Category: poetry

i have no favourites
asserted the wind
when it took away
your scarf the other day
i do not know where to, but it flew
as if the wings of the bird
destined to cross the sea had been
painted blue
i saw the streak of blue all over
it did not matter that
the sky was dark
and black

the train is about to leave

my tears can not stop it

nor should they,

you have destinations to reach

if you stop

what will happen to

those who wait for you,

and those who wait have prior claims;

do they, i do not know

but then my season is over,

i must evaporate like the steam of the

engine of your train

what will the clouds so formed do

will they rain on the tracks of the train

and wash all the

memories

or will they

quench the thirst of the some dry fields

let me pray

memories are a punishment

but they also rejuvenate

the resolution to wait

till

the train comes again

Dard is baarish mein gehra ho raha hai,
ek musafir chupchap thoda ro raha hai,
kaun kehta hai use  ab gam hai bhari,

wo to  kabra ke apni chauro aur
kuchh phool akela bo raha hai

kya is tarah kuchh ruk saka
jo bhi saha, raha unkaha
kya kahun, kaisey kahun
kis ped ki chhanv ke neechey rahun

tum to door ek badal ki tarah
hawaon ko chumo bin wazah
lekin main hun, ek dor se bandha
jis ney rakha hai mujhko jinda

chalo bhul jayen shikwe wo sarey
jinhoney diye jakhm itney saarey
kaun kehta hai hai ki ab waqt poora hua
kaun jaaney lag jaayey hamko  kis ki dua

when i tried to tell
it was not enough
the words, prose or poem
went astray
the guard asked me to pay
the tax to enter
the house
once mine,
but i had empty pockets
with no desire to count
what i never could
ind, the curency of care, concern

and compassion
had taken its toll
of the wealth
i had lost,
now you ask,
if i will let the
tide sweep away
all the nests of animals
that bury their destiny under the sand
on sea shore
with no allowance
for disquiet
i have no answer
may be i do not need an answer
am i afraid
or is it just a trade
of love, respect and devotion
with goals, sacrifice and passion

when will you say, it is the end of the day

the spring is far away

and the work is really without pay

when will you say

that life was useful

and the mistakes were meaningful

you can now sit back

rest and retire

let the smells of roses

lure the bee

share the honey

and assure thee

my life could not be as transparent as it needed to be

but then life is still there,

i will walk more

please help me stand

on this cliff of thorns

without wavering for moments lost

i will try and reach there

where it does not matter,

who is in and out , where

festival is over

rich menus and richer were the eaters

i am sure that some were the beaters

of the drum

outside

telling whole world about what we did not know

that taste is not the tether

and we should really bother

about life

and its lost meanings

who knows

when will we have

the next round of festival

when spring will surmise

and the summer will surprise

winter will wait

as if

the monsoon has found a mate

in the clouds of twinkling smiles

over the high tide

let me hope,

we will find

the essence of taste

in the aroma of breaths

that are and will remain

reminders of the recluse

with little berries
i lured the squirrels in my garden
did not mind when sparows came
why will i bother about
the intrusion by babblers

now that i have squandered all the bread
cat comes and asks her share
what can i give her
i have no bread
but then i have the spirit
and the will to give
will wait till
the crop matures
and i can make bread again

wonderful thought

may be time has wrought

a small idol

of peace

let it adorn your window

today

who knows when will it shine by

the rays of morning

unbound, unasked, and unsuspected

of singing

songs of delight

why is the light so delightful today

has sun given way

to its insistence

to shower glow without its fury of heat

or is it just the dew’s delusion

to survive in the lap of hopes

which are nourished by

meandering river

may be the stones have been wrought

as if the time has sought

leave of you , O Kalli today morning

please bless all

who pray to you, with palms big and small

fill their haert with compassion for those

whose mornings bear the plights

of deprived nights

on roadside

in slums

0r a widow’s clums

of dried grass

woven into a basket

to bring flowers to your temple