बहुत दिनों से सन्नाटा है!!

बहुत दिनों से सन्नाटा है
ना कोई लफ्ज़ गिरे
ना हवाओं पे तैरती गुफ्तगू ही पहुँची
खामोशी भी चुप है
कुछ कहती नही
आवाज़ में सिमटी मुलाक़ात भी
अब मयस्सर नही
क्या हुआ
अल्फाज़ों के सिरे खुल गये...
या शब्दों की डोर
चिटक गयी कहीं?

बहुत दिनों से सन्नाटा है
आपकी आहट भी नही गूँजी
कारवाँ का सफ़र तो इधर कभी रहा ही नही
अब तो इक्का दुक्का मुसाफिर भी
इस राह से गुज़रते नही...
पथ्हर चुभते होंगे शायद,
ज़मीन पे पाओं रखते ही...

पर अब तो बहुत दिन हुए
किसी चुभन या कसक ने भी साँस नही ली यहाँ...
क्या हुआ-
रह भूल गयी,
या अब पांच्छियो ने
उड़ते रहने की ही ठानी है?

बहुत दीनो से सन्नाटा है-

किसी परवाज़ का अक्स भी नही उतरा
ढलती धूप के साथ फलक से...

शायद, अब इस शजर पे घोंसले नही बनेंगे कभी!

Going Back

I walk the one way street
narrow and confined
you want me to turn,
go back and visit
alleys
I left behind...
how can I?

what we once built
with sweat, passion
and love
is now
a nest for
homing pigeons
- vagabonds have moved on...

am I afraid of the past?
or scared of history?
scarred maybe,
from time gone by?
no.
I survive
in the moment
as it passes
caressing my palms
I do not want to hold back
what has gone already...

There is joy
in unknown
mystery in undiscovered...
there are new paths to tread
up, ahead,
narrow and confined,
they may be...
but exhilarating, nonetheless,
and you want me
to go back, and visit
alleys
I left behind....
how can I?
Why should I?

Balance??

carrying a hollow
bulging with emptiness
a cloud struggles to float
on harsh sunny sky...

sun, aflame
burns and scatters blisters
that wince, in dark
shedding tears that
kiss the earth
who grieves with them

but all of them
float on...
centuries after century...
circiling the void,
they do not sink
though heavy
with unshed lava...

and that wisp of a cloud
struggling to stay float
starts to sink
even as we speak...

maybe
emptiness within
is heavier
than all the unshed lava of the universe.

मैं तन्हा नही....

कोई तो सुन रहा है मेरी बात यहाँ पर
दीवारों से टकरा के वरना गूँजती आवाज़
चुप-चाप तोल्ता है मेरे लफ़्ज़ों को कोई
सरगोशी ने खामोशी की ये खोल दिया राज़!

Casualty of Greatness

once long ago,
a wild bush
raised its head
in a manicured garden

elegant, stylish,
well groomed and
pampered shrubs 
for company
it felt both 
elated and scared
will it survive here
or will it be picked out
at the first light of dawn?


the gardener 
compassionate and tender
takes the wild bush 
in his care
and showers 
it with all his love...

the wild bush
is well fed,
well groomed,
pampered,
as the elegant shrubs.
it enjoys the attention
the status
the aristocracy!

And, then
as it grows,
its inquisitiveness 
its abandon
its uninhibited peculiarities
is manicured routinely
by the caring gardener

it is removed from
the chirping
naughty birds
and tricks of
rowdy chameleons-
the company of
tickling insects
and charming fire-flies...

the lowly,
earthy bush
is given metered doses
of expensive groomers
healthy diet and
protective cover...
it is treated as an equal
by the great gardener....

the effort fructifies
in the manicured garden,
there is now a new occupant
rubbing shoulders with
sophisticated shrubs
with elan and gaiety...

wild bush gives in-
becomes one 
with the surroundings 
and drowns itself 
in the loving care
showered on it...


it had protected itself 
in harsh wilderness
but it could not survive
the greatness of the Gardener!

The Ocean

Twisting, turning, restless
the fluid pearl and molten silver
intertwined,
seeking each other?
trying to break free?
they race to the shore
struggling for a foothold
but the banks refuse
to entertain
the vagrants
desperate to drop anchor!

Each time their desperation
rises in waves
and spread helplessly
on coarse sand,
pleading with recalcitrant rocks
the salt of their tears
leaves a moist imprint.

They bring with the tides
all that the ocean has to offer-
shells, conch, vista, vision...
and return empty handed.
The sea, never accepts
what land and its inhabitants
fling at it
it simply walks away
throwing back all
that was tossed at it...

For eternity
the sky
showers its moisture
on raging seas
and the favor is returned
with vapors sent from
its surface...

For ages
rivers drown in ocean
with the vagaries they bring along
the ocean,
drinks up the sweet waters
and leave the dirt and mirth
to float on the shore...

Each time it is abused
it shots back
and bruises
the humanity.
I wonder,
if I throw
a smile at it,
will it throw it
back at me
with same gusto?

Faith

A question precedes and follows
every time I close my eyes
to find faith

why, what, how...
rationale, logic,
justification,
the search begins
and in the whirlpool of thoughts
so called reality prevails

And then, another set of questions
what is it,
real, surreal, or otherwise?
what is that we see-
the facade, or a mask
or a make-believe...
why should it matter,
and again, why should it not?

No, I am not faithless,
not yet,
I do believe
that the answers are there-
waiting to be found.
I follow thus
mirage after mirage...
soak in the dry sand of time
and wait for the illusive drops
that will quench the thirst
and answer all the questions...
I do believe,
faith is not dead,
it is just on comma.

Chased by Unicorn!

Rummaging through cupboards
shuffling sheaf of paper
i look for something
i know is not there, yet...

looking through tittles
neatly arranged on shelves
i try deciphering the story
that has not been told, yet...

the line is getting blurred
between heart and mind
i think what i feel
and, i feel what i think, yet....

this cohesion is more chaotic
than tsunamis of emotions
or thoughts... or both
i don't know what to call it
this oneness of mind and heart...
i survived their battle for supremacy
i could convince one over the other
occasionally, i would give in
to one's diktat or charm
i had one to ward off the other
but today both have united
in chasing me, my soul
something that i have
never seen eye to eye
or faced squarely.

Now, my mind
my heart
the duo - now merged in a unicorn
chase me to search for it
in words, in deeds
in trinkets, hidden beneath
layers of masquerade...

I rummage through cupboards
shuffle through sheaf of paper
dig in words of wisdom
and tales of time
I know, I am to discover it... yet...

The Sleepless Slumber

In between the folds of the sheet

as I roll restlessly sleepless on my bed,

I feel the prick of dreams unfulfilled,

                desires unmet, and

                destinations, still beyond reach.

Each time

I try sitting up and

breaking  free

 of this sleepless slumber

I remember,

The points of non – retreat.

The alleys I got in,

The ladders I stepped on

The depths I plunged in

all have strict confines

no space to maneuver

no place to turn

on these one way tracks .

Moving ahead is thus

a fait accompli

So move on do I,

stretching and pushing.

And there I hear it again –

the clink!

Clear and loud,

louder each time!

The sound reverberates deep inside the soul

and fills my ears…

for years  I have been hearing

these pulsating, throbbing, noise…

the chisel of compromise

chipping off the proud idols of my belief.

I have seen them fall,

one by one

as a defeated army-

those I believed in

and their beliefs…

It all crumbles down

and spreads on the satin white

of the sheet

I cover myself with

in dark nights,

the pricks of which I feel

as I toss on my bed        

                -unslept!

               

Afternoon Musing

Somewhere along the line
I stopped moving.
I stood immobile
while
the world moved
onward, backward
mostly in circles...

Standing statue-like
on a moving aisle
I experienced
stagnation
flowing in thick rivulets
engulfing everything
I valued
love, liberty, peace

Its quiet,
if you could decipher the hum-drum
a thousand languages breathe
only pause
silence... between words
thrown as gunshots.

The quest is no more
about any destination
or road, or means...
it is no more about discovery
of any kind...
its not hidden
that I seek...
Just the courage
to claim as my own,
the inertia that encircles me
and,
to be free.

Mastering the ease to bear the unease

I cannot drown
in my sorrow,
shallow as they seem
I merely paddle through
with heavy feet
often caught in sticky moss
spreading itself at the bottom
of this static, inert, dark, fluid
that floats within the confines
of my vision.

I blink and blink again
to clear the dampness
blurring my view
but the drops simply cling
to the corner
holding their turf,
I give up!

I see thus, the dry sun
with moist vision
foggy and wrapped
in the cloak
of my perception.

No wonder then
even on coarse concrete
when I manage to set foot
the puddle of sticky soot
is all that is left
as footprint...

The stink follows me
I carry my shallow pool within
not deep enough to drown,
nor steep enough to be washed away.
What else then can one do
but master the ease
of living in unease!