Category: poetry

when rains have just started

smell of hungry soil

will not let me sleep

and when i do sleep,

wakes me up suddenly

reminding me of the obesience to the deity

of arrogance

and assymetric affections

bahut shor mat machao

mujhey sona hai

lekin kal raat se itni baar tumney jagaya hai

baar baar tootey  sapno ke takiyey par sulaya hai

ab kabhi uthata hun aur kabhi sota hai

lekin neend aur jaag ke beech ki sthiti par

ab tippani kyun karun

kyun na us takiyey ko udher dun

aur ek bhram aaram ka bikher dun

kuchh shabd to kahey  hotey

kuchh kinaro ko  lehron ko saunpa hota

kis chhaor par pahunchati

yadon ko phir wo lehrey

iski chinta na ki hoti to achha tha \\

aao phir se ham in kinaron ko saanf kareyn

kuchh ret ke gharondy banayey

\kuchh todey

\aur kuchh ko saunch kar bas reheny dey

mat kaho ki main phir likhun
 
seemaon mein bandhu
 
aur tumse bas shabdo ke jariye 
 
apni baat kahun?
 
Yeh bhi koi bhala baat hai
Na iski koi niyati hai, 
 
Bas iski to arjoo 
 
ek raat hai

	

Usne poochha ki samudra ka kinara kyun aaj bha raha hai

 

kya kehta lehro ki aad mein muhn chhupa liya

lekin lehron ne kab apni god mein

aise hi kisi ko panah di hai

kisee se chhanv li hai

kisee ko kshama di hai

ham to aaj bhi khali khali se yuhin fira kartey hai

kuchh lehrey hain

jo  hamari iss aadat se khafah huin hai

Usne poochha ki samudra ka kinara kyun aaj bha raha haikya kehta lehro ki aad mein muhn chhupa liyalekin lehron ne kab apni god meinaise hi kisi ko panah di haikisee se chhanv li haikisee ko kshama di haiham to aaj bhi khali khali se yuhin fira kartey haikuchh lehrey hainjo  hamari iss aadat se khafah huin hai

kitni gehraion tak utar sakti hai hamari nanv

 

lekin usko doobaney ki aazadi to abhi tak nahin mili hai

ab usko aisey hi tairaney dey?

ya phir us par se utar key

jhil ko galey laga leny

“atlas of an impossible longing”said that priest, and vanishedi took my compass and started searching the house where i had hung all the clothes to wear when  i will meet her to invite her to my house.but now, i had compass and knew all the directions except that my memories played tricks and will not let me remember the dargah where i had ignited the incense and lighted a lamp and from where the path turned to that house where i had planned to reach and change into a dress that you might recognise.now i will ask a shopkeeperto give me new white kurtas so that i may robe again and hope that memories will return to tell me the way( inspired by an excellent novel by anuradha roy with the title, An atlas of impossible longing, strongly recommended to readers with interest in human situations that defy definition).

when the memories become the sandstonethe life a soothing balmone just flows with the tideabsolutely without any qualmwhen you stand there and shiver in  coldin a rainy night with nothing much to holdthe fire of one’s prayerswill keep you warm, without letting the momories be old

don’t knock, says the shadow of a grave

i will not give way

even if you remove all the weeds

around the place

do not tell me,

i have to understand

and anticipate

what is that which you crave

dont knock, says the shadow of a grave

i have seen it all

with equifinality, certitude and in jest

the hope, faith and love that you trust

will let you , after all, pave

the path of all those

who come to your door

without knocking,

without assuming

that shadows are your surety

in the game of chance

what if you donot have spears, and

are termed a knave