Poetry | Music | Painting
"
निगाहें उठा कर
नजरें मिला कर
आँखों मे आंखें डाल कर
बोल,
मिट्टी की हूं,
पर सिर्फ मिट्टी नहीं हूं मैं।
"
"
I held my rope with fading hope,
Till it gifted me reddish rouge rope burns.
I felt the threads of blood running down my arm,
And saw them fall off my elbow.
I saw beautiful demons beckoning from the other end,
And saw myself succumb to that hope.
I saw my bare scars when I opened my palm,
And felt a painful peace when I released that rope.
I saw myself not turning back,
Not scouting in the abyss,
Neither for that hope,
Which made a fool believe,
That synthetic will someday turn into silk.
Nor for that rope,
Which promised a little kid to build bridges,
But churned the entire cream out of the milk.
"
"
पूरी उम्र लगा देती है
एक कली फूल बनने मे,
पर क्यूँ? .
फूल बनना अखिर इतना जरुरी है क्यु?
एक मासूम सी कली रहने मे
अखिर बुराई क्या है?
और भी कयी सवाल
जहन मे लिए,
जुट जाती है वो
अपनी तब्दीलियों में
...
पर किसके लिए?
लोगों के लिए?
लोग भी तो बेशक
ये ही कहते हैं
के देखो
कितना खूबसूरत फूल है.
एक कली को सराहते हुए
शायद ही
मैंने किसी को सुना हो. .
और ये लोग कोई गैर नहीं
ये वहीं हैं जो
गुंचे की सिसकियाँ
सुनने का दम नहीं पर
गुल के गीत
सुनने का शौक रखते हैं.
तो क्या सारी मशक्कत
इन गैरो के लिए?
या खुद के लिए
करती है वो? के एक बार देखूँ तो जरा
के ये सारा शोर
अखिर है किस बात का ?
और एक गहरी साँस लेकर
फिरसे जुट जाती है वो
ठान लेती है
के अब तो
फूल बन कर ही दम लुंगी,
इस डाली से
आज़ाद होकर ही दम लुंगी
अपने ईन सवालों से
रिहा होकर ही दम लुंगी
के अब
खूबसूरत दिख कर ही दम लुंगी.
. .
फूल बनने के दो रोज मे ही
मिट्टी मे रल जाएगी वो,
इस हकीकत से
वाकिफ होने के बावजूद भी.
शायदा इसी लिए?
पूरी उम्र लगा देती है
एक कली फूल बनने मे।
"
"
Come fly with me,
Over the golden skies,
Above the turquoise waters,
To a land of mysticism,
To a land of love.
Come coalesce into me,
And let's fly as one,
You become the right-wing,
And I become another,
Let's soar through life,
And push our fears behind, as one.
Come cry with me,
Rinse my wounds with your tears,
As I Kiss your scars to disappear,
And let's heal, as one.
Come make love to me,
Warm me up with the heat in your veins,
Till our heartbeats synchronize,
Till we become breathless,
And then let's breathe, as one.
Come sit with me,
On the crown of a mountain,
Close your eyes,
And let's meditate, as one.
Come fly with me,
To a land of mysticism,
To a land of love
As one."
"
"
कलम बंद कर रही हूं हर जज़्बात जान कर
के कल अगर तुम मुझसे मेरे ही इश्क़ का सबूत मांगो
तो ये कागज़ के टुकड़े पेश कर पाऊं मैं,
के कभी तुम्हारे दिल के कटघरे में मेरी पेशी हो
तो तुम्हे लफ्जों की वजह से ना खो दूं मैं
कलम बंद कर रही हूं हर जज़्बात जान कर
के मेरे लब मुकर जाएं तो ये पन्ने बोल दें
"
"
जब इश्क से नफरत करना सीख रही थी
तो एक उम्मीद की तरह टकरा गए तुम,
कितनी गलत बात है।
जब मर्दों से मुह मोड कर बैठी थी
तो एक दोस्त बन कर आ गए तुम,
कितनी गलत बात है।
एक बंजर बगीचे में टहलने निकली
तो एक सफ़ेद गुलाब की तरह मिल गए तुम,
कितनी गलत बात है।
नजदीक आने में इतना वक्त लगा दिया की
अब बिछड़ने का वक्त आ गया,
तुम्ही देखो ना,
कितनी गलत बात है।
"
"
मैं
मेरा घर
और तुम्हारी गैर-मौजूदगी,
कमरा
कमरे की खिड़की
खिड़की जिससे चांद तो दिखता है
पर तुम नहीं
ताक
ताक में सजी किताबें
किताबें जिनमें कहानियां तो हैं
पर कोई तुम पर नहीं
छत
छत पे मेरी खाट
खाट पे धूप में लेटी मैं तो हूं
पर तुम्हारे साथ नहीं
प्याला
प्याले में छलकती चाय
चाय कम दूध की बनी तो अच्छी है
पर तुम्हारे हाथ की नहीं
मैं
मेरा घर
और तुम्हारी गैर-मौजूदगी ।
"
"
तुम्हारा इंतज़ार नहीं मुझे,
पर तुम्हारी उम्मीद जरूर है
तुमसे रोज़ इत्तिसाल नहीं मेरा
पर तुम्हारा ख्याल जरूर है
नहीं मालूम मुझे
तुम्हारे साकित की वजह
पर तुम्हारे माथे पर ये शिकन,
मुझे दिखती जरूर है
नहीं मालूम मुझे
तुम्हारे अंदर चलती कश्मकश की कहानी
पर तुम्हारी निगाहों में ये ठहराव की खोज,
मुझे चुभती जरूर है
तुम पर हक नही मेरा
पर तुम्हारी परवाह जरूर है
तुम्हारा इंतज़ार नहीं मुझे,
पर तुम्हारी उम्मीद जरूर है |
"
"
I meet new men,
I talk to them,
Engage in conversations,
But never indulge in them.
I talk a lot,
But share nothing,
Explore fancy places,
Craving the terrace within.
I speak freely,
As there is nothing to lose,
Only to realize,
What a privilege it is,
To have someone to lose.
They look at me,
But I feel nothing,
Nothing wrong with these men,
But they are just,
Not Him.
They are just, Not Him. "
"
Fire when disciplined, is the key
To survival and to glee.
It warms us, guards our space,
On the pyre, our souls find grace.
And you, my love,
embody fire's might;
Life pushed you in inferno,
setting you alight.
Burning those around,
a harmful plight,
An unrestrained fire,
dreadfully not right.
Yet fire's choice,
harm or warmth,
You picked the latter,
And transformed.
Rising from inferno,
becoming gentle light,
I can see your journey
in your eyes so bright.
Once wild,
a fire that knew no bound,
Now a fireplace,
where love is found.
At each crossroad,
make a choice,
Avoid wildfire's reckless voice.
Become a fireplace,
warm and kind
A bonfire of grace,
a gentle find.
"
Bring back
Healthy masculinity,
Kind femininity,
Strong families,
Slow living,
Rustic kitchens,
Green gardens.
Graceful courtship,
Old school romance,
Fireside chit-chats,
Walks on the beaches,
Long-stemmed roses,
Handwritten letters.
Tight hugs,
Warm kisses,
Holding hands,
Expressive men,
And patient women.
That’s it.
This is the poem.
This state is poetry.
#12 2nd Quater Of The Year 2024
After a long time, I spent a quarter mostly in isolation, primarily by myself, with minimal social interactions. I spent this time introspecting, thinking, overthinking, reading, overreading, crying, empathizing, strategizing, structuring, controlling, surrendering & flowing. It was a quarter spent observing my mind and heart wrestle, wrestle like fucking pigs. Somedays I watched them from a distance, as a spectator, and some days I was with them in the pit. Lovely. Loved every bit of it. A quarter spent well and I think there is still some tangling left to do. But as far as I can see, in the next quarter, they will not wrestle; they will dance. It will be a dance of polarity, but it will be a dance, a graceful waltz or maybe a steamy bachata. But it will be a dance. #Grateful
#13 My Cousin Sister Loves Green
You are a collection of all the people you let into your life and spend time with. I know it is a cliché, but I recently realized that it is very true. I have a cousin sister who loves the color green. So, whenever I see green now, I think of her. Initially, when she told me her favorite color was green, specifically a shade of emerald, I was surprised. Why would someone like green? Usually, people say blue, black, or white. But now, whenever I come across emerald, I understand what she sees.
I saw an emerald-colored Creta once—it looked like a snake on the road, quiet yet powerful. Now I see green everywhere and think of her—leaves, reflections in water, dresses of the royals. She loves the shade so much that she even bought a vintage sofa in it. That was the moment I was sold too; emerald green is royal, timeless, and makes you feel something you can’t really put a finger on. She has now moved out of Delhi and lives in a place near Indore which I don’t think is listed on the map yet, but I hope she finds her green there too—in butterfly wings, lush gardens, boho earrings, pleated skirts, book covers, aesthetic carpets, or classic crockery.
Emerald green, a shade that makes its presence felt like a tree- neither dominating or seeking attention, nor submissive or dissolving in the background, but standing tall and assertive. Like a tree, whose presence might not ‘feel’ too much when it’s there, but its absence surely does.