Simply Haiku

There are some poets, while reading them, you get this overpowering feeling of inadequacy. 

Why can't I write like them? And therein lies the mystery and the mastery, of course. Every writer is unique in his/her writing. However, it is that indefinable element that decides the connect between a particular writer and his/her readers. The choice of words? The expressions? The thoughts behind the words? The subject?  I am hard put to place my finger on the factor which triggers that magnetic pull...that  extent of power to influence...and inspire. Yet, there it is. The awe! A tad tempered with envy which perhaps eggs you on on the path of persistent creativity...prods you...impels introspection...nudges you to grow within and without......analyse....assess.....and EVOLVE!!! 

Michael McClintock is one such poet whose haiku has that hypnotic effect on me.

Again, it's difficult to pinpoint what exactly it is which intrigues and enthralls me so much about his poems. Once I tried to review  a book by Ruskin Bond, again one of my favourites. I failed miserably. And I know why I did. It was because of his simplicity of expression, his flow of every day language, his commonplace thoughts which automatically become the reader's own. Critiquing him is as difficult as critiquing your own self! Because it is you yourself who comes out of the pages of his books...

The same magic is again on with Michael McClintock....He is so close to your heart that you feel it will pop out if you fiddle with it too long and hard. Funny! Isn't it?

    

With the grey smoggy days of the Capital this haiku is so apt....so essentially us - the city bred, sufferers in unison looking up to a day of knowing...not knowing... the sun may come up eventually...it may not....who knows whether the mesh of pollutants will make way for sunshine or not? 

Doesn't this tanka poem transport you to a different world of half lights and silhouettes ?

Yes, you can see those eon of ancient wisdom peeping through those crisscross tell-tale lines of memories reminisced on this planet earth...

And this one with an infinite proposition of expansiveness of heart, mind and soul...........a very famous one at that!!

And who has not gone through this ordeal of turbulence and the stillness of quietude thereafter....? That there is still life after all that havoc...........! Grand!!

Oh! I love this one and I know and feel the fragrance right here sitting now....

Its been so long that I have undertaken a train journey....nostalgia! And that's what haiku are supposed to be ....hold your hands down memory lane...... the wispiness compressed in a three liner.

The second line of the ku is optimism and hope personified....this is the ultimate border-line ku between image and thoughts evoked by the image.....

Again a tanka poem which pokes you to evaluate your own weaknesses, limitations, narrow confines of aptitude and attributes.

Last but not the least, the most intriguing haiku which made me ponder long ...very long....the mystique beauty of those three lines invoking images not tampered or tinged or cropped by human audacity...simply what is and not what one perceives it to be....

Finally, ladies and gentlemen, its Michael McClintock for you...all the way across the seven seas ...who sees what you have seen and wondered about all along and speaks a language you have babbled in.............priceless in its brevity and unique in its simplicity... that nano chip of wisdom strewn across which has immortalized mankind with its agelessness..His haiku images are all over Google...Grab them....relish them.....cherish them....

Voyage

Mellow morning…

A blue bed spread hung

Outside my window

Without much ado

The cushions of clouds

A patchwork of snow

The gold silk thread

Interspersed in the weaving

I know its His doing

                           

Afternoons are long

At times sun is strong

At others shadows draw

Silhouettes deep and long

The balmy breeze whispers

A hummable tune

I hum along

Its His catchy song

Dusk  a rush of colours

An intense stroke here

A languid touch there

Deepening in moments

As evening strolls in

The echoes gather words

A few hurriedly spoken

A few uncommoly blurred

Nights are placid

My boudoire opens

To a sequined sky

Whiff of jasmine

 Gleaming panes afar

Of strangers and householders

Solitude is a Gift

So precious from You

My due

Dawn is stealthy

Feathery wisp

A knock so soft

Like the moving lips

To a rosary of chants

No! More like the hymn

Of the Carmelite nuns

Dousing the soul

In symphony rare

Or like a bouquet

Parceled by an

Unknown Courier

Pleasant surprise

May be for some

But I have a hunch

You had come!

Shared with Poet's United

Chameleone

From Google

I am not black

Like the darkening arcades of night

Menacing......foreboding

Neither in me is

The vastness of the blue

The sunshine of yellow

Blinds my vision

The lushness of green

Is not me either

White is too primitive

So is grey sinister

And the vermilion red

A Bohemian splurge

Nor attractive, becoming neither

Untouched by the hues

I am devoid of a palette

See me change colour

As the seasons change

ज्वाला

जलती आग
शिकस्तों पे चोट
मेरी बिंदिया 

खुली खिड़की

खिड़की खोलते ही
इक मुट्ठी  आसमां  का झलक
जिसका नीलापन कुछ फीका सा पढ़ गया है
सुफ़ैद  रुई से कुछ बादल
ठहरते नहीं.... बह जाने की ताकीद में
दूर दूर तक नज़र न आते
ऐसे एक-दो पंख फड़फड़ाते हुए पंछी
मीलो-मील उड़ान भरने की कोशिश में
एक टहनी  हरा दुपट्टा ओढ़े
सुनहरे चूड़ियों के गोलाइयाँ  खानकातीं
आँखें चौन्धियाते हुए रोशनी के  झुरमुठ
उस पे झोंका एक परदेसी सा अजनबी दहलीज़ों के खुशबू लिए
और एक बचपन खोया सा

कभी कभी सोचती हूँ
क्या सबकी खिंड़कीयाँ खुलते हैं
आसमान के सतह पर?
वह सब्ज़ीवाला जो चढ़ती धुप में
आवाज़ें लगाता है दरवाज़े पर
"सब्ज़ी  लेलो........ !"
वह पागल जो ट्रैफिक सिग्नल पर
सर खुजाता है और ज़ोर-ज़ोर से हँसता है
अपने ही अनकही चुटकुलों पर
और नहीं तो वह रिक्शावाला
जो देखते ही नमस्ते करता है
कोई बता रहा था हाल ही में
उसने अपनी  बहन की शादी कराई है
मार्किट से चौड़े ब्याज पे  क़र्ज़ें  लेकर

क्या इनके भी खिड़कियाँ खुलते है
आसमान के सतह पर ?
या इक झलक आसमान की
तलाश में कट जाती है पूरी ज़िन्दगी ?
सूखे सपनों को पसीनों में  फिसल जाते देख
अरे ! इनके बंजर घरों में खिड़कियाँ हैं भी या नहीं ?
या बसर करते होंगे ईंट पत्थरों के ढेर पर
और राख होते देखते होंगे सुलगते रोटियों को
पूछिये तो इनसे खिड़कियाँ देखी  है कभी?
जिसके साये में हम बैठ लिखते है
सच्ची-झूठी मनगढंत कहानियाँ...... ?

पता नहीं

शायद ......

उनकी खिड़कियाँ ??????????????????????