मैं क्या हूं?

 मैं क्या हूं?

ना मैं साधु, ना संसारी।

बस खड़ा हूं एक नन्हे से बिंदु पर

जहां से चीज़े दिखती

कभी ठीक, कभी गलत

कभी न्यारी, कभी प्यारी।

ना मैं त्यागी, ना मैं भोगी।

बस हूं मध्यबिंदु पर टिकने

का प्रयास करता

अपने किसम का एक जोगी,

एक दृष्टा, एक मनमौजी।

The rainbow in a stormed sky

 Brave and foolish youth,

The sun-baked verdance of curiosity,

The moth, the flame, the burning,

The rain of passion,

A riotous blizzard of emotions,

But the storms die,

The clouds get empty,

The skies clear,

Leaving a brief rainbow behind.

 

Love is a little arc,

a tiny rainbow,

It’s drawn between two points:

joy and ecstasy at one;

pain and tragedy at the other.

The book of silence

 

A little sad smile

that briefly dispelled the dark

like a lamp does with enlightening hark,

Then it vanished,

But in that brief light,

I read the book of pain in her eyes

written in a strange language.

 

It was just that little smile

that connected him with the stranger,

There wasn’t anything to say,

It wasn’t required in fact.

A suitable time

 

It was the time to

unlock the fears lodged in my guts,

and get in step with the chaos of life;

to take slander, gossip and mockery

as relevant and lofty as the scriptures.

 

It was the time to

take it as success to be heaved

and propelled by the current of pain.

 

It was the time to

take chipped, chaffed, moth-eaten humanity

as the post-modern goddess,

and worship her

while wearing clean clothes outside

and a filthy mind and heart inside.

 

It was the time to

be like everyone around,

And be a hunting hound

devouring the rabbits soft

and stay in the highest loft.

 

It was the time to

keep cupping the ears

to avoid any chance pick-up of

the upbeat melody of life,

And get used to the strife.  

Miserable by default

 

Very rarely and very few

get finally really settled,

We are forever migrating,

We are a jumpy species,

Never on solid earth,

It seems the only inheritable things are

pain, sorrow and suffering,

But joy and happiness

we have to create in this very life,

Nurture as a dream, a destination

as we move on the

default mode of misery.

Rain in vain

 A hardness building up

in the soft, mushy zone

that enveloped us,

And the night even though

aglow with fireflies

lost its charm

like candles going off

when hit by

a howling blizzard.

 

She was silent outside

but screaming inside,

Crispy above

but pain-roasted below,

Flitting, flirting and dancing on surface,

but weary and bedraggled inside,

There we were

forcing ourselves to assume that

things were normal, even though

there were many proofs to the contrary.

 

There we were

pushing each other

into the pools of pain,

Earlier it was a

joyous jaunt in the rain,

Aah, the rose that blossomed in vain!

The true pearl

 A fragile world we set up

around ourselves with our dreams,

destinations, envy, hope and fears,

Then we create a shell of hate

to keep the pearl of love in it,

It glitters,

But it isn’t a love-gem,

It’s our hate crystallized for self-deception.

 

Love comes with the inclusion of

more and more around you into your care,

And in this fertile soil

blooms a flower,--

love for someone.