curiosity, concern, compassion and collaboration
why shall i ask you to wait
for the bells to ring the time
of laying the wreath
on the grave of those
poems which were written to myself
but which ended up creating
expectations all around,
every tree in bloom
felt that these poems were celebrating
the arrival of spring
when i had actually only narrated the
solemn demise
of certain hopes
that be better laid to rest
after all, do we sow the seeds in desert when
drought has alredy begun
should i thank you
for all the topsy turvy
roads you made me walk on
how else would i have realized the beauty of
pursuing paths
without any end in sight
but still so nice
so delightful
to pursue
soch bhi nahin pata hun, jo tum keh deti ho
merey wishwas ke jakhmon ko sah leti ho,
kya pata kis tarah itney badlon ke beech, akeli rehti ho
na chamakati ho, na girti ho,
bas asmaan ki kisi gehri ganga mein beh leti ho
tumhey shikayat hai, ki mainey saarey dard kyun diye na tumhey
chup chap yaka yak ro kar, meri aaho me apni khushia bhar deti do
baat to itni badi na thi
phir kyun toofan uth gaya
kitney najuk rahey hogey wo khamabey
jin par tika vishas, yuhin dhah gaya
har baar har koshish jo ki mainey
tumko thoda sukoon de paun
lekin kya bataun, byaj to diya nahin
aur bhavanon ka mool utna hi reh gaya
do you remember, he asked,
what should i say?
why should i remember the part of past which is painful
the part in which i lost track of boundaries
and the part about which i do not feel so good about
but that part was a truth
and can we ignore truths because they remind us of our weaknesses
do we become stronger that way,
do we,
i do not think so
we must learn, if its possible at all
but not ignore, it reverberates
when the habits change the language
we forget the argument and pick on the words
why are we worried,
because the argument is trivial
the words are irrelevant,
but the meanings have been inferred already,
“i know what you want to say but are not saying”
why do we do that?
do not call me back
if you can not understand
why some reeds grow on sand dunes
why do they hold so strong in shifting sands
why do we need to face the fire in summer when
reeds and grass blades embrace their kind so intimately
do not call me back
if the ash of burnt grasses
blackens your feet
and you can not put them again on the stones
you washed with your tears
hold me in your arms O!the benign tree
do not squeeze all the space
by letting nests of ants
enamour you of their intimacy
the breeze may make a few dried leaves fall
but the shade of the rest
will provide succour
when barks will dry up
when the wheels turn
and the time leaves shadows behind
do we walk on the trails so formed to dig deep
with in the margins of the minds
that seek
solace under the imprints on the shifting sands
some to known ends and some to unknown ones
friends have started looking back
clouds do not bear the burden too long
they rain
but then
i have just seen long stretches of parched lands
why do women paint the walls
so beautifully
so that one stops,
stays and be
still
or just pause, but not persist
if one will