Yuhiin...

कभी कभी गुज़र जाते हैं
ढेर सारे सपनों और रंगों का बोझ लिए,
डरे डरे से, थके हुए
बिना कुछ स्याही से लिखे , कहीं
बस यूहीं..

The broken Dream..

I don't really remember
how old I was
when I first breathed
the smell of rain

It never occured to me then
that this is how
looking at the parched earth
meeting water
I had welcomed the knowledge of pain

Looking at innocuous blossoms
against a clear blue sky
I unknowingly found answers
to every single why

I shaped my right and wrong
and forged in into every poem and song
wove it with colorful dreams
which lay lazily under sunlit beams

I learnt to talk to the moon by my own
and share with it all my fears
for I had heard many stories
of the hefty price of tears
I sat in a thoughtful poets' pose
on a full moon night
I did not care then to know
of how to usher in the morning light

But then, they started growing, moving
often turning in my sleep
Beginning to paint their own pictures
Secretly, somewhere deep

For long I neglected
found more words and thoughts
to feed their growing appetite
and all the attention that they sought

But when I could no longer contain
that irresistible want for reality
I took the chance and
gifted them to this world's duality

For a while, it was all beautiful and fine
and I could hear the distant wind chime
I smiled at passing flowers
and words for me, still rhymed

But then, day by day,
something scraped a little of them away
hurting in the process
as they struggled to grow and stay

It was a long long illness
that left so many scars
like the memoirs of
long  forgotten dead stars

I smile sometimes
sometimes I cry
At other times
I simply try

To have them once again rest
with their wings on the flower bed
and let them feel the sunlight alone
and watch from far instead

But I know its different and they are shy
I sometimes have even heard them cry
I ask them of what took away that desire
to flow tirelessly and never retire

At last, one day in a casual reflection
without the least intent of inspection
I noticed the crack that I had long ignored
that I had assumed time would have cured
lying wearily under that sunlit beam
in the light of the day
I saw "the broken dream"

Freedom

"A brief candle; both ends burning
An endless mile; a bus wheel turning
A friend to share the lonesome times
A handshake and a sip of wine
So say it loud and let it ring
We are all a part of everything
The future, present and the past
Fly on proud bird
You're free at last."- Charlie Daniels

The immeasurable stretch of a cloudless blue sky,
The millions of possibilities ripening in a single "why",
The countless drops that bathe the earth on a cloud's whim
The overpowering urge to flow beyond the brim

The way I choose to feel the pace of time and space
The lines I draw to define the already known face
The smile I wear or the frown I bear
Whether or not I give in to a wandering, homeless tear

The words I write for whatever transpires
unknowingly, secretly, that thinks and inspires
Without permission, wandering into extremes,
From dark memories to daylight dreams

Like the kite bound with an invisible string
Like the whole color palette rainbows bring
The shades I pick to fill in the picture
Each mind open to its own conjecture

A leaf allowed to make its green
The moon deciphering what the tides mean
The sea pouring out its unbound emotion
The sunflower binding in its unstinted devotion

Where is the boundary that describes the norm
Tell me of a water that adheres to form
I want the leaf that knows its home
Or thoughts that don't wander or roam

A stolen silence or cacophony
Ignorant bliss or a thoughtful agony
The earth and the heavens and everything in between
Are entitled to set the stage for the scene

Merging, melting and growing,
evolving each day in the myth of control,
In making small choices, in designing
our sphere of life, we actually own the whole

With each step, every glance
each move, every stance
In losing the owned, protected and decreed
Somewhere a part of myself I freed

Like the mountains, the earth, the sea, the sky
Like the lonely leaf , even the little bee that just passed by,
I was born free
and that is how it shall for eternity be.

Free..

Lurks somewhere..

Painting is a lot like poetry; a means for an unbridled expression with the veil of a well-concealed exterior. Overflowing with what is not obvious(to the eye), a lot lurks in the shadow of every stroke...


Lurks somewhere,

the depth of sadness
in the many dimensions of pain,
the brightness in flowery colors
smothered by a dark stain
the freedom of whatever
in the realm of forever
staining the white
into expressions struggling to define the right
a stroke to contradictions, another to defeat
a deepened scar of the red, with a shade of deceit
casual spring merged with earthy grace
wandering happiness that some contours embrace
to cherish , to spin into memories
in a veil of abstraction, definite stories
dreams gilded, bound by oil
a cooking kitchen for the inner turmoil
a peaceful white
some artificial light
a fall leaf
a faraway sight

lurks somewhere

shuffling across the many layered
shades never owned or bared
brushes always guarded and protected
never allowed to influence
the shapes of time and space
the control a mere pretence

lurks somewhere

all this and more, in closed and open doors
in wooden faces and checkered floors
in landscapes , dunes and mountains by the sea
in all that was and all that could never be,

lurks somewhere

an introspection
a submission
a regret a little history
a tinge of laughter
a longtime victory

lurks somewhere

in my canvas
s o m e w h e r e

The 'cloud'..

A cloud of dreamy consciousness floats somewhere in my mind,
lots of staggered patterns of time and space left far behind.

Little droplets..with a little history huddled in each,
secrets of the universe...all within their reach.
Its just the precise pattern of light that must from the heavens glow,
for the disclosure and alignment of the seven colors of the rainbow.
Till then, mostly silence prevails in the inner reaches of the dense ,
Every day leaves it marks somewhere on the outside..each with a subtle reference.

Floating in this continuum of time and space
each moment is a like a frozen bit of realization
Despite the uncertainty, there is a definite grace
with which the cloud assimilates each new agglomeration

I am a distant observer, I do not bring the rain,
I do not form its patterns, I do not cry with it in pain..

We are a disjoint set..yet we seem the same,
Our paths are interestingly arranged, in the grander scheme.

I sometimes wonder...what lies in the reach of this cloud,
Does it try to speak to me...is the outside world too loud?
I also think of all the clouds that have ever been,
Some which 'rain-washed' ignorance, some whose rains were never seen.

What makes the cloud happy..what does it keep on thinking?
In the days of insignificance that it has...what chains of drops does it keep linking?

A perfect crystallization of an abstract thought, could it ever insinuate ?
What of significance and importance in the larger scheme of things..could it ever procreate?

The cloud is innocuous...does it know of possibilities ?
Can it for itself understand its identity...its burden of responsibilities?

What does the cloud think of the 'everyday' drops..and what of the drops of deep thought,
Each one with their own significance, each one sometimes wanted and sought..

I sometimes get so puzzled..that I mumble out aloud..
The eternal mystery of myself..my questions to "the cloud"

The cloud :)

DREAMS OF PAPER..

Dreams of paper

Like looking at floating, crisp little white clouds scattered across a blue sky,
Like the sound of an aeroplane that brings back the childish urge to fly
Like puddles of water after a sudden rain,
Like an old paper napkin with a birthday cake stain

dreams of paper..

grow along as we do..
are cursed birds that never flew

Like poetry never shared or read
Like little disappointments that are never declared
like amateur art being praised by a critic
paper colored in imagination; nonetheless artistic

dreams of paper

keep crawling along...and never find their feet
are secret smiles of victory in defeat

Like a star studded sky covered with clouds of storm
like a gifted brilliance that lacks expression and form
Like music lost in its own silence
like a conviction without defense

dreams of paper

float in little paper boats sometimes
jingle in the random music of wind chimes
wait all through for words to pen them down someday
or blessings of reality to sweep them away


dreams of paper

Like ripples in long stagnant water
like the road from before to after
like a basketful of wishes, packed in style,
not unwrapped too often; too sacred and fragile


The natural smile which a long forgotten nursery rhyme brings
Dreams of paper
are among all things...my most "forever" belongings

Dreams of paper

Through seasons and moods..

"....I realise that I do not understand what or who can fill this inner void..this little voice of dissatisfaction drowns everyday amidst
the so many conversations I have or the day-to-day activities that I engage in ..but nevertheless it is always there, to remind me that somewhere an inner
equilibrium needs to be achieved."



The only leaf on a bare tree ,the last one to leave,
How long is she going to stay, how long can the winter she deceive

A different blend, new shades
to give in to change, the autumn fades

From a quiet autumn , to a quieter winter cold,
From the first step..a continuation to a journey untold..
A change... in every passing moment..of a mysterious flickering light,
Like a silence..disturbed every instant..still pretending to be quiet

Equilibrium is a mirage one can never reach,
The laws of equanimity we unconsciously always breach,
for there is a beautifully insane dynamism that operates,
something striking about the way the conundrum iterates..
Stability is a myth, because there is a constant spur
The winds change direction ...the leaves incoherently murmur..
In this momentum, it is rather difficult to pause and think
To understand the "why" underlying everything, to justify every link
This is an endless mystery..the gradual unfolding of time
Like the unrestrained flow of water ..sans reason or rhyme
Silent spectators and participants we are..in our own sense,
to the many beginnings and unending conclusions that again commence,
Little dreams scattered amidst patterns of reality that form each day
Sometimes lost...sometimes a few manage to find the way..
An inner and outer world coexist in a struggle for harmony..
In weaving our definitions of self..a composition ..a symphony

Sometimes..it becomes difficult to appreciate this constant unrest,
Moods that swing to the negative to its unexplained behest
The inner music that goes out of synchronism
as chaos sometimes maligns this benign dynamism
The seasons seem unreasonable and the winter far too white
The sky too cloudy and mornings no more bright..

But,it must come full circle ..the purpose and the meaning
From a defeated winter with bare trees..to a flower laden spring
An appreciation ,as through a usual day I cruise
Of this unfailing optimism which in spite of everything I amuse,
I try to paint my own picture..I try to gather the hues,
I attempt to achieve a balance..I struggle to shun away the blues..

Of all I grasp, of all I see..
Through seasons and moods..as I continue to be,
I ponder and think..and my eternal questions I address
In all this somewhere..Lies my quest for an 'indefinable happiness'