Silhouette

A hazy silhouette in a drowning sun
On a decrepit boat amidst roaring waves
Hurt from storms and nostalgic winds
For rushing to home, its heart craves

Yet the hands don’t feel the urge
And the body doesn’t twist in the despair of inaction
Instead, a random shallow feeling haunts the mind
Monotony of getting stuck since inception

Duration makes you restless, if you are restless
Else it makes you too comfortable, too lazy
For him, everything started losing its meaning
A cadaverous mind became even more sleazy

Nihilistic thoughts under myriad obligations
Moments that goaded him to the choice of desertion
Of everything he owned or believed he would
He left for the sake of an unknown gratification...

Devil's Cry

As devil unleashed his vitriolic venom

Imprudently they spurned

Fleeing could have saved them

Too late now--all in his range were burned

A sweet little ingenuous child

Viewing the world through his love tinted eyes

Epitome of goodness & faith he was

Amazing how soon the innocence dies

Battered torn scarred shaken

The world rammed over him

He ran, he fought, he lost

Chance of survival in civilized jungle was slim

Yet each time he stood up to face the world

With every battering the child died within

His soul became darker & darker

He acquired a thick shell & a sting

Annihilation ran amok all around

An unprecedented most unforeseen barrage

How could they have known who he was

Charm, comic & candor—chimerical mirage!

Wide eyes dilated with terror they remembered

The incredible time when he met first

Sparks of love flew all around

That was before the bubble burst

Amongst those unfortunates was a fairy

She saw him and she was trapped too

Cheerful & young like a verdant bower

She loved him and to him it seemed he loved her too

Her soft touch was like a water drop on lotus

Epitome of delicateness, she was beauty surreal

Was it a dream, or was the dream real

He stooped to the halo, she made the devil kneel

Love a scorpion and it can do only one thing

It can sting and a slow death it can bring

He can’t help it, it’s his nature, that’s how he grew

Despite knowing that the sting makes him dead too

Devil he was, he just couldn't change

But the love was real, only he knew the same

He cried & shrieked on destruction of love he had himself hurled

And vitriolic venom was unleashed on the world

Bridge of Life

An ardent, determined, passionate heart
Traversing ostensibly eternal bridge
Running he is, what a splendid start
Dreaming supreme grandeur glory image

Running myriad other people are
Irrepressibly, along the same way
And afraid they are competing
He runs harder and faster away

It's a painfully long stretch of run
He slacks down but doesn't give up
But now he is tired raging brazen
Middle-aged beast carrying burdens he picked up

Lived for more than half way
Now he could see the devil of end looming
With every single step his heart bleeds
Oh it's such a depressing repugnant feeling

There is no future of hope, no hope of future
Doesn't matter what you now do
End plays overture
With heavy chains dragging behind you

Its a whirlpool of time
Swirling away since eternity
The circle of creator grime
What superior dexterity

Putting one step at a time you walk fore
Un-hurried, enjoy the love shower
Relationships, beauty and grace we inanely ignore
The world is so beautiful, we don’t realise it before

Years will pass and come to the end
Your dreams, desires, memories and pain
Would you to your mirror image be able to stand
Would you like to do it all over again

Reminiscence

Crackling dry leaves
Shush of night
Dreadful darkness
Flickering light

Lonely boulevards
Populated walls
Screeching of silence
Clapping of palms

Holding of hands
Slipping of loss
Innocent hug
Shudder across

A lone truth
Milieu of lies
Beginning of fall
End of tries

Euphoric frenzy
Abject notion
Beautiful deception
Ugly expectation

Hint of togetherness
Umbrage of bye’s
Holding of looks
Hope clad eyes

Humble competitor
Egoistic war
Battle of attrition
Imperceptible bar

Endless ticking’s
Moments dead on
Bitter sweet flashes
Ephemeral, now gone

Shriven

It starts, starts with a squinching feeling
An itch in the heart, oxymoronic euphoric flinching
She secernates, knowing something is wrong
Now the desire to scream has been eons long

To scream irrationally, for the reason is unknown
It pains somewhere but she can’t moan
May be, may be she knows inside
But she is afraid to confess, damn her fictive pride

Suppressing till she herself forgets
These enshrouding feelings pain begets
She chooses to pain herself, chooses to suffer
From a curse someone created by creating her

It’s a want, a desire tragically grand
But the string of the puppet is in some other hand
The puppet tries hard to escape, but how can she
She is smothered, she is trapped, she can’t be free

When she tries to fall, a string pulls her high
But she knows its going to loosen nigh
Swinging unwillingly but what can she do
So helpless, so weak that frailty pities her too...

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There are puppets surrounding her
She feels socialised, with all together
It’s a pleasing feeling to know others are puppets too
She acts normal, like all do

As if she is in control, no stymy
Acting as the master of her own destiny
But deep inside she knows the truth
"Mickle-of" she may feel the ruth

Sometimes it happens, of course the chance action
That the string swings her in her desired direction
Other puppets say it’s the way of life
But she knows it’s a double edged knife

Swinging back and forth, she sometimes falls
Her face on the ground, the world stalls
Other puppets say everything happens for good
And yes, a string indeed pulls her up by her hood

But she feels weird, she knows nothing was in her control ever
And it would certainly repeat, repeat until she wanes into a cadaver
And so she screams and screams unvoiced
The string of her mouth is still tied

Now, now suddenly she feels lighter, like an illusory elf
She never realised, but indeed she confessed it to herself
Now she is shriven, shriven from the curse of agitation and breath
She lends herself forever in the hands of death...

Forsaken

Capricious meandering river
Chartering courses it never strove
Craving to coalesce with the sea
Conked, lost, it was never to be

Sea was her life, her lust, her lover
So much so yet things went awry
Strident roars it started out with
Skeletal, cadaverous it choked in the midth

"Wish i could have reached you, my love
Would have touched you once in eternal embrace
Wonder how life tenor can go so wrong
Withering parched listless gloomy song

In some place or in all, in some moment or in all
I wish to have bestowed you endless joys
Instead every time I brought tears unsought
Indignant clouds crenel in land of drought

Trust me I would have done anything to be with you, my love
Timshel I created our future in reveries and yet
The two roads which merged in Frost’s rondeau
Took I the easy one and that destroyed all hopes of being with you

Now I bear bane of forsaking you incomplete
Nihilistic, I hope I dry in burning sun & tempest winds
Nadir I have thrown myself from greatest heavens above
Never can life mean anything without you, my love

Know you are so grand that you cannot even curse
Katharsis is your anathema as suffering is bliss for me
Kowtow I to my miserable fate—unkept promises in rotten grove
Kiss me last—I leave all happiness of the world to you my love..."

A river which wished to unite with the sea
A dream in which it never let itself go awry
A will which swayed its waves to love in blithe melee
Ah Merge-O river! with open arms he waits for thee...

Wolves

One eye met one million

Unfazed unblinking unshaken

Eerie milieu with quiet disquiet

Portending war silence unbroken

A simmering anger wafting the air

More than enough was taken

Boiling inside dormant outside

Now no more, time to raven

Silent sharpening of claws

Tempestuous scratching of land

Voices buried in the thunderous roar

Too late to amend

A jungle with nothing unusual

Big strong gorged the weak small

And myriad and myriad of years passed

And it was accepted by all

So the atrocities avalanched

Point nobody could have returned

And finally the lambs revolted

Too long had they burned

The wolves too were lambs once

The dice of society made them superior

Skin and teeth changed too

As their attitude began to smear

While the lambs with opposite thoughts

With time became more fragile

Servile disposition not serving them too well

Now they lacked in both strength and guile 

The power demonises the possessor

Wolves bolted and killed

And devoured and torn lambs

And amidst this helplessness, the anger spilled

Some lambs united

Revolted against the leaking umbrella

Opportune moment to kill were never less

Disguised they hit with stealth of guerrilla

Weapons borrowed from buffaloes and cows

Who too were the victims of atrocities

The stealth war hit wolves badly

Begging for pities and generosities

Seeing bloodshed a few lambs stood against their pack
And for wolves they prayed

They wanted to make them understand their point

Not realizing wolves were not monks who had accidently swayed

Wolves counter attacked voraciously

Killing and devouring any lamb they found

But this was no different from

What was happening from aeons on the jungle ground

The lambs were used to it 

The wolves were not

They had never seen a bigger crisis

Forts after forts were quashed to blot

In some places lambs advanced easily

Hiding their lives the wolves run away

In others the defiance lasted longer

But eventually wolves had to give the way

The victory was achieved

Every fighting lamb was a proud soldier

He had killed all who had tortured his generations

With each kill his blood had become colder

He had looted and ruined all he could see

And he wondered how convenient it was

After years of suppression and rotting

The power belonged to his class

And then came a moment nobody had conceived

Soldier lambs refused to settle to their previous roles

They had felt superior like kings

How can they now accept proletarian doles  

They attacked buffaloes who had aided them

And plundered and robbed whatever they had

They had tasted blood and they enjoyed it

All expected peace but came terror in stead

Laughing and marching they felt enervated

Carrying their parade in devilish droves

Tired and thirsty they reached a river

And saw their reflection and they saw wolves

A Tale of Vicissitudes

Blackness of darkness enshrouding wet evening
Hollow emptiness pinching the heart
A lonely man harboring feelings unfulfilling
Ungratified, restless, rushed out for a dart

A blossoming vernal dame, fair as a fairy
Picking fruits from a bounteous green tree
Her eyes behold his, one curious one wary
And her cryptic charm conked his spree

Unable to move, he stood spellbound
She was a beauty with eyes blue shaded
Frail body and laughter bell sound
He perused her eyes as the evening faded

And they met under the same tree every evening…

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The rising of moon, sensuous darkness expanded
At each look, each touch, a sensation lingering
Caressed by his hands in the élan she commanded
Overcoming resistance, she felt their bodies melting

Stars blossomed on them as myriad little gem
The misty air stroked each strand of their hair
The affectionate big tree showered flowers on them
Earthly fragrance beatified their cosmos like utopia rare

What a beautiful sight of two lovers embracing each other
So beauteous that even the God’s couldn’t endure
The man had to leave to a distant land much farther
The tearing pain of separation knew no cure

Crying clouds crenelled tears for the tree as cry he did
Stars and moon hid unable to bear the vicarious pain
The land’s fragrance was even more but sordid
And the girl seemed to know she would never see him again

One last look, one last embrace, one last cry
No words spoken (as never were), just a silent moan
Lived the eternity in embrace till the tears ran dry
And then he was gone

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Drudging in day to day myriad grim chores
Raw Reality Reigns and dreams are ignored
Depressed he repressed the memories of those shores
Where once two souls had struck an eternal chord

But on grim moments when the evenings grew shady
And the clouds of loneliness enshrouded the heart
Mind traveled to the utopian land of his lady
Submerged yet surfeiting in the love miles apart

With his eyes closed, he saw her comely face
In a tale of vicissitudes traversing from love to woe
He remembered her fragrance, touch, embrace
And tears broke from his eyes like melting snow

And an age passed before it happened...

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like a miracle which betides as tough time dies
Became true an inconceivable dream
She was standing there in the front of his eyes
On glistening white stairs with a cheerful gleam

Uprooted family, wandering, as a wretched animal strays
Looking pale and fragile donning a muddy red skirt
Ostensibly without water and food for days
Battling against fate amidst death trying to subvert

"Is she really her, ah incredulous I sound!”
Thanking destiny for the most precious gift
He cried of happiness and swirled her around
And both felt each other as if there was never a rift

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a cold dark night with thundering skies
Wind whistling like a musical midnight bard
Shuddering, he woke up with swollen red eyes
While she still slept besides him with a hand on his heart

He sat on the bed placing his feet on the ground
Feeling harrowingly empty and strangely alone
He should have been happy with her around
Instead he sat there gazing her like a stone

Something seemed different, he couldn’t place
“I am with the person I love but where is the feeling
Why is this weird haziness haunting my mind-space”
What is missing, why under loneliness am I still reeling”

He sees a big tree falling outside his window
There were no stars, no moon tonight
The air was misty but wailed like widow
Earthly fragrance felt like smelling cadaver blight

And then he understood what is missing

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When something is conceived in its surroundings
The latter remains embossed in it for ever
Love is incomplete without the memories it brings
And he stood to return to the ties he wish he had never sever

Miles apart there is the big bounteous green tree
As the evenings fade with the dying sun, 2 footprints emerge
Amidst misty air with earthly fragrance and moon and stars
Parts of soul that never die still merge...

Bird

Sitting at the shore I was staring at the horizon
Marvelling at things passing away without a stir
The inevitability of the drowning sun
And our lives, so much like it, fade away in a blur 

Melancholy of milieu was gratefully broken
By a bitty bird batting on an old beach tower
Talking with her eyes in words unspoken
Drizzle of curiosity amidst lifeless shower  

In an immanent feeling of superiority
She tilted her head to construe something
& then carried on her tasks with great nitty-gritty
While I sat admiring her zest for living

I looked at her and wondered how simplistic life can be
Her curiosity & charm like a spell bound me
I grew fond of her and probably so did she
I hummed a rhyme & she sang with me

I loved watching her go about her ways
Moving close & far playing her game of sway
A connection I never felt in all the days
Instinctively I stretched my hand to hold her 
& snap she flew away...

Bird II

From a bitty batty bird to a graceful swan

Every shade she display

I waited for her from dusk to dawn

When snap she had flown away

I lifted my gaze to stare at horizon

Cold morning I shuddered

Some unspoken unrealized expectation

Strange are the ways of love I wondered

Unaware of my perplexity

She was sitting on her nest on a branch right above me

Rearranging twigs & leaves with great nitty-gritty

Fortuitously I looked at her & so did she

Funny feeling to know she was here all along 

Laughed I did with an unexpected glee

I couldn't stop myself from staring at her for long 

She tilted her head as if something is wrong with me

Enervated of this hide & seek game

I wished her presence to be forever with me

Seemingly she was mulling the same

I winked at her and she chirped at me

Then it struck me in that cold winter

Her world is the vast skies where she flies free

To try to hold her is to lose her 

Unfettered unheld she would eternally be with me

So I observe her go away at her own accord

Watching her flight in the skies above from a distance

Every evening I go and sit under the same tree

And inevitably she is there waiting for me...

The Outcast

Strangled, suffocated, simmering
Yearning for a drop to fall
Exsiccated chassis without it lynching
Moments seem to eternally crawl

Trapped within a circle
Outside there are ponds
Beautiful roses, pleasures plural
While I die, devoid of fronds

Yes I was green once
I had many who cared for me
I remember that sweet fragrance
Before it all went awry

Alone in the sun, with no one around
I was suffering, burning, angry
But still within me was a small pond
The piece of child immanent in me

I pledged to keep her forever
It was her soothing innocence
Curiosity, excitement, that made me a dreamer
Wish i had cherished her short-lived presence

The slaps of wind were hard
Sun’s rays burned me for aeon
I became bitter, I became shard
And before I noticed the child was gone

Yes now I am not afraid of winds and sun
No one can hurt me anymore
I have nothing to lose, a worthless bum
But am I happy as before this bloodless gore

Yes this shield of bitterness protects me
From the brutal slaps of the world
But look what it robbed from me
The innocence within me that happily hurled

My love is gone, my life is gone
My child is gone, everything is gone

The old desert wished to cry
But alas everything within him was dry
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Listening to his confession, the green land wondered
If this is the price I’ll have to pay
To be able to face the world, its absurd
I would never be a desert, my water would stay
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ages passed and the green land became a dryland
But it still had managed to hold a little water
The winds roared and the sun burned
How dare this bum stand and not flounder

[And they attack him with full force]

No, no I can’t let that happen
I won’t be yet another desert
Listless lifeless languid bum
By flowing with them, I would avert

[Soon a strong wind started blowing]

O destiny! Take me wherever you want
I lend myself forever to thee
I am yours, I give you thy grant
I refuse to struggle, deny being free

The people were surprised, to safety they were rushing
Never in their lives had they seen a bigger dust-storm
Tides after Tides of dust were crushing
And then he was left—torn, beaten, deform

No there was no land no water now
It was all dust spread around
The old desert was helping a wildflower grow
Amid dirt particles settling on the ground

House of Sand

The house of sand is yet half build
When a tide comes and blows it away
Leaving behind ruins like dreams killed
Which obstinately refuse to fray

On a shore where ruins persistently gather
Who can dare to build another
Who has a heart of stone
To trample the losses and mockingly move on

But then an illusion comes and lends a hand
Who cherishes your dream of a house of sand
And you just feel the whispering of a breeze of boon
Your dream would be a reality soon

You hold that hand and build it together
With desperation, anticipation and a curious feeling
But just when it feels this would last forever
I hear another wave in the distance reeling

O! how can you fight with the inevitable
You don’t want to let it go
The pain of losing all in front of you is inexplicable
But you just know it would happen so

At a hazy distance, stands a house of sand
Inside I see myriad glinting objects which tempt
Overcome by a rush to possess my own, i stretch my hand
And I realise the unfruitful eternal luring attempt

Another wave surfeits in the distance
And I don’t care
Standing by my shadow in a state of trance
At the ruins of life we mockingly stare

Sublime

Why it seems your smile conceals a pain within...
Same lips which were once epitome of innocence
Now fumble while kissing the words
Can I touch your soul and get you to peace?

Why it seems your eyes are at a threshold of tears
Same eyes which glinted like a sparkle in the morning sun
Now hope-clad seem to be searching for something or someone
Can I kiss them & make you re-believe in all the dreams you had?

Why it seems you have become so detached now
Same person who will jump at every little thing
Now just stares blankly, unable to feel any joy or pain
Can I shake you from your slumber & run with you in the winds?

Why it seems you keep your palms hidden from the world
Same palms with which you covered your lips in laughter & eyes in pain
& which would merrily join to clap at every little joy & jubilation
Can I titillate you to make you laugh from your heart again?

Why it seems you don’t feel like walking anymore
Don’t you remember the times when you loved sauntering in sunshine & rain
& waved your arms in full circle with a smile to last every day
Can I match your steps to make you experience little joys of life again?

Why it seems it has been ages since you spoke
Same person who would not stop blabbering for a moment 
All the time pretending it’s the most grandiose worldly-wise talk
Can I listen to your magical words & tease you at your endless rant?

Why it seems you have lost faith in yourself & the world
Same faith through which you kept mediocrity at bay
In a dead world with dead faces, you were always born to be sublime
Can I help you become more sublime every day?

Altitude

Soaring in the sky she saw
Chaos of life fanning beneath
A chronicle of scum shammed sublime
Viewing otiose tapestry of man’s burdens in disbelief

She saw seas deeper than life
For one were eternal and the other not
And yet the ostensible similarity
Tides ebbing & soaring in a monotonous plot

She saw both clouds & life acquire several shapes
And yet one assumed fluidity & the other not
She saw the sun ascend & sink much like life
And yet one coursed solo & the other stumbled tied in knots

She saw mountains wither away with time
Uncomplaining they deigned in oceans & river beds
While she saw rage, grief & resistance  
Amongst golems in a sea of deads 

She saw the flowers bloom and vanish in one season
Getting everything at one moment & then losing it all
& yet she saw the flowers blossoming again
While man congenitally was mourning its inevitable fall

She saw the rivers flowing seamlessly just like life
And yet one knew its destination & merrily made to shores
While the other living in an illusion of purpose
Ran stagnated in the journey’s course 

She felt ever moving yet invisible wind
In her intimate laps she had comfily flown
Value in life of myriad entities unseen
She wondered if underneath’s had known  

 She saw snow defrosting on the mountain tops
& yet she saw them glittering in moonlight
Inevitability of life is in melting 
& yet greatness is to shine brighter in the plight

She saw it all from the sky with proverbial bird’s eye
While conceited men desired to fly high like her
Nescient that though physical elevation they may possibly reach
But her height prevailed in some plains other...

Angel

Holding your finger in my palm
I look at you o angel and see
Gratitude, love and eternal calm

Amidst ego, lust and delusional living
Ambition, race, ruthless striving
Purposeless directionless I was wandering

I had given up long ago
All childhood hopes and expectations
And once those gone I was too rigid to flow

In this ocean of people I was drowning
And somehow didn't want to be saved
Not knowing what I want, on instincts I was surviving

It is an illusion for sure and yet it is true
I feel pain I feel misery I feel love
How can what I feel not be real but for you

Strong on the surface yet when fortunes shake and stir
Atlas has to sit on his knees and the sun has to blur
I had gone down yet you pulled me back from nadir

I had stopped existing I was gone
Seeing the reflection in the mirror I wondered all along
Where am I lost, and then I saw you and knew I am not alone

Thank you for saving me

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

But these words are a myth a dream a hope
I wish you were here but you weren't ever
This senseless life and its downward slope
I look for you but you aren't there...

Music of Nature

The random zigzagging of clouds
I am staring as the darkness shrouds
The redness of the dying sun
Fading of the mighty baron

A slight haze inducing mystique
The wind, the thunder, the silver streak
A flock of birds disappearing over the horizon
A dejected moon, yearning to shine again

A passive contemplation
A dead dream's evocation
A light drizzle, a heavy thought
Rushing past me, the memories unsought

A Pigeon gazing with curious eyes
An esoteric whim, it snaps its ties (flies)
Something seems misplaced
I know I would never understand

The drizzle and the wind trouncing
An expectation, a wait, an anxious longing
My gaze lifts above, in sublime embrace
And a drop of water falls on my face

The chasm of Travel

The purest pursuit, devoid of any pretenses or expectations. Just you and the eternal vastness. Emptiness all around and yet it doesn't feel incomplete. Running children, racing lives, and for once you are a mere spectator. If you have performed on the stage all your life, being in the audience really feels dazzling. Makes you realize what you are actually doing on stage. Not that it really gives you a choice though, but for once and once in a while, you are away. To a world which is neutral. A different world. A world where there are no rules, nor need of any.

The vast open skies, the eternal seas, ethereal snow, long winding roads, all silent. The most profound silence you can ever imagine to be soaked into.

Pity that mind still wanders. Reminds you are only a human. The gone by ages and distances really play cat and mouse in your mind. Skeletons are exhumed--ones you had buried long ago. The blooming of flowers and their sweet smell. It all appears deja vu. Non-existence of ticking clocks. The vastness and deep chasms really take you back. Abruptly in the past, to the younger you.  The ever mistake-making mongrel who somehow made all the wrong decisions, or is it only those pictures come to the mind first. And ironically you are happy today despite all. You smile. All lovely moments, and sad only due to the reason that they all ended. Wish you could  have had the present day maturity, or just the wisdom of retrospection.

Why do moments just whiz past us without giving a second chance? Why don't things ever turn out the way you really want, or is it just that those memories carry on being engraved more profoundly? It doesn't matter now. Life has moved on and it has expected you to move on as well. It has been very bestial that it didn't slacken during those extraordinary moments and they just blew away. And here you are. Staring at the wide chasm before the mountain, blackened by the shadow of the clouds.

The shy sun. How long does glory last, or is it in your head only?

The music of winds, the ephemeral fluttering of leaves. Why do dreams just fade away?

The high mountain, tolerating the sunshine & rains  for thousands of years & yet there. Why does life sometimes feel so stagnant?

The ever flowing river, hardly stopping for anyone. Why are we not able to keep on moving so easily?

The birds flying back to their nests after a day's hard-work. Why are we so easily distracted?

The parched cold desert, not a drop has fallen in ages. Why our expectations from others so high, for that matter even there at all?

The change of seasons, making the leaves fall from the trees and baring them naked, showing no mercy. Why do we love?

The vast ocean of snow, plain untouched. Where is the child which we were once?

Temptation is strong to just walk away into the wilderness. Why we just can't?

The cycle of sun, of air, of birds, all going round and round. Are we actually moving to deeper understanding of us, of life, or are we just too engaged superficially to keep doing mundane without giving a thought?

Too many questions at once. Nobody to answer or give a clue. Or do i sense a smile on the surface of that wave?

लक्ष्य

लक्ष्य तक पहुँच कर ही रुक गये तो क्या दौड़े
अपने कदमों को थमने ना दो
तालियों के हक़दार वो नही जो सबसे तेज़ भागते हैं
बल्कि वो हैं जो मंज़िलों को पाते हैं

अंधेरी राहों पर अकेले दौड़े तो क्या दौड़े
राह में तुम्हारे साथ कोई तो हो
पर हमसफर का हाथ पकड़ के चलना भी तो कोई उप्लब्धि नही
साथ तो भागे पर राह में ही बिछड़ गये तो क्या दौड़े

मंज़िल पर पहुँच के सोचना क्या यही मेरी चाहत थी
धोखा खुद के साथ है और मंज़िल से भी
आईने में अक्स पूछेगा जवाब
इस धोखे के साथ राहों पर दौड़े तो क्या दौड़े

जीवन की राह पर भाग तो सभी लेते हैं
कुछ मंज़िल तक पहुँचते हैं और कुछ खो जाते हैं
तुम भी भागे थे सबके साथ उसी लक्ष्य की चाहत में
सब को पछाड़ कर भी थम गये तो क्या दौड़े

जीवन की राह में मंज़िलें और भी आएँगी
एक बार फिर कदम बढ़ाने को वो उकसाएँगी
गिर के उठना, उठ के गिरना किस्मत है तुम्हारी
पर मंज़िलों को हासिल करना तुम पर है

मंज़िलें तुम्हारा इंतज़ार करती हैं
तुम्हारे कदमों की आहटें वो बेसब्री से सुनती हैं
पर मंज़िलों के राह पर भागने वाले तुम अकेले नहीं
बेवजह प्यार में सब कुछ लुटाने वाले और भी हैं

जीवन फूलों का बिछौना नहीं है
राह में सैकड़ों रूकावट आती हैं
रुकावटें  क़िस्मत हैं तुम्हारी
पर उनको पार करना भी तो तुम पर है

इन्ही राहों पर चलना है तुम्हे

ज़ख़्मी पैरों से दर्द सहते हुए बढ़ना है तुम्हें
मंज़िलें करती हैं तुम्हारा इंतज़ार बाहें खोले हुए
इन्ही मंज़िलों को हासिल करना है तुम्हें...

Aloof

Playing the violin when the Rome was burning

He was aloof, stoic, ostensibly non-disconcerted

Urge of inaction was immense

Stayed far on shore when the tide was turning

Millions who had faith in him

Realized their foolishness when it was too late to save

Abhorred him from the core

Yet could do nothing except turn in own grave...

Musings of an Iconoclast

Somehow I have always missed the trees for the forest. Never paid attention to the smaller things composing the big picture, and that’s when even the big picture gets screwed up. It’s the subtleties of life that perhaps are the most important...the passion…the enthusiasm to do everything which everyone else does…but in a dead way. So many dead faces surrounding you and when you spot one, just one, you want to cling to it, never let it go, seek undying eternal passion from it.

In pursuit to be different, you have made yourself an alien, looked at the world as if standing on the moon, sneering at common people. Considered yourself the greatest individual despite doing nothing different from a commoner...just because you refused to mentally kowtow to the fundamental, immanent principles of the world. But are you? Escapism is never the route to reality. It’s about enjoying the fruits of life fully, to live life as it is meant to be lived, and as millions of others are doing it. Trust me, it’s not about seeking happiness in every dying second of life…it’s about filling that second with passion and making it live again.

Devote yourself. Meditate. Introspect and retrospect and make yourself better. Make yourself common. You are a part of the dead society but don’t make yourself dead, ever. Learn new art. Seek knowledge. Remember you are going to be old one day. It’s a verity. How do you want to look at the gone decades of your life? Confused creature, running away from every happiness and commonality seeking higher truth but never realizing how low this high lies. Or do you want to live, love, forgive, share, learn, teach and be some one’s ideal, fulfill every dream however small it is…however common it is?

Mirage of fleeting time

I was there, sitting at the corner of the seat in the sleeper class compartment—barely paying attention to the ruthless slaps of cold wind and rushing scenes. A kind of random question comes into my mind—why isn’t anything registering? Why does it seem like I am a third person, watching my life pass by me? How long it has been since I have paid attention to the journey rather than the destination? My memories veered to the journey to Kharagpur. For the 1st time, I was to be away from my family, friends and city. That journey...

"The super-congested train gave the impression of inferno, as 15 of us—the Delhites sharing the same destiny—sneeringly entered our compartments. We had made a choice and though it seemed like a dream, deep within I knew its going to change our lives indelibly—forever. As dusk evolved from reddish-blue to hazy dark, the journey began. Everything seemed rushing behind, as if I was transgressing to a new life. Nearby me, were sitting some friends I had barely met twice, but now seemed as if we had known each other from aeons. Eating, chatting, watching movie on laptop, listening to songs—time fleeted like mirage."

...and that is when i noticed it first. The mirage of fleeting time.

The tunnels, flocks of sheep, V-shape of birds in the sky, rocks, colour of soil, dance of electricity wires and railway line—is it déjà-vu? Childhood memories surfeit and nostalgia sinks in my heart. I remember these scenes from my past travels, when i was a small kid, travelling with the family...has anything really changed? My family loved travelling and so did I. I got a chance to visit remote places like Tripura and tourist spots from all over India when i was very young. I loved watching outside the train window, to all the scenes passing by, and it all was like taped in my memory.

How fast am i moving? Why do i remember the 1st 14 years of my life much more vividly than the later ones? When you run mindlessly, all the pleasure is gone. The mirage of success is that it is the door way to another race. It’s an endless loop. “The most despicable man is man without a purpose”, Ayn Rand wrote. What purpose does having a purpose serve? All are ways of passing your life. Don’t do it and nothing would change. If it is satisfaction or pleasure or recognition one so desperately seek, then its all in the mind. You can be happy and satisfied without being known by anyone. Then what is your purpose?

Rat race is a necessary evil. Its just like a game. You win a point, you get happy, you lose, you try harder, but the game continues. You continue it because you enjoy playing it. May be you get tired of it sometimes, but have got so addicted that you can’t stay away from it much long. You take a rest, and come back again. You always feel in the end that you could have played it better. That is the fun of it...

Zombies

Have you ever felt moving in a world replete of zombies? Hordes of people running daily— to schools, colleges, offices and fields. Skipping breakfasts. Missing sleep. Paradox is this is called ‘living’. Everyone’s robotic life moves so systematically. A child is born and is spanked on the ass to breath, milk feeded till its old enough and then taught how to walk, talk, eat and shit. Till here, even animals and birds have the same life. Poor kid is then impelled to go to school—the hording continues. They study their asses out and for what? Well to get their asses furthur spanked in the job. Then get hassled and jostled in the marriage and create ‘responsibilities’ called kids. It is then considered a long term liability to raise them and parents say they can’t depart from this world before fulfilling their worldly responsibilities. If it weren’t so tragic, it would have been extremely funny. Dude you wouldn’t have had any responsibility if you hadn’t decided to screw your wife without prophylactics—so you could have departed at the age of 26!

The odyssey doesn’t cease here. People, as they had lost their childhood dreams during childhood itself, make their children’s dream their dream. They jump at their child’s success and spank them at their failures. Paradox number two. Dude what is your life for? Have you forgotten that. Your life is your own. To fulfill your dreams. To chase your ambitions. But you chose what? To create responsibilities that didn’t even exist in the first place and devoted your time to them! Effectively, what you have done in life is void.

Then comes expectation part. Parents expect from their ‘responsibilities’ to do what they want. Why dude? Have you created some machine or a robot? Paradox number three is when they say their children have gone out of hand! They went out once—when you pulled them out from the uterus, once and for all. But no. It doesn’t happen. What is fed into kid’s minds is crap called moral responsibility. Since you have been raised by such hard labour by your parents, it is your responsibility (read contract) to support them. Why dude? Is the value to a new child is equal to a future contract?

And what is this shit called moral responsibility? Why is it considered so fancy to do social service or to help others? Everybody does just the same. Tell me how many people live for themselves. Children study beacause they are sent to school, some do work to fulfill their parents dreams, most work so that their children can be raised effectively—so when have you worked for you? Where has your life lost in this maze of responsibilities most of which you needlessly created. You are convincing yourself that your life has some purpose—even if it is fulfilling some responsibilty you need not have created in the first place.

The problem is that the system doesn’t let you think all this. You are the slave of this system. You follow it because there all other roads seem blurred. Babies are turned into children, children to mindless slaves. Where is the freedom—the virtue considered most important?

This system works because of fear. People are discouraged to take risks and carve their own road. What sailers did when they set their ships to face unknown oceans, what adventureres did when they pushed to extremes to reach south pole, what scientists did when they set foot on moon, what hackers did when they cracked open all systems considered invincible, what criminals did when they refused to follow the system—they explored unknown territories. They refused conformance with set laws and rules and framed their own. They lived life as it should be lived.

In the end you all are going to die. It doesn’t matter whether you died in an office sofa while working 24*7 or you died as a beggar after living a life full of adventures. Only need is to realise that it is your life—not that of your parents, your “created” responsibilities or of anyone else. You are free and can do whatever your heart says. Be a child even when you are old. Be free.

Nihil

The blank or hollowness which surfeits in our lives, makes us impetuous and wonder at the very existential aspect of living, is a lingering feeling which recurs with every success or failure attained. We may possess everything and yet there seems to be a void eternally immanent in us which makes us feel incomplete. Glimpses of past and present, fear of future- all montage together, as if life is nothing but mere libretto and we are nothing but mere marionettes.

Have u ever felt this void or hollowness in your life?

Success: o what an aggrandizing feeling it is! You accomplish what u had longed for, dreamed of, prayed for and finally when u achieve it, you feel on the top of the world. You are rapturous, ecstatic, heart seems to be floating in air and bestowed aplomb leaves no place for poignant mentations. Generally.

But sometimes success also makes one muse..wonder..marvel. What have I achieved really? Mind is where it is- all the glory and grandeur. Geezers congenitally wreak to become “big”. Big where? In their own damn minds, and in the mind of equally fatuous buckos. Can’t one feel big even when he is nothing? Do one need approbation of some imbecile to be “big”? Preconceived notions are cornerstone on which we institute our whole lives. Morals, ethics, values…what all these mean in the longer run...who said that confiding by these principles is how you should live. and yet when we look around us, there are blokes telling you that this is wrong, that is conscienceless. Why? Why is not living by this fixed frame of mind vicious to the point of being obnoxious?

Reason... the herd of people...the society. 99% of our actions are not governed by us but by others. Hardly are we born when we are spanked by the obstetrician to breathe. Hardly are we 3 year old, when we are sent to alma mater. Still fine hitherto since we are green. but even when we senesce enough, we find ourselves in shackles. We wish to escape, live differently and who doesn't want to be different. But how many are there who actually sneer at the notions and break free. Life is not given to be framed. It is meant be lived. How many of us live life...in accord with our own wishes? How many of us have even forgotten our childhood dreams, fantasies and fun? How many of us have made our aims which were thrust on us by others...by parents, by family pressure? And how many of us not want to live like this...and yet can see no gleam? Coz all the doors have been shut. How many of us feel smothered, simmering coz of unavailability of any alternative. How many of you have thought of suiciding at one point or other in your life...becoz of feeling as though being trapped like a fly in the spider-web? And we know how many of us actually succumb to this. Why? Is by not adhering to expectations which are not even our own we have not done justice to our existence?

A Dead Poet

It was raining heavily. Standing in my balcony, I was passively watching the rain drops showering the earth, when a guy came ambling. He was in his early 30's and had a prominent, receding hairline. I had never seen him before (living in a guest house, you get used to seeing new faces around). We exchanged greetings, and after staying quiet for a while, talks began.

We started with usual company banter, “How is the job going?”, “What’s your work?” and so on. This guy was working in Coca-Cola for an year (after working in another company for 7 years), and was a chartered accountant. The way he talked gave me an impression that he was feeling quite lonely. He was talking in philosophies and generalities, and I was enjoying listening to him, so we continued.

This guy was passionate about poetry. He was a fan of Ghalib and Harivansh Rai Bachchan. He himself seemed to be an excellent writer (he narrated two of his compositions to me). His writing style was inspired by Ghazals and was enriched with splendid Urdu words. He said he has a diary full of self-written poems.

“But I don’t write now. In fact it has been 4 years since I have attempted to write anything”.

I asked, “What happened friend? You got too involved in daily chores or what?”

He said, “No, it’s not like that. I just stopped writing”

“There must be a reason. Was it a girl?”

He smiled, “You are quite intuitive.”

(Well you don't need to be intuitive to guess that. Behind 90% of the things that happen to a guy, there is a girl involved!)

“Yes. There was a girl I loved passionately, as is shown in movies. She loved me too. It was during our graduation days. I had always liked writing poetry. But it was that girl who was my inspiration. She loved listening to my poetry and I loved writing for her.”

I had understood now. I said, “You are married, right?”

He was lost in his own thoughts. After a moment he replied, “Yes”.

I said, “And the girl is not the same?”

He smiled, “No. That love story couldn’t materialise. On the insistence of my parents I married another girl. Still I was excited. I had always felt some sort hollowness in my life after my relationship with the 1st girl had ended. Now I thought there would be a person who would always be there for me. I felt happy.” I was smiling too. (whatever you say, and whether or not you believe in marriage, but it does bring a smile to your face!)

He said, “But the 1st night was a disaster.”

(hmm...first night disaster...what could that be!!)

“What happened?”

“I recited a few lines from “Madhushala”. I was feeling complete at that time and it came naturally. But after a few lines she interrupted me. She said, “Dear, I don’t like poetry very much. I can’t even understand your poem. Can we talk something else?””

I was trying to control but we both burst into laughter.

After a while he said, “You know there used to be a day some years back when my first love used to urge me to write poems for her. I used to feel so happy, reciting the lines I had written just for her. Then there was that day, when my wife said on the first night of our marriage that she doesn’t like poetry. It was like somebody doesn’t like my soul. I have never written since”

I decided to let him speak his mind. I didn’t interrupt.

“If I would have got married to the girl I loved, my life would have been so different. Daily chores and hard work would have always been there but there would have been an anticipation. An anxiety when I would have told my poem to her, whether she would like it or not. People tell me to get my poems published. But how can I? These are dead for me now, as is their inspiration.”

I was partially listening to what he was saying, but my mind was wandering somewhere else. I used to be more of a loner when I was a kid. I had some great friends, but many a time I preferred staying alone and I never used to miss anyone. But over the time, the great friends became greater, and so did the time we spent together. Perhaps I would never make a friend who is incompatible with me. Even if I did, the friendship would itself die. But what choice this guy here had now. He was stuck in a phase in his life with an incompatible partner whose incompatibility he had discovered on the first night itself, but he couldn’t do anything about it, nor can he now.

He said, “There is something I have observed in my life. It is the ordinary who succeed in life, of course in materialistic terms.”

Perhaps he wanted to divert the topic. But he was still speaking from his heart.

I too continued on this new topic, “Of course. Advanced beings understand the flaw in system very soon."

"What do you mean?"

"The flaw in the system is that if you follow it, you would end up at exactly the same point where everyone else ends up. It’s like a written script. Schooling, college, job, marriage, children, raising them, getting them married, retiring, the end. So they get disillusioned. They do what their hearts desire. There are people who leave a job fetching billions to become musicians, some do social service in rural areas leaving the comfort of their sofa cushion behind, some just leave to travel across the country and the world. They may end up dying on streets. The world may never call them successful. But they know better. They know it’s better to die as a beggar after living life of their wish than to die on a sofa after being a slave of the system.”

Now i was speaking my mind.

We talked for some more time—music, drugs, people and many other stuff. It was after a very long time I had such a talk with anyone. Remarkable evening. After all, how many times do you get to listen to a real love story, that too of a poet!

Trance

The satan asked the man in his empyreal voice with a delusive calm expression, “You desire trance? What do you want? Wine, Morphine, Opium…”

“No”, the man shouted, “I want to be submerged in the sea of trance. Give me the strongest you have”.

“Behold. Then I give you pain, and not physical. You won’t be able to express it to anyone. You will be calm outside. But inside you will die. That’s the strongest I have.”

The world seems dark. Where-ever I look, I see an eerie darkness. My head is swinging, and yet I feel I am imbibing more detail than ever. I hear my breath. As I focus on it, I feel its slowing down. I check my heart. Its thumping slowly, as an unsought reassurance.

I wonder why I am feeling such tranquility in the dark. I decide to go on the terrace. Groping, I move fore. The stairs-railing seems like a log floating in the river of darkness. Holding it, I ascend. One, two…I find myself counting my steps, and I cannot stop it.

The moon-light is here, shining like a waned, fragile soul. I look above…at the sky. There is a lone star. None other is visible. I wonder how it might feel being alone, in this vast canvas. Ironical, for I too, am alone this night. I walk fore.

Near the edge of my roof, I see white flowers. A beautiful stem has wrapped itself around the steel railing. Unlike the lone star, they are with each other. I wonder why I never noticed the flowers before. I move my face closer to them…closer…closer…until I am into the vast tangle of flowers and leaves. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. The hypnotic fragrance deluges my senses. I feel light…very very light. I open my eyes.

The house in the front mystically seems closer than it used to be. I feel I can easily jump from here. I move my eyes around. There are two flower-pots kept on the other side. They look majestic. I wonder why I never paid any attention to them. I am standing at one place. My eyes traverse the floor. I see big spots. The poor terrace—weathered by myriad days of sunshine, rain, hail-stones and what not—and yet it is still there—stable. The spots seem like balloons to me. No, more like bubbles. It is beautiful. I never noticed them before.

There is a folding-bed in the corner. The stripes make square patterns that seem like an eternal maze. I remember sitting on it, with my book in my hand, on many evenings, with my little kitten Brownie running around. She used to jump and sit on my lap. That was an year back. I don’t have her any more.

I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. Seems like ages have passed. When I was a small kid, I used to spend contless hours playing here, on this very place. I remember everything I have lost. No…I don’t remember a lot…its just a haunting feeling.

I try to shut my mind…try to stop thinking. But I cannot stop this eerie feeling. I don’t know what is it. Is it nostalgia? Nostalgia of what? I have been here forever. I am with everyone I love, have everything I had, and more. No it can’t be nostalgia.

Vague images come to my mind. Horses running in desert, butterflies flapping wings, me running with my friends. Is it real? I open my eyes. Nothing is there. Just me—and that lone star.

Wonderland

The smooth sound of metal echoing through the depths of night. The state of mood swinging as the chords of guitar reverberate and invisible, intangible ripples push through the heart piercing the brain. Nostalgia, love, dejection all form a tornado. The state of haziness surrounds and I am floating above some unclear waves. The waves of feelings and memories. Ah! Doesn't it feel light...or am I actually sinking? The thumping beats of music. Nothing surrounds me now. As if in some other parallel universe where consciousness doesn't exist and nor do words. Just a mesmerizing feeling piercing straight to the subconscious and although there is no visible change yet everything seems changing. Where am I? It’s a wonderland.