आज तो लिखना ही था मुझे
तारें तो कबके ज़मी पर आ चुके थे
पर खुली आँखों से भी ना देख सकी थी उनको
अजीब सी रौशनी थी उनकी
समझ ना थी उस वक्त जिसकी।
पर जब पलको को झपकने से दो पल की छुट्टी दी
तो उस हलके अंधेरे ने आकर धी–रे से बताया
की वो रौशनी तो मन की है
और ये वाली जो है वो इन खुली आँखों को कुछ कम दिखाई देती है।
ढेड़ गुंठ्ठे के घर मे उस रोज़ से शाम को बिना दिया-बत्ती के ही उजाला होने लगा।
इतने सारे तारे मेरी ही ज़मीन पर थे और मैं आसमान में अनजानों को गिनती रही!
Where one look in the eyes
Can move the grounds below us
When one moment of contact
Gives a lifetime of strength
When one smile on each other’s face can make us forget
Every other dark thing in the world and see only the light
In each other’s eyes
Now when we know that we are in love
The grass seems greener on our own side
And that small house appears bigger to me, even though he still complains a little
But we both consider it more spacious than those palaces
Which people we ‘knew’ now own.
Those people who never believed us
Who said we were too different to be together
Those who ran behind their perfect matches
Well everything that seems perfect is not beautiful
And everything that’s amazing is not perfect
We find our homes in each other!
Moreover, we live where we stay
Well for the others,
They keep moving towards shinier things, even losing each other in between
For a while, or so
Maybe coming back together in the end
They say, “all’s well that ends well”
But we people, we believe in the journey that we make together
Because we can’t pass a day without that ‘ordinary’ dinner of ours, as they frame it
At times burnt! At times over salty
But to us, tastes just fine
Since it’s made up of care and stinks of love.
And if you ask me about the precious items I own?
His first gift to me was a lead pencil and since then I have kept it safely in my closet.
So close to me,
I didn’t even use it; afraid the lead might get over or maybe just break you know?
As if it wasn’t lead, as if it was Gold
We didn’t even realize and love turned us into Alchemists!
Maybe one day someone will like you for that little strand of hair coming out from the back of your neck, smaller than the other strands, little curled up and unnoticed by the normal folk.
That one day from when you are appreciated for your hidden colors that you only showcased in a locked room.
When someone happily becomes the mirror in front of which you can carelessly dance!
Maybe one day someone happens to love you for the things in you that other people found ugly and disgusting, much less you yourself!
Maybe that day is in the coming year?
Happy new year 2017 to my readers!
Let us all love more, live more, expect less, worry less and give more!
Good night! 🙂
loved this one.
One Has To Admire His Ability As A Poet
“I was struck by … his courage in speaking out to defend the memory of Charles Haughey”
To defend the memory of Boris Yeltsin’s
View original post 288 more words
There is this needle
In my head
It goes in and out
And in and out
All through the day
So bloody pointy I don’t know who sharpens it while it’s already at work, ALWAYS.
It’s unbreakable too, at least that’s what I have discovered.
I didn’t tell Them about it.
Looks like they speak a language that I do, too
But they understand a completely foreign language that I Know nothing about!
So it’s hard to explain them, about this needle
I don’t know may be unknowingly they played their roles too,
In sharpening its parts, its tip.
I think they did it when they forgot to teach me to speak the language that they understood.
It’s so hard being in here,
In this dark room with windows
Where the light pokes the wounds instead of healing them.
And then suddenly everything! This and that and yes that in the corner too,
Adds onto the pile
There are so many needles now
All of them trying to bind me,
Put me through their hollow parts
Crush my ends, spit on me just to be able to crush me all the more!
Till when I fit in
When I finally give up and sew my dear tongue
And my ears and my lips and then my heart
Damn! Their points bite and rip apart my skin
And they think that they are making me beautiful
Shit, they think that they are making me better.
Just like that man, who plucks the flowers and puts them on her tiara
He thinks that he did those selected few a favor,
“You are the best ones so you got picked, do you understand that?”
“How will they?”, I ask him!
Man they don’t understand the language that you speak!
Lucky are the ones, who aren’t that perfect,
They aren’t picked so soon.
They remain intact with their souls
A little longer
Until they die and fall down on their own will.