Subah ka gila

Subah subah Ye suraj din se kya kehta hoga?

Aaj kya tohfa laye ho mere liye? Din ka jawab - main Khud jo hun tumhare liye,
par tum har sham ko mera saath kyun chhod dete ho?

Suraj kehta - main jo tumhara saath na chhodun,
To tum raat ka aanchal na odh sakogi aur na hi chand tumhari maang tika ban payega!!

Haar jeet

Main tanhai ke saath apni ladai haar gaya, bilkul tanha jo tha; Aur dekha to wo bhi haari hui thi,naadan mere saath jo thi.

A little boy's first flight

O invisible weaver, where are you?
I can see the bright blue roof of your hut,
One big red wheel in the east, Another small silver coloured in the west,
Both move round and round without stop.
Huge heaps of cotton - white and black and grey,
Why scattered all around your hut  say?
Won't the birds sit on them and spoil them all?

So large is your house and you have no windows, no doors, weaver sir, won't the thieves steal all the cotton?

So much cotton and no workmen to help you lord? You must be working all night and all day.
Pray, whom for do you make clothes master, What do they pay ?

Are they good to you - your buyers? Are they kind or do they cheat? Master, I am a little boy and I know less,
But I will learn fast: keep me as your workman and bless !!

dark comfort

I shrink into the warmth of darkness-
Tired, afraid, forlorn, disappointed.

This blanket, comforts me,
I can see no form, no objects.
Neither can anyone see me
Or my ugly attempts
At being beautiful.

This color renders an equality,
Forces a tyranny of uniformity,
Denounces the brilliant,
And absolves mediocrity.

Like an indulgent mother
Pats my head to sleep,
When the fire of light
Is dancing with mouth open mouth,
Like a dragon to swallow me and mine.
I peep briefly and then,
I shrink into the warmth of darkness-
Tired, afraid, forlorn, disappointed.

unwanted choice

O Infinite Mercy!
Why should your grace
Wait for sincerity in my call?
Whether I want You
Or your gifts distracting,
Should you not come?

When You gave this to me -
Weak will and strong temptations,
Should there be any doubt on results
Of this futile one-sided tussles?

When you have cast me out,
Driven me away from Your home,
Why do you grin in mock
At vain wondering and restless search.

Did you also give me speech and words
And poetry and voice to see
My crooked attempts to
Please You through them?

All I ask, not sure of an answer;
"When separation from You
Was not my choice,
Why Union Is?"

Writing something after a long time. Again, poor with naming my poems. Hope the silent horizons will speak more often and speak well. Amen!

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!"