Hell & Heaven

I thought it was symbiotic
A relation germinating from mutuality
One requiring the other
For the purpose of subsistence

But it was not...

Soon we were embroiled in something so indescribable
It seemed as though we were in a brothel of emotional haggling
Where we sold our turbulent tenacities
In a bid to overpower each other

We clawed with sharpened nails
And axed our harmony with bloody paws
So that the other could not hurl another accusation
Or explode splinters of fury
On each other’s face


We had reverted to the basics
To the raw attempts at asserting ourselves
By hurting the other as much as we could

Strange! How it all began
Merely an Act of  bare needs
Messed  up
Now starting all over again
Is simply impossible

How do we mend it
Remains the only thought
If only one would understand the other
It could be so much better
Its not to be ....never

Yet....

Should it be tried one more time?
Please, if not forever...


कईबार सोचा है इस रिश्ते को क्या नाम दे

एक ज़रुरत ?

एक निबाह?

एक अनचाहा इंतज़ाम ?

या एक मुसीबत ?

जवाब मुमकिन के  सतह तक आकर थम गयी है
शायद सच न उगल दे कहीं
इस बदतमीज़ ज़हन की आदतें, उफ़ तौबा !

फिर सोचा  है कि  इसे एक नया मोड़ क्यूँ न दें ?
चले एक और  सिरा  पकड ताकी
भावनाओं के इन पेचीदे फसादों से बच जाएँ

पर सोच ईरादों में और इरादें मकसद
में तब्दील होने तलक मीलों के फासले रह जाते हैं
हरबार यूँ ही ….

और दुरी घटने तक कोई और रुख ले लेती है
यह अनकही दास्तान
इस क़दर कि 
पीछे मुड कर देखना भी मुनासिब नहीं होता
और कमजोरियां नाजायज़ फायदा उठाती है
अब लौटे तो कैसे भला ?
सुबह को चीर कर शाम निकल ही आती है
हमेशा। ….

क्या  यूँ ही चलते रहेंगे हम
दो अलग अलग क़दमों के आहटो को सुनते
या फिर कोई दरवाजा खुलेगा
और इक नई  दिशा

सूरज की अंतिम रौशनी से प्रथम लालिमा तक
आशा और निराशा डोलती रहती है यूँही
और मैं आकाश में एक झुण्ड से बिछड़ी
परिंदे की भाँती  पर फ़ड्फ़डाती
हवाओं से मिन्नतें करती हुई
एक आसमान नई सी तलाशती

सुनो तुम

चलो फिर से उडे आज़ाद रंगों में
असंभव संभव से परे
आओ ना…। 

उम्मीदें बन्ध जाती है
फिर अचानक यूँही
कहीं कुछ टूटने की
धुन सुनी है क्या ?

वोह मैं ही हूँ
जूझती
उलझती
ज़ख्मों को कुरेदती
वोह मैं ही हूँ गुमसुम

सुनो तुम
क्या इन  खामोश तदबीरों को
समझने के काबिल हो तुम?
सुनो तुम…    

Which Way ?

Each morning...

He revs up the engine
Looking back in the rear view mirror
Asks an innocuous question
"Which way to take ma'am?"

"Which way.....?"
I toy with the idea in my mind
A little blank, a little confused,
Undecided,  as ever...

Which way indeed!
The one I left behind ?
Or the one that I bypassed in a hurry?
No, perhaps the one which I dreamt of
But never had the courage to take?
What about the one which never was
Except that I thought it was somewhere
Around the next bend?
Well, the one that I deliberately erased
From the map of life mistaking it to be
The one not for me?
Leave alone all those chaotic choices
And go for the easy one which comes your way!

My way....?
The clouds of doubt hover low
Is there really a way made for me?
A pre-ordained destination wherein the wheels will
Automatically roll in...
Even if I try real hard to steer clear of that direction?
I wonder...

"Ma'am?"
Again that soft reminder
I wake up from my reverie
And choose not to look lost
Reclining back prostrating my tired limbs
As much as I can
I gesture him to move ahead,
"Whichever way you feel is the best..."
I tell him

He frowns a little thinking hard
And then suddenly cheers up
As the thought strikes him
"Let's take that one which is less crowded,
We'll reach home on time"
I agree

The less crowded or the less traveled?
I desist from asking
And allow myself to be driven
Through the throngs of thoroughfares....
This time may be we'll really reach home
On time....
 

सपनों का सौदागर

I had written this poem ("The Old Man And His Troop")  in Hindi a long, long time back and then lost it completely...don't know how! Years later I translated my feelings into an English verse which can be read here.

As with all my other poems, this one also had collected dust with the passage of time but for a recent comment that I received on it. I had attached a hand-sketched photo of Bapuji along with the poem, which was available on Google, not knowing that it belonged to AS till she left a rather stilted comment about my trespass into her art world although completely unknowingly. I wrote back to her saying so and promising that I would leave a link to her post in my blog so that I am exonerated of all charges of cyber theft and all that. In doing so, I also realize how absolutely within her rights she is to have demanded an acknowledgment of her work, however easily accessible the same may be on the net, by all and sundry and howsoever naive she may have been not to know that anything on the net invariably loses exclusivity and becomes everyone's property. Least be said about yours truly whose lack of net-savviness ( if there be any word like that in the English lexicon) disallowed her to trace back the sketch to the artist's blog. However, having regained the dwindling grains of self esteem, I dedicate this post to my new-found artist-friend AS whose talent I openly admire. I had once written a short story which was influenced by my intense desire of becoming a painter alas in vain as I cannot even hold a pencil properly let alone paint something which may sensibly depict artistry of any sorts. Anyhow, leaving aside all the lame laments and poor excuses I have decided to publicise my naievety and my fellow-blogger's talent with the brush by putting up this post on http://indiblogger.in with the hope that this act of mine will assuage the pangs of guilt that I am now suffering from regarding the unintentional lifting of the sketch. Honouring my own decision, I also wanted to put up  the long-lost Hindi version of the poem, a shorter version and the vague recollection of the same that I have had in my memory. However, as I sit down to pen it I find my memory playing truant with me and much as I try I cannot bring out a word-to-word translation of the poem written in English ( Again, the English version was not a word-to-word translation of the original one written in Hindi). I suppose I must accept the fact that cadence once lost is lost forever and there is no point trying to dish out facsimiles of the same. Instead fresher thoughts invade and prevail...thoughts which are of this day and somewhat take over from where I had ended last...though whether it presents a grimmer picture is for the reader to decide. So, I give below my thoughts of the day. Hope you all will be able to relate to the same and enjoy AS' handiwork as well.

 

 

वह बूढ़ा सत्याग्रही सपनों का सौदागर
छोड़ गया पीछे एक भारत
पसीनों से तर्र, लडखडाता,
ज़िन्दगी से जूझता
बढती महंगाई , ट्रैफिक जैम,
और नेताओं के झूठे  वादों को बांछ्ता
अपने फ़टे कुचैले दामन से शर्मसार
गगनचुम्बी अट्टालिकाओं  के ओट
में सर रख के रोता बिलखता

और वो बूढ़ा  कहता था ,
"मैं दूंगा तुम्हें आज़ादी बिना रक्तपात"
आज पथराई आँखों से ढूँढता होगा
सपनों के लाश पर ओढने को कफन
"नहीं जिंदा है अभी , धुकपुक  धडकनों में  मची है, देखो
अब भी थोड़ी उम्मीद है बाक़ी "
कहता है वो हठीला
"अब ही  तो ढके थे मैंने कुछ नग्न देह
बाढ़ में बहते हुए, और खाना खिलाया  था
उन सालों से  भूखों को मुट्ठी  भर चावल
अभी सुलाया हैं क्रंदन शिशुओं का लोरी गाकर
और बढ़ के थामा है हाथ निर्भया की।
पर कुचल न पाया भुज दु:शासन का
चीड़  हरण रोक न पाया मैं, अफ़सोस !
किन्तु अभी भी कुछ नहीं बिगड़ा
अब भी हम है आज़ाद
सिर्फ दो क़दम की दूरी है सक्षमता से
मानो मेरी बात "

अर्सा पहले जो सत्य का आग्रह कर
खोजता था नयी दिशा आज शायद
सिंहासन का पैग़म्बर बनने की
ख्वाहिश में मृत ख्वाबों को सजा रहा है
बेच रहा है आस बेबसों को
ठिठुरते फुटपाथों में जो पड़े-पड़े
एक वक़्त की रोटी ढूँढ़ते है तारों में
और एक कम्बल सर्द हवाओं से बचने हेतु

स्वाधीनता का लालच दे रहे है उन्हें
जो सुख भोग रहे हैं गुलामी की

और उस दिन टीवी पर आ रहा था
"चमकता भारत" की तस्वीर
कुछ फ़िल्मी हस्तियाँ,  सफ़ेद पोशाक में
नामी  लीडर और गिने चुने व्यवसायी
जो दावा करते थे सुनामी से पीड़ित
दो चार गाँव बसाने का ..

अलसाई सी धुप में उबासी लेता
मोची बताता था, " इस बार भी
बह गए कई गाँव और मददगारों ने खूब
भरी अपनी झोली मदद के नाम पर… "

"… अब भी हम है आज़ाद
सिर्फ दो क़दम की दूरी है स्वनिर्भरता से.…"
दिनदहाड़े झुठलाया सच सत्य से भी
चमकीला लगता है ..

"अब भी कुछ नहीं बिगडा , अभी भी हम है आज़ाद
मानो मेरी बात…"

हाय .. !      

 

A Feather Soft Dream

    

Remembering the child hood days...

 

I woke up in the middle of the night
Not in fright but with a happy smile
It was such a cute little dream
Of robust puppies and cozy home
Wherein cackled a golden fire
Spreading its warmth on comfy chairs
Covered in soft, colourful drapes
A thick, plush rug lay uncreased
On white marble floor with zig-zag shapes
The walls were of beige and gold
The counter panes a subdued shade
Of snuff and brown to match the sofas
inviting and warm and the dreamy dog
Lying around in lazy stance

Suddenly I pined for all my lost toys
The doll with the bushy hair and moving eyes
The smaller one with the long, thick braid
I remember I'd named her "Pony Tail"
The baby frocks and the kid boots
And the stuffed rabbit with polka dots
Stitched by my aunt with loving care
I wanted them all back on the bed
On the floor, on the sofa, every where
Even the plastic one with the lolling head,
The dirty, rubber cat with the blue ball
Tattered and torn but I wanted them all

Oh how I wanted to rush back in time
Erase my mistakes with zeal and zest
Seal my fate with good deeds and pride
Just then, my friend, sleep hazed
I mumbled under my breath perhaps
A prayer, a wish, a thought aloud
And turned drowsily to the other side
A little wistful, a little sad,
A little broken, a little mad
But spun my mind still for a while
Childhood yearns in feathery piles

 

Life Has Never Been A Bed Of Roses, You See!!!

खैर कभी भी बहुत खुशनुमा तो नहीं थी ज़िन्दगी

इसलिये

आज गर ग़म से  बोझल है दिल तो कुछ नयी बात नहीं

यह एक  तसल्ली , एक बहलावा , एक ग़लत फहमी कह लिजीये जनाब
दरअसल यह नायाब सोच जीना आसान कर देती है

बस

इसलिए

गैर सी भी अगर लगती है कभी दिन, रात के  दायरे में बंधे
चौबीस घंटे

मना लेने में खुद को झिझक महसूस नहीं होती

क्यूँकि

खैर कभी भी बहुत खुशनुमा तो नहीं थी ज़िन्दगी

Life has never been a bed of roses

The thought perhaps not so pleasant

Has yet consoled the tears tripping over the lashes

And bestowed an illusion to the heathen nights

When sleep eluded my pillow

Overall a misnomer, you may say

A flawed presentation, a melancholic surrender

To what could have been way different   

But the note of acquiesce ingrained therein

Has made living so much easy

Even if the days and nights seemed alien

Belonging to someone else, as though

Just the thought of it has charmed away

The restiveness of resistance
And that is the reason why
I have more than often
Soothed myself with those inevitable submission
Let it be…
Life has after all never been a bed of roses
You see…




 

Just A Peep

 

As I peep out' the window
A network of cables assualts my eyes
A lamp post stands erect almost arrogant
Next to it is an old Neem tree
Elegantly stooping as its branches
Strong and brown spread heaven ward
Covered with thick bushy foliage
The leaves kissing the cables
And almost caressing the lamp
A bunch of squirrels scamper around
A few run on the cable in a smooth glide
One atop the street lamp
While the rest dance on the sturdy branches
I stand and watch
God's creation and human invention
Residing side by side
As the tiny fur balls romp over and around

My Window Pane

My window pane deceives me
The droplets that trickle down
Its slippery countenance
Are not tears

Those are God's blessings
To a parched heart

I Breathe Poetry

 

I feel barren within
For days I don't feel the rhythm
Of life pulsating within me

Have I lost touch
I ask myself
Have I at last
Taken that never ending break
Am I finished, famished, fused
I wonder with unease
Have I come upon that invincible wall
Which poets call the mind block
I can't decide
Baffled I wander

Weeks pass by
In desultory surmise

And then this morning
During predawn muse
I open my window
To let in the breeze
Filter in to diffuse
The muggy heat
Intoxicating the surround
With a heady perfume

Peering into the dark
I see a clump of white
Raising its head
Amidst the bold green
First bloom of this season
After three years of
Nurturing a dream
The petals unfold in soft curls
With streams of gold
Brushing their cheeks

As the dawn breaks
In vibrant hues
I breathe afresh

The wall within crumbles
The heart thuds again
On an ethereal beat
A few lyrics float in air
I stretch my arms
To bring them to grips

Lo! poetry again I breathe ...

 

 

Desolation

Dry leaves crunch underneath my feet
As I approach the bend of a much trodden path
Of life still new gesticulates at me afresh
The poverty of my soul dithers my steps
The blindness of my vision directs me to the wrong turn
I wake up from a nightmare that has lasted too long
By a soft touch, a tender call, a nameless vow
You attract me to your engulfing embrace
I bow down in acknowledgement of your endless glory

 

 

 

 

Sitting By The Window

Dawn tiptoes stealthily
Towards my window
The dark silhouettes
Enlighten slowly
In the purity of light
A car washer cleaning cars
A milkman cycling past
With clanging containers of milk
I too have to take to the sleepy roads
As my pet Mr. Snow Boot nudges me
With soft growls
The day's begun
No more sitting by the window...

 

Glorious morn seeps in unstoppably
Under a glowering sun
The street lights burn

With a weak zeal
The usual noises of work
The honking of horns
The busy strides of passers by....

As the afternoon draws close
Shadows of the trees lengthen
On my veranda
A pale good bye ensues
Its the parting time...
 

The sun tilts westward
Leaving behind a trail
Of riotous red, purple, soft pink

Orange mixed with black and blue
A wistful end to day's delight...

The night comes in with bold steps
Sprinkling a few stars on the way
A doting moon with a motherly smile
The neons and the sparkles of the sky
Vie with each other
For supremacy...

Tomorrow at predawn
I shall again sit by the window
To witness the interplay
Of darkness and splendour...

Till then...



 

A Myth Called Certitude

मैं यकीनन कह नहीं सकती
ज़िन्दगी अब न रुलाएगी
न रातों की खामोशियाँ
चौंकाएगी, न सपनों के  धुंधलके
निचोड़ जायेगी रूह को, बेवक्त
ही कोई आस दम तोड़  न देगी
और हांपते   क़दमों को साए
घने, सब्ज़ नसीब होंगे

घबड़ाहट धडकनें बन गई अब तो
सिसकियाँ खुशनुमाह दाग़ दामन पे
और यकीन पे यकीं रखना
एक कायर सा ख्वाब मानो


मैं यकीनन कह  नहीं सकती
धुप ढलते ही छाओं बरक़रार रहेंगे
और दिन के  झुलसते तंगियों को
रात के आगोश में चैन की पनाह
मिलेगी ...

मुझे यकीन से डर  लगने लगा हैं
और ख्वाबों पे विश्वास
बेवजह बोझ सी मालूम पड़ती है

मैं यकीन करू के न करू
बता मेरे हमनफज़
ग़मज़दाओं का यह हश्र
कोई नयी बात तो नहीं
फिर भी

कोई गर यकीन दिलाये
तो यकीं पे यकीं हो शायद

Am not sure life’s gonna be

A bed of roses henceforth

And the dead of the night

Won’t startle me out of peace

And those dreams which
Never saw the light of the day
Won’t beckon me like a mirage
From afar
Breaking my heart the way they
Always do
And hope shan’t play truant like the
Kid next door who’ve been caught quite often
bunking school by his parents
Whether these tired feet shall find
That forlorn pair of slippers lost in the crowded temple
And heart would find its cadence
to that hip-hop number we always danced in glee
And running nose won’t leave their dirty marks
On shirt sleeves
Sobs are such a nuisance!!!

I know it’s rather foolish to have faith

In the certitudes of life

As there’s nothing seems to be

Of certainty except   

That fiery ball of red in the sky

Which might not find an embalming

Cushion in the folds of the night that follows

Yet it’s quite certain that day precedes night

And vice versa

 
Well it’d be quite comforting if someone
Were to assert a pattern to life
However, as dreams dilute to nothingness

And life seems to fizzle away into something

Uncomprehendingly fatuous

The only certitude seems to be the uncertainties
Awaiting at the next bend
To catch you unawares
 

Death Of A Neighbour

 

Today my neighbour died

An octogenarian

Who had more than often

Given us to believe

That he was no more
 

He left behind two daughters

One half witted

The other outwitted by grief

Vacuous and subdued
 

It was early morning

When I heard her mournful cry

And then closing of a door with a loud bang
 

The maid came and asked me,

"Have you heard the news Didi?"

I asked flatly, "Which one is it?

The father or the dumb daughter?"

The one who kept wishing us Good Day

Was surviving on dialysis...
 

My maid shook her head and clucked

About the ephemerality of life
 

And the day continued as it is...

In the evening after returning from office

I mustered all my will to pay a visit

Rather clumsy on such ocassions

I seldom know what to say in consolation

They welcomed me - the aged relatives

Aunts and Uncles, Daughter-in-laws

And the rest

"Sardarji did not give us an opportunity

To take care of him; he died in sleep

Perhaps it was for the best"
 

I recalled how my father had died

of his third heart attack...

Light years it took me to speak of him

And the pain he had suffered

Without a tremor in my voice

At last the bruised past was won over

To my surprise...

The rites would be in the Gurdwara

Time not yet fixed

I bade a goodbye rather abrupt
They said there is a ritual of picking flowers!!!

Not the ones which grow in abundance in the park adjacent

But the resids of life which refuse to mingle with the ashes

 

As I mumbled a few words of condolence - routine stuff y' know

And walked out' the door

The only words that were left behind were

"... to pick the flowers"

And from the room next to the hall

Floated odd little moaning sounds

Of an orpahned,empty-headed girl

Eerie laments of a loss least understood

But felt deep somewhere inside

आज मेरे पड़ोसी  की मौत हो गयी
सत्तासी साल का बूढ़ा
जो कई  साल अतिरिक्त जी गया धोके से

पीछे  छोड़  गया दो अधेड़ उम्र की बेटियां
एक दिमाग़ी तौर  पे कमज़ोर
और दूसरी जिसे ज़िन्दगी ने  कमज़ोर कर दिया था
सूनी पथराई  सी आँखे और सहमे से लब्ज़

सुबह सवेरे सुनी थी करुण आर्तनाद
फिर एक दरवाज़ा बंद हुआ था बड़े ज़ोरों से

कामवाली ने आके पूछा , "दीदी तुमने ख़बर सुनी?"
मैंने बेझिझक जवाब में कहा , " कौन गया ? बेटी या बाप?"
वोह जो दिन में सौ दफ़ा  "सत  श्री अकाल" का रट लगाती थी
डायलिसिस पे जी रही थी बेचारी ....

उसने अफ़सोस जताकर कहा, "दीदी,  समय का कोई भरोसा नहीं
यह बात तुम मानती तो होगी?"

और बिना कुछ कहे  दिन यूँ ही गुज़र गया

शाम को ऑफिस  से लौटते वक़्त बड़ी  हिम्मत जुटाई
और उनके फ्लैट की कालिंग बेल बजाई
ऐसे मौकों पर क्या कहें ?
वही दो चार शब्द अर्थहीन

बड़े  बुज़ुर्ग बैठे थे कई
जीजा, भाभी , बहन बहनोई,
और कुछ खाली कुर्सियां

"सरदारजी ने मौका नहीं दिया हमें सेवा करने का
नींद ही में चल बसे
शायद यही फरमान था ऊपरवाले का …"

मुझे याद आ गया वोह काली रात
जब पिताजी को आया था हार्ट अटैक
अरसा लग गया था वोह हादसा भूलते
उस ग़म को बांछते
आज ज़बान जली नहीं
ज़ख्म  थक गए आखिर
ज़िन्दगी  से जूझते 

"गुरूद्वारे में पाठ रखी है
समय तै नहीं हो पाया"
उन्होंने  बताया
कुछ फूल चुनने की बात चली
वोह नहीं जो साथ के पार्क में
गुंचे खिले है अपनी ताकीद से
ये वोह हैं जो राख न हो सके
आग के सांचे में

"चाय तो पियो"
"नहीं"  मैंने कहा
दरवाज़े तक आते आते
"कुछ ज़रुरत हो तो बताना"
उसने सर हिलाया

दबी-दबी सिसकियों
साथ के कमरे से
हवा में तैरती रही
दर्द नासमझ सा

मैं आहट क़दमों के छोड आई
सीढियों पे

और वे फूल चुनने की  बात करते रहें
देर तक ...
 

These Are Difficult Days

 

These are difficult days

Of tussle between will and wish

Love and hate

Trust seems a fickle twist

To a bond

Neat yet knotty

Pain diffused in a toast

Of life derides hope

Moments after moments

Sleek , sloppy, sloven

Haunt dreams

Cherished yet forgotten

And those roads

Which lead no where

Beckon me like a

Bunch of temptresses

Staggered steps

Draw uneven lines,

Haggard shapes

Time they say

Is still not ripe

And I stand alone

On a lonely beach

Counting waves after waves

As the sun droops down

On the western shore

And night knocks on the door

I stand alone

And watch the waves push by

Waves…

These are really trying times

And difficult days...
 




ये दिन हैं कठिन

एक जंग चाह और निबाह के बीच
सघन, समीप, तिरस्कृत

इक मोड़ अस्थिर
आस्थाओं के ओट में
रिश्तों की पेचीदगी
सफाई से बरक़रार रखती हुई 

दर्द जाम भर ज़िन्दगी
से मजाक कर गयी
"आस की बात करते हो ?"
वोह पल पानी सा
फूहड़, सजीली ?
जो सपनों में जगाती है
भूल कर भी याद ...

और वो रास्ते ?
जो कहीं नहीं जाते
ईशारों से बुलाते हैं केवल
चंचल चपलाओं सी...

लडखडाते क़दम
टेडिमेडि रेखाएं खींचती है
थके से छबि, निर्जीव, संकीर्ण

"समय", सभी कहते हैं,
"सहेली नहीं है तुम्हारी"
और मैं अकेली 
सुनसान किनारों पे
लहरें गिनती हुई
मुरझाते सूरज की
रौशनी में

पश्चिम का मुसाफिर
रात खटखटाती हैं दरवाज़ा
पर मैं फिर भी अकेली
निरंतर लहरें गिनती हुई

समय असहज और दिन मलिन

 

A Wandering Thought

I must, must, must know
Who is the author
Of my life

To tell him to
Reverse, if he could,
The fickle hands of time

Erase a few
Lines here and there
And twist a bend
And take a turn
To set the tale right

I must, must, must know
Who is the author
Of my life

Freedom

Bottom of Form

This is a short story in verse about a woman who suffered domestic violence for her daughter's sake year after year. But she stood strong in the face of adversities in the hope of freedom which she was endowed with after her daughter was married away. In the autumn of her life, she asked for a divorce from her husband.

______________________________________________________________

As the bonhomie of celebration
Subdued to a dull echo
It was time to take a deep breath
Sit and ruminate
On the past
Mending the broken heart
Over joyous whoops
Of regained strength
The tortuous days of
Bleeding by the prick of deadly thorns
Were over at last….

Days of soft caring fingers pasting a band-aid
With everlasting tenderness
She recalled with a wan smile on her lips

Two drops of tears
Welled up the brim of
The delicate rims
Frilled with dew shy lashes

She remembered the gashes
Too, the venomous slashes
Which love lashed on her
The parched throat
The choked heart
The thirsty eyes longing for
A lone dream
A single word
Glass thin
“Are you fine?”

No! Amidst the pall of gloom
Her sobs echoed with weird vibrations
Till there was nothing left
But an empty cocoon
A thin membrane
Stretched brutally across brittle bones
Tearing tissues, blocked arteries, seething veins

But she carried on…
Tied by an oath
For light years

Till the bells chimed
It was time to say good bye
To her dear heart
To those tender fingers
Which had wiped her tears
For three decades
Strangled by wedlock

Now as she felt the chains melt away
She rejoiced freedom
Today when moon shines in her hair
And sun has left its tan on her skin
She looks up to the sky and sings
“I am free”
Today she has signed on the dotted lines
And sealed the estrangement
Permanently with ink
And earned her breath back
Today she is free…

 

 

A Rainy Day - Haiku

Clouds hang low

Rain swept roads

My little note book open

What If....?

He said, "Enough of this hullo-hi
on the passive page.
Let's meet now.
The Metro or McD?"

She silenced her thoughts
As the past came
haunting back
Another evening
Another rendezvous
Greedy eyes
Lustful smile
Yawning gaps
Between yellow teeth
And that slimy touch
Behind her back
Which made her jump
Sending a shiver down
Her shaking legs....
The bald patch
The sparse, gray mop
Had spoken enough
As she cringed with disgust
"Lets meet again"
He had said
She had inhaled a deep breath
Before dashing blindly
Towards the passing bus...

Today she shut off the
Plasma view
With equal haste
In apprehension and dread
What if history repeated itself?
What if....

A Lost Purse

I rewrote this poem, don't know why....

The original is here:

http://mindspeak-vanderloost.blogspot.in/2010/09/i-think-i-have-lost-my-purse.html

While the rewritten one is below:

I crept slowly behind him
He sat at his study desk
By the big window
Deep in musing
A few pages askew on the table
A few lying supine on the ground
The sun streamed in
Like a golden flood
Washing the room
In splendour abound

I tiptoed into the middle of the room
Picked up the pages
Scented with his thoughts
Missives of love
I was amused
If he found me in the room
How would he react?
The recipient of the lovelorn lore
Standing just right behind!

But what was this?
As my eyes fell on the name
My dreams shattered
Against jagged rocks
As I turned the fish bowl crashed
On the ground
He turned back with a start
Aghast!
He looked at me for a few moments
And time stopped
The way it had done two years back

A sea kissed shore
A sprinkle of waves
We had waltzed wetting the helms
Of our clothes
My stilettos had given in
Doing a few quickened steps
The broken pair still lies somewhere
Wrapped in a foil of silver nest

I did not brush away the tears
Wetting my cheeks
I left a pile of quests unsought
My purse reclining on the sofa
I consider as property lost
Neither did I share my womb’s
Secret accredited to his Midas touch!
I just left……. without looking back
Because there was nothing more to say
The name on those letters, you see
Belonged to my best friend, Jesse!

Hope!

On this wet night
With the moon hanging low
And the stars hidden behind
Billowing dark clouds
Hope seems like a stranger
Knocking on the doors
Of a wretched warrior
Uninvited....

Eager I am to unmask the veil
And see for myself his scarred face
In the light of a flickering candle
Protected from the ghoulish winds
Just by the crook of a shaking palm

Let him come in weak and debilitated
Staggering on injured legs
Dripping blood
Oozing pain
At least he is not lost completely
In the labyrinth of life

He has sought his path
Into my heart
By a stroke of luck
His fluid entry
Is my light

Let him draw close
And embrace me tight
I have waited light years
For this torrid hug

At last...

A Joyful Little Bird



Autumn burns within me
As I feel the spring in his walk
A few gray strands mock me
The fine lines around my eyes
Smile benevolently  in return
The wrinkles on my hands
Indicate the years on this planet  Earth
I groan softly as I move
From one posture to the other
The pain in the joints poke me
In search of a comical interlude

Then there are many more

Hints covert as well as overt

Pointing a finger at the approaching winter

But I laugh in sheer pleasure of living

Life is just not sizzling in summer

Impaled in winter

Joyous spring and arduous autumn









 

 

 

Life is living beyond the seasons

Tells me a little bird

Every morn as I wake up to another day
She rocks the tender twigs of my plants
And shrieks in abundant glee
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?







 

Danced The Moon All Night

 

The moon danced all night

Shaking her plumpy bum

"Zoo-Be-Zoo-Be-Zoo-Traa-Laa"

Rap-A-Zap-A-Zap-Dum-Dum"

The sky shimmered a smile

Skimmed out of pain

The stars looked alarmed

Distressed, bored

A few snored

The meteors sighed and remarked

"Oh! She's kinda hyper y' know sometimes"

"Love happens to just a few you morone"

The "moony-eyed" cried unfazed

 

 

A little glazed in the eyes

A little dazed in the head

"Love just a Tweet away..."

She crooned

"I wondered whether t' was Britney's latest

"Oh my love  on FB page...." she sang

An octave higher than the mighty Big Bang

Whatttt! I gawked in utter dismay

Even she has an FB profile...?..my...my

What the world's coming to these days!!!!!

Wee hours fellas the party stretched

And would have carried on longer

But a shake and a raucous alarm later

Sob...sob... a hasty goodbye I bade

The Unseen

The silence of the night

The droplets of rain

Dripping from the leaves

The moon feels shy

Hides behind a cloud

A dog whines somewhere

At the end of the alley

A car passes by

Its headlights throwing

A weak patch of light

On the pitch dark roads

Long way to go till

The arrival of dawn

I sit in my lawn

Encircling a white bungalow

Now stilled in slumber

Everyone's gone to bed

Only I am alone, awake

A drape on a window

Shivers in the soft breeze

And an owl wails

Plaintively on the old, Peepal tree

I clutch the white shawl

And let my mane slide down

My fragile boned back

A song comes to mind

Heard ages ago

I hum with a smile

A bleak light burns

In the hut further down

By the running stream

I tread thither along

Somebody passes by

An old hunched man

Stooped on a stick

Chanting the holy name

I swoosh by like the

Flowing, whispering wind

On invisible wings

Leaving a thin trace

Of mist behind

A swish of silk

And the holy chant

Echo in the green

 

Valley beyond...