Katl ki shehnai ki awaaz dhoondhta he..
jala ke parinde ko uski aah ka ehsaas dhoodhta hai?
khuda ki sitamgari kaafi nahi thi,
jo din raat apne janaze ka samma dhoondhta hai?
Dhoondhna he to suraj ki rooh dhoondh kafir
kyun jale hue sitoron ki raakh dhoondhta hai?
wahan nasoor aansuon me bhi aas dhoondhte hain
tu kyun bewajah ranjishon ke saaz dhoondhta he ?
Mat dhoondh, ki dhoondhne ne se ek katra aab nahi milta,
to tu kis ummeed se sookhe me sailaab dhoondhta he ?
main kisi diljale ko kya rasmo- saaz padhaun?
meri naav ka khivaiya khudi surrakh dhoondhta hai
ees tees ka marham , din- raat ,
benakab ho , sare bazzar dhoondhta hai.
Thursday 9 August, 2007
Wednesday 20 June, 2007
The Destitute Battle field
Like split caracasses in a battle field,
some half dead -half dying ;
some yet to be born and yet to die;
some thrown in the realm of living dead
howling and begging and unheard,
in that crimsoned noon-tide
on that boodied dust,
their bodies blackening with blackened blood.
Their tortured souls hovering over,
brooding on a dim perisistent scale
mourning the futility , the
twisted necks and arms and wombs-
deformed, deprived, destitute.
The unborn- numbed, ghost like
dying in that deformity
learning the first lessons of life
or death? or death in life ?
or of life in death?
Like that destitute battlefield
packed with split caracasses ,
like a thousand dead hopes
split, damaged, uncomposed for ever
walks her body
in that crimsoned noon tide
on that bloodied dust.
some half dead -half dying ;
some yet to be born and yet to die;
some thrown in the realm of living dead
howling and begging and unheard,
in that crimsoned noon-tide
on that boodied dust,
their bodies blackening with blackened blood.
Their tortured souls hovering over,
brooding on a dim perisistent scale
mourning the futility , the
twisted necks and arms and wombs-
deformed, deprived, destitute.
The unborn- numbed, ghost like
dying in that deformity
learning the first lessons of life
or death? or death in life ?
or of life in death?
Like that destitute battlefield
packed with split caracasses ,
like a thousand dead hopes
split, damaged, uncomposed for ever
walks her body
in that crimsoned noon tide
on that bloodied dust.
Monday 11 June, 2007
Merci Mon Ami -2
A bright yellowish star,
pinkish in that dark, distanced horizon
separated by the void between the two worlds
is as destitute as me .
Crowded yet lonely,shining yet tenebrous
Like an airy hope,golden sand in hands,
floating on the remains of a devastation
broken yet hopeful and inspiring.
An ocean thirsting for an oaisis-unfair,
A store house lusting for air – unfair,
But gives still and gives.
Merci mon ami!
Ps- i am glad i found another coast.. the wind is friendlier ..hope for a long while ..forever doesnt exist!
pinkish in that dark, distanced horizon
separated by the void between the two worlds
is as destitute as me .
Crowded yet lonely,shining yet tenebrous
Like an airy hope,golden sand in hands,
floating on the remains of a devastation
broken yet hopeful and inspiring.
An ocean thirsting for an oaisis-unfair,
A store house lusting for air – unfair,
But gives still and gives.
Merci mon ami!
Ps- i am glad i found another coast.. the wind is friendlier ..hope for a long while ..forever doesnt exist!
Monday 14 May, 2007
Merci mon ami !
BITTERNESS
like strangers, anticipating first move
each time looking, and looking through
that unworded powerplay
it hurts.
what is the need naming the bond
when the names are jeers
to be rascalled ripped ravaged
it hurts.
closeness- distanced -your efforts pay
mine fail
you win
i lose
it hurts.
Like the hollowest the lonliest of shells , in need of wind to create music we wait and what is essayed by the nasty wind is sheer cacophony. I DONT WANT IT
like strangers, anticipating first move
each time looking, and looking through
that unworded powerplay
it hurts.
what is the need naming the bond
when the names are jeers
to be rascalled ripped ravaged
it hurts.
closeness- distanced -your efforts pay
mine fail
you win
i lose
it hurts.
Like the hollowest the lonliest of shells , in need of wind to create music we wait and what is essayed by the nasty wind is sheer cacophony. I DONT WANT IT
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