names.

'Hazra Bee' points to the coninuing pollution and contamination of ground and water by the abandoned plant of UCIL which still has 690 tonnes of toxic chemicals in the dumping yard which soaks into the breast and womb of Bhopal's women and the second generation of children in Bhopal are born with mental and physical challenges..

'Chacha' is the story of thousands of persons who came under the cloud of the poisonous gas who were left to live a long life marred with permanent, irreversible damages and diseases. People who could not earn their livelihoods and forced to live a life of poverty and helplessness.

'Wo Bacche' is the story of the girls who were born or affected by the gas. The unsaid and hushed talks regarding problems related to periods, birth complications, cancer etc. and how it has bcome a curse for the girls from Bhopal.

Please write to me at das(dot)parthajeet(at)gmail(dot)com to get a copy of the play to perform it and spread awareness. Knowledge is power!

maa

ये बिछोना पत्थरों सा चुभता है माँ
बस तेरी ही गोद में सोना चाहता हूँ ।
लिहाफ ओढ़ता हूँ तो लगता है
इसके अन्दर घुट के मर जाऊंगा,
तेरा आँचल मेरे चेहरे पर ढक दे माँ ।
ज़माने खुरचते है मेरे हात पैर,
ग़म नोचता है यादों के नाखूनों से
मेरा दिल-ओ-दिमाग,
मेरे सीने पर अपना तू हाथ तो फेर माँ ।

सूने घर में अपनी ही आवाज़
सुनकर चौंक जाता हूँ ।
और घबराहट में जब कुछ नहीं सूझता
तो अपने में सिमट कर सो जाता हूँ
जैसे कभी तेरे गर्भ में था
मेह्फूस और मासूम ;
तेरी क़दमों के आहट से लेकिन
मुझे आज जगने दे माँ ।

जिसके जी में जो आता है
वो वही नाम लेकर बुलाता है मुझे,
तू बस एक बार फिर
'बेटा' कहकर तो पुकार माँ ,
तू बस एक बार फिर
'बेटा' कहकर तो पुकार माँ ।

बस दस मिनट की देर कर दी माँ ने आने में , मैं गेस्ट-हाउस में उनका इंतज़ार कर रहा था । यह नज़्म उसी देर से मुकम्मिल हुई है । माँ देर भी करती है तो...

bhopal 2

For those who are familiar with Lancedowne phenomenon, please do not expect an encore of poetry and themes that were discussed then. The two day trip can be divided into two distinct parts - as distinct as the two (for now) persons that are inside me. Credits - Indian Railways, Bhopal, My sister and her beautiful campus, Parents (especially Maa), Prenu and Monsoon.

please wait for a detailed travelogue and a play on Bhopal Gas Tragedy 'एक और त्रासदी'

1

dedicated to the age of self-promotion (starting from yours truely)

फूल का काम है
खिलना; बस इतना ।

उसकी खुशबू को
सारे जहाँ में बिखेरना,
हवा का काम है ।

उसके रस को मधु बनाकर,
सबके जुबान को मीठा करना,
भँवरे का ।

और उसके रंगों का बन आइना,
उसके चेहरे से सबको रूबरू कराना,
काम है आसमान का ।

फूल का काम है खिलना;
बस इतना!


2

यह बारिश की सौंधी-सौंधी महकती आवाज़
और उसके बीच कौंधती हुई बीजली ।
जैसे दोपहर में थकी-हारी
माँ को सोते देख
मुंह छुपा कर हँसते हुए बच्चे ।


आसमा के ठिठुरते जिस्म पर
रात का कम्बल ओढने से पहले
रेशमी बादलों का शाल
ओढ़ दिया हो जैसे किसीने ।

पहली बारिश में धुले हुए
तेरे गीले जुल्फों से
ये काले रस्ते ,
कहाँ तक चलती हैं ?

इस शहर के सूने चौराहे
भी अजीब हैं,
जिस भी रास्ते पे चलता हूँ
तुम तक ही पहुँचती हैं ।

untitled

i wish i were a mountain..
a cloud would come and rest her head over my shoulders
and say - so what if you can't move;
so what if you can't break your vow of silence;
i will speak to you....
i will come to you again and again,
as it means the world to me
to find you at the same place,
always, true to your words and nature
unchanging like everything else
unmoved and constant

'but you will leave me soon,
won't you?'
i ask.

'you see just that!,
have you ever thought
why do i leave?
why do i roam all over the world
along with the tireless wind
far, far and farther from you,
missing you, pining for you?
when i can't bear it anymore
my tears come down as mighty rains
and that it the one time,
the one single time
that i get to embrace you,
soak in you
and loose myself in your bosom
my beloved!"

lancedowne 2 video

dedicated to friends who are not discussed here

ये कैसे यार बनाये मैंने, यारी से जो बचते रहे,

मैं तड़पता रहा उनको, वो और तड़पाते रहे ।

अपना जशन-ए-कामयाबी, अपनी दिवाली, अपना ईद

न कोई ग़मगुसार हो, अपना ग़म ख़ुद सहते रहे ।

यारी में न होती है खुदी, न गिले, न शर्म-ओ-हया

जब तलग न बुलाया हमें 'मेहमान' घर उनके हम जाते रहे ।

आने का वादा कर भूल गए वो सालों से

राह में उनकी मगर हम दिए जलाते रहे ।

ज़ालिम वो नहीं, मेरे हाल से बेखबर भी नहीं

खुद कभी न आये वो, पैगाम ज़रूर भेजते रहे ।

जब था बस उनका सहारा, उन्हें अपना काम याद रहा

सिर्फ अमीरों को वो रस्म-ए-वफ़ा याद कराते रहे ।

मैं बयां करूँ, वो सुने ये किस्मत नहीं 'पार्थ'

अपने गिले-शिकवे बेजुबान सफहों को सुनाते रहे ।

tera khayal

भीगे अँधेरों का शाल
सुखाने के लिए घर के तारों पर टांगा,
फूँक-फूँक कर रौशनी को
उम्मीदों के अंगारों पर जिंदा राखा ।

हवा और गर्द, जो दूध और पानी की तरह
मिल चुके थे- जुदा किया,
तन्हाइयों के भारी बोझ
झूठ के बिस्तर तले छिपाए ।

बिखरे पड़े जिस्म को
बिखरे, बेतरतीब लिबास पहनाये,
यादों के जालों को
आज के ख्यालों के पैराहन से पोंछा ।

खुदा को उसकी जगह पर
फिर उठा कर बिठाया,
रोज़ बिठाता हूँ
रोज़ जाने कैसे जीर जाता है ?

जज़्बात, जो किताबों में कैद
बुकमार्क्स की तरह बंद पड़े थे
उन्हें अपने हाल से निजात दिलाया
साँसे उधार दीं

तन्नूर सुलगाया, गर्म किया
हसरतों को गूंदा ,
गुफ्तगू के रोटी पकाए,
शाम के थाल में अपना दिल फिर परोसा
तू न आये
तेरा ख्याल तो आये ।

somethin amiss

miss you nights

miss you days

miss you and
i don't realise

what i miss

miss you rains,
like your precious tears;

miss you windy nights,
and the scent of your hair;

miss you crimson mornings,
when i woke up to your whispers;

miss you culverts,
like the support of your hands;

miss you stars like your earrings;

miss you words,
like the joy of your laugh;

miss you those walks,
like the echo of our footstep

miss u
like i miss u

untitled

कोई शायर अनजाने ही आये

किसी तोहफे कि तरह

किसी नज़्म को एक सफ्हे पे लिखकर

बहुत संभाल के रखकर भूल गया हो जैसे ।

तेरा मेरा रिश्ता भी

ऐसे ही रह जाये कहीं भुला हुआ,

न तू उसे ढूंढे

न मैं फिर से उसे याद करूँ ।

apocalypse

The day you will get too busy
To care for mw and tell
By your simple gestures and voice
How much you love me.

The moment I will receive a silence
In response to my commotion
Of irritation, arrogance, angst,
Small victories and big failures.

When I will wait for your smiles
To fill up like clouds,
The blank sky of my days
And draw pictures of existence and joy.

When you will not be there with me
Or I would have had to leave you,
How would this life drag me like a prisoner
And if I would miss you as much as I do.

kharaashein

सन १९४७ में आग और खून से लिपटी एक लकीर मुल्क को काटती हुई गुज़र गयी और मुल्क तकसीम हो गया ।

we perform Gulzaar's Kaharashein - play based on partition and communal riots.

untitled

ऐसे तो मैं खुश था ।
खुद को बेज़ार कर लिया था,
और तमन्ना को सिखा दिया
था सब्र ।

तन्हा लोगों की
बड़ी-सी भीड़ में,
अकेले ही सब के साथ-साथ
मैं चलता था,
न किसी से कोई तव्क्कू
न गिला कोई।

फिर तुम्हारे जाने का
ऐसा सदमा क्यूँ है ?
ख़ुशी का कम होना
ग़म क्यूँ है ?

उमस

औंधे कमरे में अब मेरा पता नहीं मिलता ।
न कोई आहट किसी हरकत की,
न जिस्म की बू कहीं ।
चेहरा और कमरे में बंद अँधेरा
एक दुसरे में समां चुके थे ,
उन्हें अलग करना मुश्किल था ।

आँखें धुप में जल गयीं थी ,
शहर के एहतमादी लू ने
साँसों का गला घोंट दिया था ।
रगों में बहता हुआ लहू
खुश्क आँखों को जज्बातों में डुबो कर
भिगो कर सूख चूका था ।

बहार से आवाज़ देना बेकार था,
नशा कोई भी नहीं - होश कहाँ था?
पर मुझे ख़बर थी
मैं उस कमरे में नहीं था ।

Irom Sharmila

When I first saw the name on an invitation to a book reading session, I could vaguely remember having heard the name before. On the day of the reading by Deepti (the author) of 'Burning Bright: Irom Sharmila and the struggle for peace in Manipur' I was assured that what I had heard of her was too little and incommensurate with the portent situation. Irom has been waging a brave battle that has been almost unnoticed by the media and civil society (if something like that exists in India, though I strongly believe in the contrary).

For details about Irom, her struggle and an interview please check NDTV and Tehelka's articles.

Deepti's simple as-a-matter-of-fact reading and the immense inner force of Irom moved me (even if for a few moments) and dented a few not-so-obvious but huge dents in the capitalist-consumerist life that I live and justify. I unsuccessfully searched for the book in order to be somewhat more aware of what is called society and country (an independent, sovereign republic mind you!).

Yesterday's news regarding the denial of VISA by Canada to many serving and retired officers of Indian Army though connected a few dots for me. The ground for denial was that Canada reserves the right to deny VISA to persons who serve/work in organisations that are involved in human rights violation. Indian Army serving in J&K, members of the BSF are under this category! Though Indian Army is no stranger to accusations of violation of human rights - J&K, Chattisgarh, Punjab and Manipur of course, blaming the entire basket for a few or quite a few bad apples would set a very bad precedent. What about US, UK and even Canadian troops engaged in human rights violation in Afganistan and Iraq?

Irom's struggle though made me realise that how much driven, forced and disturbed could someone be because of such 'incidents'. Here is someone who could have chosen a life that many many of her age lead - a well paying job in a concrete jungle, a boyfriend, marriage, many parties, weekend at malls, shopping, theaters etc. etc. But she rather chose to do what she calls her 'bounden duty'. I wonder how many of us have the propriety to even understand what those words mean. How many such duties have we comfortably ignored and they still stand wide-eyed staring at us in stark vacuity?
It is even more repulsive to see that a country whose struggle for was unique in its use of non-violent means for its end - freedom from foreign rule and tyranny, is resorting to the same means that her ruler did not more than 60 years ago to curb the voices of protest. A country where millions die of a familiar phenomenon-hunger, hunger strike was a language that Gandhiji used to communicate so effectively to the illiterate villagers and Britishers alike. Irom is arrested and re-arrested for the last 10 years for the same act.

Another dot - What should the tribals do about the loss of their land and livelihood? Come to Delhi, sit on hunger strikes? For how long? 10 years? Will anyone give a damn? Will the media even report it? Is it not more important to know whether IPL nights are the real cause of India exit from 20-20 world cup?

Will the Armed Forces Special Powers Act be repealed?
May The Strength be with you as it has been Irom. Amen!

suggest a title please

हर रात एक झूठे वादे की तरह
भूल जाने की तस्सली देती है ।
और हर सुबह, मार के तमाचा
याद दिलाती है की तुम याद हो ।

अब तो इन सफ्हों पर
नज़्म लिखते डर लगता है ,
कहीं ये पत्थर न बन जाएँ
और मैं कैद न हो जाऊं
अपने लफ़्ज़ों के ही साथ
इनमे सदियों के लिए,
इतिहास की तरह ।
तुम्हारा क्या है?
तुम तो चल दोगे हवा के साथ
सूखे, हलके धुल की तरह ।

breeze

You seem a little confused.
Have come to me, touched
And gone past and come back again
And again, many times.

And what have you written
On these white letters of clouds ?
I can't read well, the moon is with you,
Or have you sent them blank?

Your words are all mixed tonight
Anger, care, complaint and love.
All come and go fast
How am I to respond ?

Come closer, stay,
Let me feel you on my face.
Let me take-in your scent
In my breath.

Be engulfed in joy innocent
Without reason any
And be aware
That you Are.

all i have is words, hope and you

there is no tomorrow;
what we have is the present and each other.
lets live each day as it is,
lets meet each other as we do eager.
lets trust each other as us,
lets be robbed of all that is to be.
lets transform into something we yet know not,
lets cross the limits of all limits we think and
lets rejoice that we found in each other
what we never searched.

lets love each other as we love
lets be each other as we are. (i have not missed 'with')

sauda

बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे,
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे ।
हाथ लिए गेहूं,
मोल दिए आटे का रे ।

जो कुछ भी माँगा,
पल में गवाया,
फिर मांगने तेरे
द्वार मैं आया ।
माया मरी न
तृष्णा मरी,
देह मरा पर
यह मन न मरा रे
बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे । । । १। ।


चैन गवाया, बुद्धि गवाई
बदले में चिता-सी चिंता पाई।
इस दौड़-धुप में क्या पाया मैंने
और कौन मुझसे छुटा रे
बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे । । २। ।

ध्यान छुटा, मेरा भजन छुटा
विषयों के बाज़ार आकर
मेरा तकदीर फूटा ।
कीमत न जानी कैसा अभागा
सोने को मैंने माना सुहागा
इसकी सुनी मैंने उसकी सुनी
गुरु ज्ञान पे न ध्यान धरा रे।
बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे ।


तोता भी रट रट के राम का नाम सीख लेता है। सतगुर कबीर जी को पढ़, सुनके ही यह बन पाया है , उन्ही को अर्पित है ।

naiharva

Naiharva Hum Ka Na Bhave
Sai Ki Nagri Param Ati Sundar,
Jahan Koi Jav Na Avey
Chand Suraj Jahan, Pavan Na Pani,
Ko Sundesh Pahunchave
Dard Yeh Sai Ko Sunave

Naiharva...
Agey Chalo Panth Nahin Sujhe,
Peeche Dosh Lagawe
Kehi Bidhi Sasure Jau Mori Sajani,
Virha Jor Jarawe Vishai Ras Nach Nachawe

Bin Satguru Apno Nahin Koi,
Jo Yeh Rah Batawe
Kahat Kabira Suno Bhai Sadho,
Supne Na Pitam Awey Tapan Yeh Jiya Ki Bujhawey

Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.
Most beautiful is beloved's home - comes and goes none.
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

Someone, please be my kind messenger,
Wind, water, Moon or you the Sun.
Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.

To move back or ahead, a path I can't decipher.
How do I go to the home of the loved one?
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

There is no savior that one's own master,
Shows the right way for us often.
Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.

Objects, senses, engage me in the dance macabre
And my heart faces the arrows of separation.
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

Listen my dear noble ones, says Kabir,
In dreams He comes, quenches thirst of my own.
Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

The master mystic Kabir gives the allusion of a married woman (soul) who pines for her husband's/beloved's (God) home and her heart does not find solace or peace in her mother's home(world). Translated to English by me in a form called Villanelle.
Listen to the song.

poem 26

Duality

Was it you that I sought?
For so long,
At all places,
At lonesome nights
And crowded days,
Among faces known
And unknown,
As what I need,
And what would
Please me the most.

But then you are here now
And why do I still long for
My lonesome nights
And crowded days?
What do I still seek
And why anymore?
Why the same if not more
Restlessness as before?

I wanted you then
And now I don't.
Though you maintain
That you are the same
As you were.

If there be truth
In what you say,
How could you -
The unchanged one,
Cause effects opposite
To one another.
Pain-pleasure,
Presence-Vacuum,
Love-Hurt,
Hope-despair.

I think it was my mind
That perceived as I allowed
And wanted to,
And attached values hence.
Then what would you be?
The sum total of the opposites
Which is nothing
But mere naught.

poem 25

mistake

to see your face
in the silent dark
why bring the lamp
near the mirror
and fail?

is that not the image mere?

bring the light
closer to your face,
illuminate yourself -
the one real,
see the truth clear!

poem 24

nag

salesman of the year and the best ever
could sell almost all things
emotions, love. smile or tear.

nothing is too good or bad to measure
everything has a price, a buyer,
and you can agree on a number.

never out of reasons, pleas
persuasive in ways
ends by any means, please.

and he is persistent and sincere
that, you sign on the dotted line
right now for sure.

comes back always with a new offer,
even though you know, he makes you pay
him you just can not ignore.

poem 23

words

random patterns that ink
makes on white palms of papers,
a few words here and there.

when poured and filled with
emotions and feelings,
attain a life of their own.

can replace a person;
love, hurt, comfort,
instill fear, hope and inspire.

many times spurn actions
out of its fertile womb
and many times a few more of words.

poem 22

They

As curtains of darkness
Were swiftly removed for a moment,
They revealed their thin naked legs
And blood-stained ankles.

Forced to live
Carrying a burden of shame
That belongs to different
Shoulders and heads.

Wombs made barren
By pilferage, Often in broad daylight.
Breasts pricked with metals
Time and again in sadist pleasure.

They do not tie knots
In their cloud-like
Scattered hair anymore
Forced to grey before time.

Children must beg now
After being driven out
From their homes by hunger
And thirst of more.

They may succumb to this humiliation.
To which I added hours of vain ogling
And inaction.

poem 21

to give up, is easy
the river takes its course - up to down
takes along many things with it
things that have surrendered
their will to reverse
the direction of
the flow the mighty element
to traverse in the opposite direction
to strive relentless and
to never give up

I have no idea if this can be called a form. But this style is inspired by Kavi Samrat Upendra Bhanja (oriya poet of seventeenth century)who wrote kavyas (long poetries) with each line starting with one letter such as the Baideheesha Bilasha(with"Ba" initial for each line).

poem 20

prompt : to write a poem whose title is longer than the poem

EXPLOSION AND ULTIMATELY DESTRUCTION OF SELF AND EVERYTHING NOBLE AND GOOD AROUND AT THE FAINTEST HINT OF PROVOCATION WHICH MAY BE REAL OR IMAGINARY

my mind is mightier than the gun
why, it does not need even a trigger !

poem 19

An ode to confusion /What should the title be

Of all things that I am confused about,
I am confused about this confusion the most.
It's birth certificate is very complicate
Father and guess what even the mother
Have the same name as itself!
In the space for date of birth and time
There is just one specific word - 'anytime'.!!

Not an easy child to rear, you must bear
Many many trials: vehement denials
Followed by affirmations strong as bed rocks.
Only to be swapped as twins
And convictions are strong as nine pins.
Experience is meant to be forgotten
And past mistakes very repeatable.

Time, money, relationships and habit
Only make matters worse for it.
'How can I compare apples with oranges, bananas and pears?'
Poor things is an easy prey; sympathy, greed,
Jealousy, conscience, love and hate
All cast and catch it with their own baits.

It's a pathetic actor too.
Words and even silence,
Action and even inertia,
Reveal more of the blessed state than hide!

Even Mr. Frost finally took one road - the one less traveled.
But even if our friend takes one, either one,
It would think and miss the other.
Not only that, it may retreat and take the other
And do the same again, this time the other:
No. The other!

It's only solace though, is to know
That there are others, whom it equally bothers
With degree more or less, but it does.
Takes pride that only it can ride life's rivers
With a feet each in boats two.

One may be certain of many things
And the number of such certain things may increase
But one thing is certain -
There will always be things one is always confused about.


Dedicated to my mother, friends and well i am confused now.

poem 18

You had filled my empty days,
At nights fought with sleep for space
In the yellow desert of my eyes
And showed me many songs and plays.

Made me forget the lashes of memories
Struck on mind's naked back,
A break too from the cruel game with mirages
Of future, where one gambles on forgeries.

Intellect, knowledge, reason kept aside
So did were feelings dipped in pride
To 'here and now' you brought me
To think, believe, realise, decide.

And to Act , for the result taking no thought,
Whether it was a cheap bargain I bought,
It was my inevitable duty, my nature,
That there was a vital battle and I fought.

This form of poetry is called Rubayiyat (rhyming scheme aaba), made famous by the Persian poet Omar Khayyam.


Many titles could be nominated: Temptation, Kurukhsetra, Guru, The War. Too many for me to decide.

poem 17

will you
accept my doubts,
my vices, frailities
my confusions and demons of past
with me ?

in dark
and stormy nights
when i look for support,
will you steady me and hold fast
my hands ?

can you
bear it equally ?
losses-gains, smiles-tears
honour-criticism:without and
with me?

poem 16

maid

she swept neat the floor of the big house,
where from each tile the face of her son beamed.
'left alone at home, would he be crying for me?
ah! if only I could wipe the tear from his cheeks
and sweat from his forehead rather than this floor.'

she put out the clothes in the sun to dry.
the colour reminded her of the red frock
she saw through the glasses at the blue shop.
'should I ask for an advance or wait for month-end;
but my daughter's birthday can't wait no?

'it is so hot this year and then the damned powercuts,
why did they have to cut down the neem tree
that gave shade to her hut?
the children suffer so much during the afternoon!'
she thought while dusting the ceiling and the fans.

'two potatoes and handful of lentils is all that is left,
the children would ask for curry again.
three times he forgot,maybe he is saying the truth
or has he been drinking my Lord !'

her hands, feet and her body were here at her master's house,
busy working tirelessly and well.
her mind's compass though pointed to her small home
and he attention concerntrated on her family above all.

poem 15

inside-out

played many chords strained,
chased many sounds too.
failed to hear but
the perfect melody played within

colours and shapes varied
i sought with eyes thirsty,
never did enjoy the beauty
and play of darkness behind closed eyes.

care, love and respect
fame, wealth and name.
now this and then something else
did i seek in vain.

friends, lovers and others
i sought to complete my self.
all i wanted but was 'me'
as i was complete in myself.

poem 14

First Winter

This winter was the coldest
And the hardest.
During the snowfall of circumstances,
The glass-like sharp edges of flakes of words
Brushed past my exposed face
Unused to climate such as this.

The freezing cold winds from north
Cut my eyes like sharp threads of memories.
Got into my chest made it heavy
And did not even come out.
At night the bones
Could hear them talk among themselves.
The fluid of emotions that oiled them
Must have been dried up.

Many things slowed down,
Some even to a halt:
The heart threatened not to beat at times,
Muscles did not even flinch for a smile,
Tears did not flow past the eyes,
Blood got stuck paralysed,
Unguided by any will to do anything.
The winter would have been bearable,
Had you not pulled away from me
And shred to pieces in a few minutes
The blanket of warm sheep skin,
That took us the whole of autumn to weave.

day 13 - poem 13

Barter

No more of the hardness of earth for me,
Or the thorny bed of grasses.
On soft cushions now I lie down
But sleep like blessings has become rarer.

I have removed the sheet of sky
Studded with stars and clouds.
Now I have a roof rock-solid
Too small for hope and dreams together.

The playful breeze of summer nights
I swapped with mere air-conditioned.
The silence of the woods and river
With the noise of vehicles and motor.

I put my trust on iron and wood
More than on men and their goodness.
Now but doubt everyone
And everything I fear.

I have bartered the whole universe
For a small space called 'my house'
What was without limits any
Tapes and foot can now measure.

Kinship with many and friendship with all,
I hurriedly did shun
I choose a few to alternatively love and hate
Called them 'my family dear' .

day 11 - poem 12

that tear drop
should have stayed in the shell of your eyes.
and years of longing
would have turned it into a pearl

day 10 - poem 11

Sant Kabir Das
A saint in his own class.
Spake only the truth without fear.
Condemned all rituals, upheld love pure.

Sachin Tendulkar
Is not just a cricketer
To give hope, God himself came
Batted for India and blessed the game !

Kishore Kumar
Versatile genius without par
Singer, Actor, Composer and Director
Crooned for many but married four !


(Attempt at clerihew. A clerihew is a whimsical, four-line biographical poem)

day 9 - poem 10

Threat

A roof big, blue and bright
Dark like her eyes at night.
Walls of green mountains around
Valleys soft and profound.
There was my home alright.

Then they all came here
Many names, from far and near.
One was government, other corporate
Some to study, some to educate.
Our plight you see, too hard for them to bear.

"We are here for God's work" some said.
Some others fought with them and retorted.
Medicines with leaflets they mixed
Food for few symbols - deal fixed!
By whom but were my huts gutted?

We were asked to GO,
'To gain something, something you must forgo:
Growth for COUNTRY' they told
"We will turn this land into GOLD"
Graveyard, refugee camps, wherever - just GO!

They tore open the heart of earth mother
Big trucks, night and day did hungrily gather
GOLD as they said before, they got
'US' they all soon easily forgot.
Who gained what and who lost here.

Some of them came again
"What you have lost, you must regain.
Organise, protest, fight and revolt.
Lets give the system a mighty jolt.
Here brothers - take guns and train".

It worked and seemed so perfect
Some land we got back, some respect.
We did plunder your towns for greed 'FACTORIES'
We just wanted back the lives we lived for centuries.
Yet you called us 'COUNTRY's gravest security THREAT!'.

Then a few more marching came
With guns and machines with them.
We bled, got killed, were bombed,
Women, children and men - combed !
THREAT - eliminated, land cleared for GAME!

The poem was written at an altitude of 30-50,000 ft (yeshh, on a flight, on the back of the boarding pass!). Though the things that are written on here are very much grounded.
It is about the 'Country's gravest security threat - Naxalism'.

My attempt at a form called limerick (rhyming scheme - aabba).

day 8 - poem 9

One does not understand ordinarily,
Even has doubts, due to experiences otherwise.
Circumspect, cautious and fearful too
To accept the blessing one has found.
Ever aware of the limits of distance and time,
And transient nature of all seen and felt.
Seeks approbation from others learned and less,
Of what one knows in heart is for certain.
One bounces off and back again and again
From joy and apprehension inexplicable.
Disbelieves the worth of what is received
The receiver and even the generous giver.

Only when one finds a one as 'You',
One knows for sure what has one found!

Dedicated to my sister and all the wonderful people who are a part of my life.

day 7 - poem 8

Bidai - II
(sending off of the bride from her parent's home after marriage)

Though not easy to bear
Today, I would not stop
You or your tears.

They would tell me many things about your world
You many not have told or
I may not have understood well.

Mingled with those of your mother
They would tell me
I am taking the shadow away from the image.
That someone else would also
Need to know all the moment
That you are well and happy.

Dampening the chest of your father,
They would show me,
What high ideals you would seek in me.
The grip of his hand - caring but firm;
That steadied your steps and made you fearless as a child
Would have to be replaced.

Wiped away with plams of your friends and sister
They would beseach me to do the same
If ever you were hurt or sad.
And that you would need to confide in a friend
Without doubt or aprehension
In absolute trust.

More than anything they would inspire me
To do and many times not to do anything
So that I see them again.

This poem and the one posted before this were my reactions as a husband and brother (in that order) though I am yet to experience it first-hand.

day 6 - poem 7

Bidai - I
(sending off of the bride from her parent's home after marriage)

Those tiny fingers which you wrapped around my eyelids
And asked 'bhai, who am I ?'
Have become red with the redness of my eyes
Though old women say its the colour of your husband's love.
Fingers over my forehead, which used to measure my temperature
Nursing me back to health and smile from fever.
And massaged my tired back with mustard oil
Before a winter bath.
Slipped away every so slowly away from me
Farther and stranger.

The earthen lamp lit for prayers at dusk
Will miss the caressing echo of your voice
Repeating the hymns we sang in joy.
Your slippers would have no one to wear them
And run after me to join me in my walks.
Demeaned and even insulted, to whose eyes everyday
Shall I look into to find respect and trust fathomless?

day 5 - poem 6

I know not of the sun
Getting up from the bed of the eastern sea
But I have seen you raise eyelids to look up.

May not have touched with hands
Dew-drops dancing on a rose petal
I have but felt your tender lips.

They talk of the warmth of dove's wings
Who never have snuggled and
Slept in your arms.

With closed eyes when I soak-in,
The scent of your breath
I wish, I never breathe out again.

The eighth note, I discovered
Was the music in your laugh
More than the whisper of the stream.

The tired sun melts into the outstretched
Palm of the horizon and
I have found rest in your heart.

day 4 - poems 4-5

I

We met
And I had thought
We would do so more often.
Still I catch you in my mind, eyes
Do you?

II

This match
Like all the rest
Will have people take sides
For region or reason; decide,
It starts.

(writing before I (still undecided) start for an IPL (read lots of money) cricket match)

First attempt at Cinquain poem (2-4-6-8-2 syllables)

day 3- poem 3

Not This

Have you seen that one man?

Who did not have any name

Came from nowhere; his form

But too blurred to frame.

-

Water, earth, sky, wind, fire;

None of these it was ever

Nor any of the senses, objects;

Smell, taste, sight, touch or hear.

-

It can not be the mind restless

It merely did witness thought's movement

What analysed and judged the world

Was not it, but it's intellect patient.

-

Not for itself, but for ego mighty

Did it gather and posses a lot.

Friend, beloved, master, student,

Child, father: were just forms it begot.

-

No options it has than itself,

Its form is but formless,

Here and everywhere,

Now and everytime, It Is.

("Inspired" by 'Atmashatakam' by Shankaracharya)

day 2 - poem 2

de-sire

Beware of this potent seed - desire:
Sown in fertile mind, fruit it must bear.
Once fulfilled something else does it transpire
Thwarted, often turns to sorrow, anger.
Seated on the throne that governs the land
It cracks the whip like a dictator pitiless,
Thoughts and actions move as per command,
Judgement blindfolded, will powerless.
It's real nature, not easily discerned at first
Deludes us to believe, there is something to gain.
'Hemlock' we realise later, only increases the thirst
And to a raging fire more fuel does one add in vain.
Howsoever tempting and repeated be its call,
Do as less or if possible nothing with it at all.

day 1 - poem 1

together

all live here:
minute seconds of space
in tiny holes of time

(My attempt at writing Haiku)

untitled

न शिकवा है, न सवाल कोई
महसूस करने का खौफ नहीं
हर एहसास को एहसास-भर जिया है ।

तेरे दिए हर एक ग़म के रेशे को
बड़े जतन से एक-एक कर जिया है
लम्हों में पिरोया है ।

बहुत चाहा, कोशिश भी की
कोई और तस्वीर बन जाये इस चादर पे,
पर तेरा ही चेहरा उभर आया है ।

अब जो बन गया है, वो कभी बिखरेगा भी,
मुझे भी साथ लेगा,
ये चादर मेरा कफ़न बन गया है ।

हम

नाम सुना होगा पहले,
कोई चेहरा भी
ख्यालों के कैनवास पर उतारा होगा,
तस्वीर जब देखी होगी
या तो मायूस होगी
या ही मुस्काया होगा ।

जब आवाज़ सुनी थी पहली बार
जाने कैसे कैसे उन शब्दों को कहते हुए
मेरा चेहरा, मेरे हाथ, मेरी हँसी,
मेरे होंठ, मेरा एक - एक भाव
तुमने मेरे साथ महसूस किया होगा ।

लोगों से भी सुना,
जो मैंने किया या नहीं किया होगा ।
मेरी नज्मों को भी बार-बार पढ़ा होगा
और हर लाइन से मेरी पेंटिंग पूरी की होगी ।

मुझसे जब मिली,
तो मेरी जिस्म से ज्यादा
मेरी आखों में देखा होगा -
कहते है रूह का आईना होते हैं ।
मेरी बातों से ज्यादा
मेरी साँसों को सुना होगा ।
मेरा हाथ पकड़ कर मेरी धडकनों की
बेताबी को समझा होगा ।
मेरी मुस्कान में छिपे ग़म
और आसुओं में छलकती खुशी को भी ढूंढ निकला होगा ।

जाने तुमने क्या देखा
जाने तुमने क्या नहीं देखा होगा,
मुझसे मेरा पता पूछो तो
तुम्हारी कसम - मैं भी उतना ही बेखबर हूँ
पर जानना चाहती हो तो
ता-उम्र मेरे साथ 'हम' बनके रहना होगा ।

i don't know i guess the title isn't the best..pls suggest in comments

probability

a second here and an accident missed,
a second there and a life turns dead,
a turn it took to catch a glimpse of you in crowd,
a push to loose your hand and you.

a dream it took to sleep from 'what is'
to 'what could have been',
a nightmare to wake up to 'what is'
from 'what should have been'.

is it all due to some action-reaction of mine
or even some inaction?
or it was all planned and patterned for me to act out
only know i did not.

what is do is what i do on my own
or forced upon by some director mighty
whom should should i put it all on
lines of fate, 'karma', god or probability?

मैं

यह कैसी नींद से जगा मैं आज !
पलकें बंद करूँ या रखूं खुली
एक-सा ही लगता है सब कुछ
वक़्त भी एक-सा, भोर या गोधुली ।

कहते हैं चक्र का न आदि है न अंत
जिस बिंदु से चल पड़े वो सही
शुन्य से शुन्य का सफ़र है
जहाँ से चले थे वही मंजिल और वही पंथ ।

मैं ही मैं हूँ यहाँ, अब कोई और नहीं
माया, संसार, इस पार, उस पार
भला-बुरा, सुभ-अशुभ, पुण्य-पाप
सब अंतर, बाहर कुछ नहीं।

इनका अपना तो कोई अस्तित्व नहीं
मेरी रज़ा के मोहताज़ हैं ये
मेरे नकारने, नज़र अंदाज़ करने पे
इनकी कोई ताकत भारी नहीं ।

पर मुझपे ही मेरा सारा बोझ क्यों?
क्या ये इम्तेहान ज़रा मुश्किल नहीं ?
माना तू मेरे साथ था, है और रहेगा
फिर भी दिल में ये डर क्यों ?

aansun

शाम के दिये सी रोशन तेरी आँखों में
सुबह कि ओस सा साफ़ आंसूं कैसा है ?
जी करता है यह वहीँ रह जाता काश
ठहर जाता, जम जाता, तेरी पलकों में बंध जाता ।

पुराने किसी ज़ख्म की टीस उठी होगी
कोई ख़ुशी के लिए सीने में जगह कम पड़ी होगी
या सम्हाल के रखे किसी कागज़ पे लिखी
मेरी कोई नज़्म ही पढ़ी होगी ।

जो भी हो, बिखरने न देना,
ज़मीं पे गिरने न देना
तेरे पाक ज़ज्बातों का नाम है
मेरी तरह, तेरी आंखों में रहने देना ।

zero sum game

everything we got or bought,
will be be given or lost.
evrything we aspired for
will be received and forgotten

balanced; all deeds noble
by deeds abominable.
all innocent beauty by
all the ugly truth beneath.

all crests to be averaged
by all troughs low.
every zenith by its
respective nadir.

everyone we loved and who loved us
will be separated or left behind.
all those whom we meet will be balanced
by all those we lost.
strangers we make friends
will strike out the friends that become strangers.

at the begining was zero
and so is at the end,
all that was in between
is mere illusion my friend!!

father

i see you all the time, you see me ever,
i know i don't have to see anymore, i know;
that you are there for me, i believe.

everytime i come back, hurt and forlorn
you are there to caress and listen
and tell me 'it will also get over'

even if i act against your will and guidance
disobey and hurt you more
you forget it in a moment and hug me tighter

and correct every wrong that i may do,
hold my hand till i walk straight again
and give me formidable strength of yours.

if only

if only words were any good to express my emotions,
if only your eyes could see through when i was not near,
my restless heart's silent prayer if only you could hear,
if only my gentle touch conveyed my inner trepidations.

if only we exchanged hearts, could you feel the beats
if our respective conditions, god forbid; were switched
your nights would become sleepless and days lack colours
senses, mind and soul would immerse in thoughts of yours

if only you read my words as truth not poetry
if only you allowed your heart to beat rather than choke
if only you let yourself be drenched in love as such
could you understand what i feel for you and how much!!

untitles again - suggestions invited

लाल-पीले, भूरे-नीले, सफ़ेद-काले
कितने और घूंघट खोलूं मैं ?
क्यों ढूँढूं मैं वो नूर-सा चेहरा
हर-बार, बेकरार और बेबस
और क्यों हर-बार हूँ मायूस ?

जंगल के जंगल फांद लिए,
पांव-छिले, सांस-फूले, बदन टूटे,
रात-दिन, दौड़े-भागे,
कौन किस कस्तूरी कि तलाश में
और कहाँ-कहाँ ?

कितने देश, गाँव-शहर, बस्ती रहे कोई,
कितनों को करे अपने-पराये,
कितने जिस्मों ला लिबास पहने,
क्यों किसी का इंतज़ार करे कोई ।
घूंघट के पट तू क्या कभी खोलेगा ?
कस्तूरी को अपने सुगंध का पता मिलेगा ?
भटके राही को अपने घर का पता
और मुझे हर किसी में तू ही तू मिलेगा ?