Boond..

On a cold winter night
after a late evening shower
I was walking home
alone, with the usual unwanted burden
that I like to carry 

Suddenly she landed upon me
losing herself in that moment
shedding all her burdens of tomorrow
surrendering  submitting
to the happiness of now.

The big drop ..

Boond..

Udaan-II

यूँहीं एक दिन, खाली बैठे, कागज़ पे कुछ बनाया था

कुछ आड़ी-तिरछी रेखाओं से कुछ मन का हिसाब लगाया था

कुछ आकांक्षाएँ थीं, जिन्हें नापकर कम किया था

कुछ खुले हुए घावों को समय की तार से सीया था

कुछ यादों को जमा घटा किया

थोडा किसी कड़वे सच को पिया

सब नाप तौलकर समझ लिया

फिर एक नया रंग लिया

कुछ बादलों में रुई भर दी आखिर

उन्हें एक आकाश के लिए स्वतंत्र किया

कुछ अभिलाषाओं के अर्थ को

और थोड़े से यथार्थ को

लेकर सोचा अब निकल पडूँ

बहुत दूर से देख चुकी,

क्या मैं भी आज,

इस नभ में उडूँ?

Udaan..

 
खुरच खुरच  कर  यादों  से ,
क्यूँ  दुःख  ही  बस  चुनते  हैं
क्यूँ  कभी  उस  बेहिचक  सी,
स्वछंद  हंसी  की
खिलखिलाहट   को  नहीं सुनते  हैं 

किसी की बंधी सोच से ,
हम क्यूँ बंध जाते हैं
किसी के अहम् की क्षुधा  को
क्यूँ अपने आसुओं से बुझाते हैं

अपने परों पे उड़ना
अपनी राहों पे मुड़ना
अपने रंगों की बूंदों से
अपने जीवन चित्र को बुनना

यह अहंकार नहीं
मेरा अधिकार है
 मेरी हर परिभाषा
मेरे सपनों की हर उड़ान  का आधार है

उड़ान

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