She Says ...

She says I am angry at myself,
I am judging myself too hard –
That, she judges from my poem …
 
Maybe she’s right,
Cause I like to hold my mirror tight,
It’s not without giving in a lot of thought,
Can I sleep at night …
 
I am angry,
@ not being able to cry and breakdown,
@ not wishing 20 more years for my mom,
@ rubbishing my hope as a fool’s pomp,
@ accepting the boundaries of this world’s swamp …
 
@ being the centre of attraction,
@ not feeling like a complaining victim,
@ my inability to feel lost and broken …
 
But, why be angry, especially –
When my perception transcends the urges to judge,
When classification as good or ugly, isn’t necessary,
When both sides of the coin, I clearly see …  
 
Then, why be angry, especially when –
Lost is the compulsion to be perfect,
Lost is the necessity of hypocrisy,
Lost is the need to be reactionary,
Lost myself and found what’s needed to be free …
 
A mid-term death, another life afresh,
Accepting the dualities,
Bearing the weight of conscious conduct …
 
When the wheels are taken away,
Like a plane taking off a runway,
Shoulders do hurt as the wings sway,
Wings of responsible living take me far away …
 
Time for crawling and running is over,
It’s time for old patterns to die,
True, there are rules to be followed,
Even as I fly and puff,
But I’ll fly cause nothing else is enough …

महाकाल

जब लिखने से भागता हूँ तो संगीत पनह देता है,

और जब संगीत में बेहता हूँ तो लिखा हुआ दिशा देता है । 

इन्हीं सुरीले शब्दों पर कुछ लिखने की कोशिश - 

सुरों से जुड़े हैं शब्दों के तार,

डूबें जितना खुद में, उतना ही आता उस पर प्यार,

है उस प्यार के ही ये पैगाम सब,

किताबों और कहानियों के बने किरदार हम। 

कोशिश है हमारी की ज़ाया ना जाए,

इस विचार का हर अंश काम आए,

बुनते रहते हैं इन विचारों के जाल को,

कमबख्त, किसको पड़ी दुनिया की,

जब खुद में महाकाल हो । । ।    

किशमिश

समय के थपेड़ों में उलझी,

तन पे सजाए, निशान ये, सितम के - 

इस विशाल दुनिया में हो तुम छोटी सी,

अपनी भोली सी, थकान भरी, मुस्कान लिए - 

सूखे से कवच में खुद को लपेटी,

अंदर बैठी हो गुपचुप, मन में, मिठास भरे - 

रिश्तों के पकवान में हो समा जाती,

हर सलवट में, सहज, प्रेम भरे। 

अदबुद्ध हो, अदबुद्ध हो तुम सचमुच, मेरी किशमिश । ।     

तर्क का गहना

इस दिल की बनावट है हीरे सी, 

हर चेहरे में दिखता इसके - जीवन बहुरंगी । 

माला-सी ये नन्ही कविता मेरी,

इन भावनात्मक रंगों को - अपने शब्दों से पिरोती । 

पहनाती उनपे मेरे तर्क का गहना, 

और संगवारी से कर देती है बयां । 

यह कविताएं ही तो हैं - 

ये ही तो दे देती है - इस दिल को पनाह।  

जाने कब मैं इन शब्दों को पिरोने के काबिल बना !

जरा सोचो - यह काबिलियत ही तो है इंसान होना ।। 

कल से फिर

1.

कल फिर से,

इस दिन में,

सूरज ढलेगा।

कल फिर से,

इस घर में,

रोशनी बुझेगी।

कल फिर से,

इस दिल में सवाल उठेगा, 

फिर झूठी फ़िराक जगेगी।।

2. 

कल से फिर,

इस कमरे में,

एक फूल खिलेगा।

कल से फिर,

इस धरती पे, 

वो सूरज उगेगा।

कल से फिर,

ज़हन में चिराग जलेगा।  

और फिर, समर्पण की आग लगेगी ।।

Sluts for Life.

Yes, life is awesome, yet very often its perplexing ups and downs feel like throbbing of wild fornication. The emotional resonance with a song reminds one of one's own life experience. One can't help but notice a poetic metaphor. There is a choice offered through life's ups and downs. Choice that pertains to the experience of life itself. One can experience the throbbing as someone being unwillingly torn-apart and raped. One can also experience them as an intense surrender and merging, a key to the super-consciousness. These sinusoidal ups and downs of life. No matter how huge, they are waves after all. I can choose to let them flood my senses and drown me in the ignorant darkness. Or I can seek the Shiva within and surf on this wave. Dancing.

PostScript: I could feel a groove inside me. Dying to come out. I just started playing it. Didn't care much on its origin. A few days later, it was the Awaari song, sung by the same intense feminine voice of Momina as Nawazishein Karam. It's been on loop ever since - accompanying me through the piercing of both body and mind.

The Connect

 I never lose it…

    On days with machine like structure;

        Even those with unmanageable mayhem,

It's always there -

The connection- to the one above;

The connection - to the one within…

 

I live through it…

    In moments of effortless brilliance;

        Even those of suicidal heaviness,

It's always there -

The link - to my divine self;

The link - to the real me…

 

I shine through it...

    In moments of deepest slumbers;

        Even those of excruciating wakefulness,

It's always there –

That connection -  that link -

 

Through calm or chaos -

Of the body or the mind;

        I am still connected- I am still linked.

Through that which sustains it all -         my breath…

This Breath.

4 Years of Isha

I reached your gates with my sweetheart,

Unsure, hopeful and most of all, desperate.

Desperate to be guided, guided to what I already knew.

 

Notions and weights of the past were still fresh,

Experiences and their emotionally coloured memories.

Memory that sought to be untangled, untangled and understood.

 

Hugged the metal vessel with the snake on guard,

Held it with all the life within me and repeated my question.

Questioning why I am not able to find peace, peace in life or in the idea of death.

 

There were no immediate answers, no blue lights, no luminous opening chakras,

When I asked you something, you chose to close your eyes but to speak.

Spoke about everything in the world, the whole world except what I had asked.

 

Fifteen hundred days, I held on to you, with whatever timid strength I could muster,

Compromisingly at times, defiantly often.

Often making it about me, the very me that I wanted dead.

 

What a journey it was that you have crafted,

Could have been straighter of course but, has been perfectly curvy.

Curves that were needed, needed to untangle the karmic mess.

 

Snakes that were scary have become fellow companions,

Stares that invoked fear now remind to be awake.

Wakefulness driven by deep love, the joyful love for life. 

 

Was seeking ailments, afraid of volunteering,

Afraid of any new social situation, unknowingly moved by your grace.

Got situated at Dhyanalinga scrubbing, scrubbing through this moonless night.

 

Impossible to put fingers on the timeline,

Seems like a life long journey with moments, each profound.

Profound and pregnant, pregnant enough to contain a lifetime in itself.

 

Here today, in the chilled water, forehead plastered to my dear vessel,

All questions dissolved, absent is the desire to be guided.

Guide found within me, the me that envelopes everything.