Natural Death

When the words exit before meeting meaning
When over-stretched threads refuse to weave a pattern
When memory loses itself to unearth its start
it is better to read the eyes of reality that whisper... maybe.... it was a natural death

When the icicles of  moments have melted
When the search in lonesome desert is stranded
When the colors exchanged drapes the past as a damp shroud

It is time to stop looking for the sand that slipped through the hands
It is time to lay the wilting flowers
It is time to accept that it was a natural death.
...and it is time to go home to finish the undone

Universe...is it

Can a human being be her own universe...
With no one...but own self to share....sigh ... be happy..
to walk with...and smell early morning....
to be anonymous and get lost...
to discover...invent ...and innovate...
to laugh and to criticize...
to appreciate and cut down to size...
to be content...and suffice.....

शायद

आजकल हर कदम बड़ाने पर कशमकश होती हे,

आहटो के गलत होने का खोफ रहता हे ,

समय की बूँदें रेत के महलों को हर बार बिखेर देती हे ।

धड्कनो की रफ़्तार के साथ चलना अभी तक नही सिख पाए 

या शायद सीखने से पहले ये पाँव थक गए हें ।

भरोसा मतलबों की सादगी से  बेमतलब हो गया हे,

सादगी के मकबरे के चक्कर जितनी  बार लगते हे, हर बार फूल चडा आते हे।

दहलीज पर बहार आने के इंतज़ार कि रंगोली या पूस की रात के पत्थर हुए दरवाजे 

क्या हें जो गलत हें

या उससे भी गलत हें,

शायद इस  सवाल से जूझना ।

आदत

औ र कुछ नही बस उम्मीदों  कि आबरू   है   जो बनती औ र बिखरती  है   ।

वैसे तो हम भी समझदारो में गिने जा सकते है ,

पर उम्मीदों कि  समझदारी   है,  जो मेरी समझदारी को शर्मिंदा करती है ।

अगर मेरी समझदारी को दिन की  धू प से मुहब्बत न होती,
 तो शायद उम्मीदों के साये के बगैर  उसको साँस लेने की आदत  होती ।

पता नही चलता कि  कौन सी आदत है जो मेरी  जान  को परेशान  करती  है ।

Walk Away

There is some sound outside
Is it the knock that you dont hear
The constant knock musical with the breaths of meaning
You know who's knocking, by the rhythm of forms cast in the air
You know what it would be like, just like what it was several moon's ago, a melodiously flowing river of story
When, what you saw in haste from above was the silent sheet of  flowing water and not the storm of unseen unsaid beneath

What is today that the knock would have brought...
Noise as always, to be strung into beads of music on you becoming the mute audience
The more heart beats you measure to unlock
More pieces there are to be sewn together
More than when you had come out from behind the wall

Why have you made a flight behind unyielding netted walls
Is it the noise you don't want to hear
Of fear of barbs you have built a wall with shards

They walk away with more pieces to collect, as you are too scared to fell the wall
Its fear of the thorns that you close your doors, you miss the call of building a spring
Springs don't just dawn you forget, they are built in treacherous winters with undying resolve

Nobody just comes to walk away,
You give them what you don't want to bear

Or were you the blessed one, not to be among the noise and thorns ever
Or was it the wrong door they were knocking at, fooled by the echoing within the hollow walls

When in class 8th

I don't know where I go
I don't know where lies my paradise
But I know your footsteps would take me to a world with a different sunrise
I look back and see, dismay and despair
I want to fly away
But some voice stops me
I have to do my job
Because this is the place where lies my existence cause

Voices

I am weaving a life....a life of my own...with the voices that surround me ...the ones that brushed past...those that still live within me and those that i keep beating into life every moment ...

with all the haze..the brightness...the nearness ...the coldness...I am weaving a life

Temptations

Temptations follow me like a shadow even in the dark alleys of the birds in my mind

Luring to get lost in the folds of the known warmth
To get lost in the mirages of joys, promising to last longer than the frames of life, 

Its in these clouded days that mirrors are louder than the shadows
Reflecting the twisted image that bent backward for the hues

Is it worth loosing oneself yet again to this exacting warmth
Is it worth to live in boundaries of the soul of shadows

Not now and never was
No fitting into globes of painted squares
No spaced breaths that muffle the being inside
No melting into forms that i dont recognize

It is Time to come out of the closet and make that trip uphill before the inevitable consume
These colorful fireflies will find a new new pair of eyes

The colour I painted with them in the flight are all mine
I have packed it with me to walk with me as part of me...

Meaning

Its convoluted....what you thought was important is not....when there is some output waiting.. the ink of imagination has dried...and the wheels of motivation that seemed so internal..want to take the other direction...

the note pad wants to be filled with colors...waiting to run with me free...to the places unknown..and the peaks unseen...

Its in these junctures...meanings for me surprise me....where are they leading me...

Hello and Goodbye

Some have a lifetime, some just a day
love isn't something you measure that way
nothing's ever forever, forever's a lie
all we have is between hello and goodbye

Culture: Bollywood

Does our bollywood movies validate that 'my' view of the world and its creatures is the only reality, that there are no other pieces to these realities. Human beings are not linear in living so why are the movies?

Why are 'we' not ready to view 'our' own reality? Why is it so painful to see oneself as a victim or the perpetrator?
Why do we (some of us) want to get lost in the magnanimous depictions, when 'I' am not there?
Why do we choose to live in the conflict rather that resolve it?

The oozing riches/goodness and well-offness in the movies, does it reflect on direct relationship of us being sacred to face, struggle with our own reality, poverty in acceptance of our own selves, denial to know our own selves.

What is it that we keep hovering at the same point in a spiral and move away from our own selves, further away with every circle, from facing it. Why are we ready to live someone else's dream, to live in congested spaces, but walk in a trance as if this is the liberation that I always wanted.

Is it the liberation, we have been seeking?

Why does what the other have, make me aspire what they have? What is it about what 'I' have? Because 'I' am and how much ever I try 'I' will be....even if I move away from my own self. 

Poem with a Life

Walking through life, You scale the un-trodden
Get caught in the surprises from the known
Look the other way when it is too much
Climb when it is the hardest

What is that ..that makes the struggle rhyme
That seeps through your insides as a sunshine,
Even when you are bruised, your eyes are closed
That plays the music, finds a rhythm in every lived moment

What is it that makes you walk and walk
That makes you laugh and fill you with joy in what you have....

What is that, that hums in every moment
that sings with every beat and every turn you take

Maybe there is a poem within that is alive

People Tell You

People tell a lot of things to one...as if one is an amusing specimen....
I wonder why is there so much joy in telling, is it because
you know better
you are happy that your life is better or
you want to wipe away the sorrow for the other....

If it is the last one you are clearly underestimating them and overestimating oneself...you are crossing the line of living some one else's life...and taking the right from them to live theirs,  just because you can command

If it is the other two then... clearly...you have not seen enough...lived enough....mingled enough traveled in mind and in experiences enough the way the one you tell has

So when it is not enough... the stretch of the telling falls short just before the turn ....from where the experiences and awareness of the other start