2025: One Life To Live

Tuesday, June 3, 2025

ଚିଠିଟିଏ : A Letter

ହୃଦୟ ଝିଞ୍ଜାରି ପକାଉଥିବା କେତୋଟି ଶବ୍ଦ ... ସେହି ଶବ୍ଦ ମଧ୍ୟରେ ଲୁଚି ରହିଥିଲା ଅନେକ କୁହା ଅକୁହା କଥା। କୁହା କଥା ଯେତକ, ତା'ଠାରୁ ଅକୁହା କଥାର ଓଜନ ଢେର୍ ବେଶି। କେତେ ବେଶି ସେଇଟା କେବେ ମାପି ହେଇନି କି ହେବ ନାହିଁ ବୋଧହୁଏ।

ଯେଉଁ କଲମ କାଳିରେ ଲେଖାଯାଇଥିଲା ସେ ଚିଠିଟି, ନା ସେ କାଳି ଅଛି, ନା ଅଛି ସେ କଲମର ଚିହ୍ନ ବର୍ଣ୍ଣ। ଯେମିତି ସେହି ଶବ୍ଦର ଭାବରେ ନିଜକୁ ଭିଜାଇ ହଜିଯାଇଛନ୍ତି ସମୟର ଶେଷ ଦ୍ବାର ପାଖ କେଉଁ ଗୋଟିଏ ଗଳିରେ। ଏତେ ଭାବନା କ'ଣ ଦୁନିଆରେ ଥାଏ!

ଏମିତି ଗାମ୍ଭୀର୍ଯ୍ଯ, ଏମିତି ମାଧୁର୍ଯ୍ୟ ଯେ କେତୋଟି ଅକୁହା କଥା ଓ ଅବ୍ୟକ୍ତ ଭାବନାରେ ଥାଇପାରେ, ତାହା ଚିନ୍ତା କରିବା ହିଁ କାଠିକର ପାଠ। ପ୍ରେମକୁ ପ୍ରେମ କରିପାରିଥିବା ବ୍ୟକ୍ତିଟିଏ ହିଁ ବୁଝିପାରିବ ତା'ର ସାରମର୍ମ- ସେ ସୂକ୍ଷ୍ମତାର ଶକ୍ତିକୁ । ସେଥିପାଇଁ ତ ଚିଠିଟିଏ ମଧ୍ଯେ ସାଇତି ହୋଇ ରହିଯାଇଛି ସେ ହୃଦୟରୁ ଖଣ୍ଡେ !

/ 9

: 285

#D2June

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A Loose Translation:

A few words that tug at your heartstrings shelters some unseen unspoken words. Those unspoken words are much heavier than those that have been uttered. It, perhaps, is never possible to appraise the weight that these unspoken words have always carried.

The ink that penned those words in that letter have ever since dried up, and so has the stylus that housed it once. Immersed in the essence of these words, they have evanesced themselves- somewhere around the peripheral apogee of time's ultimate stance. Is it even possible for these depths of feelings to exist !

It's incomprehensible to imagine the sincerity, the sweetness that these words can encompass. Only a person who has loved Love can understand its essence - the power of that subtlety, that elegance, that etherealness. That is perhaps why the piece of that heart has been preserved in a letter!

/ 9

: 143

#D2June

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Sunday, June 1, 2025

To Be And Not To Be

"If you try enough, someday you too can be like someone."

Why would I want that?

"So, are you trying hard not to be like someone?"

Why would I do that either?

"Then?"

Why would I try to be or not to be like someone?

I just try to preserve my identity
And break free from it too.
To be enough of myself
And nothing of it too.
To immerse in my soul's core,
And fly away along with the breath of air.
To be AND not to be.

"It does not make any sense?"

Does it have to?

/ 15

: 99

#D1June

Thursday, May 22, 2025

मैं आर्टिस्ट नहीं

पता है मुझे,

मुझ में आर्टिस्टों वाली वह बात नहीं ।

ना अपना, या किसी का दुख लिखती हूं।

ना बेबसी, ना दिल टूटने का किस्सा लिखती हूं।

ना फ़िक्र, ना अपने जिंदगी का वह हिस्सा लिखती हूं।

जिसे सुनकर किसी का दिल करहा उठे,

ना वह लिखती हूं ।

ज़माना जिस लिखावट को कलाकार की दस्तख़त माने,

वह भी कहाँ लिखती हूं!

तो किस बात पर ज़माने से,

कला का कोई भी ख़िताब मांगु?

किस मुंह से कला की इस नगरी में,

अपना छोटा सा भी हिस्सा मांगु?

हां, लिखती हूं मैं, पर तब...

जब रूह बेचैनी में क़रार ढूंढे।

हां, लिखती हूं मैं...

पर खुशी का नज़राना, उम्मीद की आरजू,

हसीन यादों की गुनगुनाहट लिखती हूं मैं।

कि शायद... कभी कोई ढूंढते हुए आ जाए।

कि शायद... कोई पलभर खोकर, खुद से मिल जाए।

कि शायद... कभी कोई ग़मों के शोर में,

हँसी का सुर सुनने आ जाए।

कि शायद, शायद...मायूस आंखों के भीड़ में,

कोई अपने हिस्से के सपने बुनने आ जाए।

अगर उस कोई एक चेहरे को आशा मिल जाए,

पूरा पल भर ना सही, आधा पौना भर भी वह खिल जाए।

तो ना हुई कलाकार मैं, फिर भी कोई ग़म नहीं।

आर्टिस्टों में ना रहे कभी मेरा नाम,

उसका भी कोई शिकवा नहीं।

गुमनामी में रहलु, जिलुं, और खो जाऊँ,

उसका भी गिला नहीं।

उस पौने पल के लिए सब कुर्बान,

और उसका तिल भर का भी अफ़सोस नहीं।

हां, मैं आर्टिस्ट नहीं।

मुझ में आर्टिस्टों वाली वह बात नहीं।

मुझ में आर्टिस्टों वाली कोई भी बात नहीं।

/ 36

: 252

P.S. The loan word "आर्टिस्ट" (artist) has been intentionally used instead of the Hindi word "कलाकार".

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A Loose Translation:

I am not an Artist

I am aware

That I have no qualities

That an artist must possess.

I do not write

Of my own or someone else's sorrow,

Nor do I write about vulnerability,

Nor of stories of heartbreak.

I do not write of worries,

Nor do I write about that part of my life,

Which can make a heart sigh,

I don't even write of those aspects

That the world deems

To be an artist's signature!

So, why on earth,

Should I ask of the world

To bestow any title of art?

How could I look

For even a meager dwelling

In this vast elaborate city

Of art and artists?

Yes, I do write,

But only when the soul seeks peace

In disquietude.

Yes, I do write,

But I write of the gift of happiness,

A wish for hope,

And of the hum

Of beautiful memories.

Maybe someday,

Someone comes searching for it.

That maybe someday,

One discovers oneself,

After getting lost here

For a moment.

That maybe someday

Someone comes to rejoice

In the rhythm of laughter

Amidst the noises of sorrow.

That maybe, just maybe...

In the crowd of disappointed eyes,

Someone would come

To weave a utopia, of their share of dreams.

If that one face finds hope,

If not for a whole moment,

Even if it blossoms

For even a fragment of a moment.

Then I am okay

Being not an artist;

I would sacrifice it a million times over,

I wouldn't have an ounce of grief.

I wouldn't lament

Even if my name is never counted

Amongst those of artists.

I shall live in obscurity

Live and ultimately get lost some day,

Even then, I would not repine.

I would gladly sacrifice everything

For that fragment of a moment,

And I wouldn't have

Even an iota of regret for that.

Yes, I am not an artist.

I don't have that quality of an artist.

I don't have any quality of an artist.

/ 63

: 324

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Sunday, May 18, 2025

Crème Brûlée-d

Cold.

Visibly frozen. Feels cold too.

But it is that unseen warmth

That gives it its

Distinct Identity.

Only the chosen ones

Would know

And could feel

The warmth

That solidifies and unifies

Its sweetness.

Bold.

Hard. Tough like a weapon.

But the essence is in that

Creamy gentle softness

That defines its

Existence.

Only the souls

Who have the

Empathy to cross that

Firm shell

Can immerse in that

Soft caress.

/11 + 12

: 72

Wednesday, April 30, 2025

Let Destiny Word It As Poem

Decipher this, if you may

Who knows what it might say

I know not when, I know not why

Unbelievable as it might sound

Listen still, to the voice of the cloud.

It could be an idea, few thoughts,

Or perhaps a concept of sorts

All said and done,

It must move my heart,

Enthrall me, like when I feel an art.

And then there is something,

I could never fathom nor can I explain

All that ensues when

You, as my muse, reign.

Life becomes Love and Love, You

Destiny whispers of dreams anew

Wishes with wings fly to the sun

In the sparkle of stars

Unbeknownst to me,

Like words from soul, the stories spawn.

It has tales of my heart

Every beat of it, That has You

In every end, and at beginning's start.

I do not write a single word

I weave some to mask them, maybe

And be blurred

Enchanted in your charm,

The words find a home

And I let it be called a poem.

/ 29

: 171

Monday, April 28, 2025

वक्त बेवक्त

जो अब नहीं, वह वक्त, वक्त नहीं ।

पर जब 'अब' ही अब नहीं,

तब वक्त बेवक्त की कोई कहानी नहीं ।

तमाम लम्हे जो गुजर गए,

उन में वक्त की बेवक्तियाँ भी

सलाम लेकर चले गए।

और वो लम्हे जो शायद होंगे कभी,

उन में भला वक्त शिकन डालेगा कैसे, क्यों कभी?

तो जो है, वो है... बस है ।

लिखना है तो अभी लिख लो अपनी कहानी कोई ।

क्योंकि हर वक्त वक्त है, बेवक्त नहीं ।

/ 11

: 141

N.B. Based on (and inspired by) the concepts of Quantum Mechanics and Multiverses, albeit in an extremely abstract way.

Beyond

On the first day of last spring

He felt a tug in the proverbial string

As she walked into his universe

That began that very day

With a divine aroma born into being

She was the epicenter of his existence

The meaning of his journey in every sense

His breath of esoteric air, she was,

In the eternal sea of cosmic essence

Her voice was the beacon

He never knew he searched for

And the depth of her soul-gazing eyes

Brought him to the sought-after shore

She knew too...

Of his heart that made hers beat

And of his angelic eyes

With that profound seraphic gaze

That smelled of divine flowers

And of everything sweet

His smile was the ethereal sky

That sheltered the clouds of her being

The container of her heart of imagination

That breathed colors into a magical spring

They conversed about light from stars

And of worlds that could be

They witnessed the seasons

And the birds fold their wings by the tree

They talked of the mystical rains

That lived and rambled beyond the plains

And of rivers and oceans of glee

And the holistic fabric that made the sea

But on the last day of their first winter

They did not know

Their words of togetherness

Would be like the words of a last letter

It would carry

The ambrosia of her essence

That once was

But also a potion of existing nothingness

That let their story pause

He no longer had his epicenter

Without life (her),

His existence did saunter

He would sometimes smile

But it missed the glory that she adored

Fate took her, but not in entirety. Never.

For they have promised their bond

To be beyond now and that of forever

Until then, he has their last words,

His treasure.

/ 50

: 300

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A Little Something:

This piece is written in a form similar (an inspired form) to a "Lay". Though a Lay generally follows a fixed rhyme scheme and is often written in octosyllabic verses, there are often Lays (one such written in the 13th century) that follows multiple rhyming schemes, verses of different lengths, i.e. non-uniform stanzas, and varying syllables.

The same has been done here, multiple rhyming schemes (but with a single rhythm) and verses with varying syllables. Of course, the quality is different. However, hope this piece conveys the love and narrative passion with which it was written.

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Saturday, April 26, 2025

खोज में मैं

मैं अगर कभी मैं ही ना रह पाऊँ

अपनी परछाईयों में अगर मैं ही खो जाऊँ

क्या ढूँढ लेगी मेरी रोशनी यूँही मुझको मुझ में

या उसके लिए सपनो का एक रोशनदान बनाऊँ

पर मैं कागज का बेमतलब सा कोई फूल नहीं

के बिन कहानी बिन खुशबू के मैं यूँही खो जाऊँ

मैं हूँ भिनी सी वो अनोखी अनसुनी गमक

के हवा के मुस्काती साँसो में मैं यूँ सज जाऊँ

बारिश की बूंदो में मैं सौंधी सी महक छुपाऊँ

आसमान से रंग लेके मैं दरिया में मिल जाऊँ

उस तेज दरिया के किस्सों में भी मैं बस जाऊँ

उन कहानीयों के हिस्सों में भी मैं रो-हस पाऊँ

पर उन में शामिल होके भी मुझको मुझ में ही पाऊँ

इस कथानक की कथा बादलों की स्याही में लिख जाऊँ

मैं हूँ अब भी जब है रोशनी और वह परछाई भी

रोशनी की परछाई और परछाई की रोशनी में मैं खुद को पाऊँ

/ 16

: 290

Friday, April 25, 2025

What Once Was And Will Never Be?

"What once was and will never be?"

"The waves in that turquoise sea", said she.

There still are waves
And perhaps there still will be
But they are not the ones that once were
For they are different :
The kiss between the breeze and the sea.

"What once was and will never be?"

"The fragrance of that first cosmos", said he.

There still are flowers of cosmos
And the perfumed air still lingers
But the one that bloomed first, that day of all
Would never ever be, even if time would stall.

One more time,
"What once was and will never be?"
They agreed to answer that together

When both were ready, at the count of three.

The letters* still are, and so are the words in it
Once they were mine, but not anymore, even a single bit
For they are now yours, my words and my thoughts
Though still mine, it has You, in days of warm winds
And even of frost.

The night wind still whistles in the cold
But that bleak mood, there's none of it to behold
My every breath that once was mine, is now yours
Though still mine, it has You, in days of warm winds
And even of frost.

/ 27

: 207

*P.S. "letters" in line 18 mean letters that have a sender and a receiver (sometimes), like postal letters.

Thursday, April 24, 2025

The Kid in Me

I was supposed to belong and conform to a "clan"

The kid in me let me "be" with a different plan

They told me innocence is dreadful and magic a hoax

The kid in me let me feel the enchantment the cosmos evokes

They told me logic is the only way

And emotion to be a weapon

The kid in me let me fall for the smile of flowers

And told me curiosity is a force to reckon

They told me knowledge is property

And mind a closed chamber

The kid in me let me fly in the openness of timeless wisdom

And told me imagination is a glorious saber

They told me creativity is a mechanical pawn

And dreams to be a fool's journal

The kid in me let me shine in the resplendence of thoughts

And told me dreams are divine and eternal

I was supposed to adhere to the dictated "normal"

The kid in me let me carve my own and be exceptional

/ 18

: 165

Wednesday, April 23, 2025

ମୁଁ ମଧ୍ୟ ନୁହେଁ ମୋ'ର

ଦେଖିଛି ତା' ଖୁସି ଜହ୍ନ ଭିଜା ନିଶାରେ

କଲ୍ଲୋଳିତ ତା' ହସ ମଧୁରୀମା ପ୍ରାତଃରେ

କିନ୍ତୁ କହେନା ସେ ମନ ଖୋଲି ମନ କଥା ମୋତେ

ଅଜଣା କି ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି, ଥାଇ ସର୍ବଦା ତା' ପାଖରେ ?

ଦିନ ଆସେ ଦିନ ଯାଏ, ନିରନ୍ତର ସେ ବହି ଥାଏ

କୁଟା କାଠି ଝଡା ପତ୍ର, ସ୍ରୋତେ ତା'ର ବାହି ନିଏ

ବାହି ନିଏ ସେ ଅଝଟ ପ୍ରାର୍ଥନା, ପୁଣି ପଥିକର କ୍ଳାନ୍ତ ସ୍ମୃତି

ଅଲୋଡ଼ା କବିର କବିତାରେ କେବେକେବେ ପ୍ରେମର ଆବୃତ୍ତି

ମନେ ପଡି ଯାଏ ମୁଁ ଅକସ୍ମାତ ବୋଧେ... ମୋ ବକ୍ଷେ ଛାଡ଼ି ଯାଏ

କେବେ କିଛି ବସ୍ତୁ, କେବେ କିଛି ଅଖୋଜା କାହାଣୀର ଇତି ବୃତ୍ତି

(ତଥାପି କହେନା ସେ ମନ ଖୋଲି ମନ କଥା ତା'ର

ବେଳେବେଳେ ବାହି ନିଏ ସେ ସ୍ମୃତି ମଧ୍ୟୁ ସ୍ମୃତି ମଧ୍ୟ କିଛି)

କେବେ ପୁଣି ଆସେ ଆଷାଢ଼ର ସେ ଘନ ମେଘମାଳ,

ଝୁମି ଝୁମି ନାଚି ଉଠେ ଶୁଣି ଆକାଶର ମୃଦୁ ତାଳ

ଶ୍ରାବଣର ଧାରେ ପୁଣି କେବେ ହୁଏ ଭାବବିହ୍ବଳ

ଅଣାୟତ୍ତ ହୋଇ ଲଙ୍ଘିଯାଏ ମୋତେ, ଭସାଏ ସେ ସ୍ଥଳ

ରୋକିବାକୁ ଚାହିଁ ମଧ୍ୟ ମୁଁ କେବେ ବା ରୋକି ପାରିଛି

ଅପେକ୍ଷାରତ ଥାଇ ମଧ୍ୟ ସେ ମୋ ଅପେକ୍ଷା ବା କେବେ ବୁଝି ପାରିଛି

ତା' ଭାବରେ ଅସ୍ତିତ୍ୱରୁ କିଛି ତା' ଜଳେ ଜଳମଗ୍ନ କରିଛି

ଅବିରତ ତା' ଝଲକ ପାଇଁ ସମୁଦ୍ର ପାଖେ ମଧ୍ୟ ମୁଁ ବସା ବାନ୍ଧିଛି

(ତା' କୂଳ ମୁଁ, ସର୍ବଦା ନଦୀ ପାଇଁ ଚିହ୍ନିତ

ମୋ ନାଁ ରେ କ'ଣ କେବେ ନଦୀ ଚିହ୍ନା ପାଇଛି?)

ମନ କଥା ତା'କୁ କେବେ କେବେ କହିଛି

କିଛି କଥା ଏବେ ବି ଅକୁହା ରହି ଯାଇଛି

ତା' ଖୁସିରେ ଖୁସି ହୋଇ ଆପଣେଇଛି ମୋହ କୁ

ତା' ଦୁଃଖ ଦେଖି ରୋକିବି କେତେ ଅବା କୋହ କୁ

ମୋ ଖୁସି, ଦୁଃଖ, କୋହ, ମୋହ ତା' ପାଇଁ ଓ ତା'ର

ନିମିତ୍ତ ମୁଁ, ତା' ନାମେ ନାମିତ, ମୁଁ ମଧ୍ୟ ନୁହେଁ ମୋ'ର

/ 28

: 486

Monday, April 21, 2025

When the Book Speaks

With the words that were destined

To fill every corner and every nook

But these words really never belonged

How much ever you look

Frazzled and dusty, I lay

In the corner that every eye can reach

But no hands ever extend to turn the pages

Or glance at the words that enlivened them each

There are stories in me

That you may never understand

Even if you read them

For a thousand nights

For they are from the between-the-lines land

Where every plot offers never-seen-before sights

Still forgiving, I will always hold tales

That would make you whole

Even when termites of being jilted

Has left holes in my soul

Until my pages are tattered

And the warming words in me

Have faded into nonbeing

I will always be there

As an empathic listener

That would cater to your well-being.

/ 24

: 141 (145)

Monday, April 14, 2025

ଟିକିଏ କାନିକା ପରି

ପଚାରିଲେ ଜନନୀ ମୋ'ର, "କ'ଣ ଖାଇଛୁ ଆଜି ମା?"

ମୁଁ କହିଲି, "କିଛି ନାହିଁ।"
ସେ କହିଲେ (ବ୍ଯଙ୍ଗରେ),"ଖାଲି ପବନ ଖାଇଛୁ ତା'ହେଲେ।"
ମୁଁ କି ଏ ସୁଯୋଗ ଛାଡିବା ଲୋକ। ମୁଁ ମଧ୍ୟ କହିଲି,

"ଖାଲି ପବନ ନୁହେଁ ...
ଟିକିଏ ପବନ, ସେଥିରେ (ଗଛ ପତ୍ରର) ବର୍ଷା ପାଣି କଲି ମିଶ୍ରଣ ।
ଛିଡେଇ ଆଣି ଭସା ବାଦଲ ରୁ ଖଣ୍ଡେ,
ସଜେଇ ରଖିଲି ସେଥିରେ, ପୁଣି କହୁଛି ଶୁଣ...
ସଜ ଫୁଟା ଫୁଲର ମହକ ଟିକିଏ ଆଣି,
ତା' ଉପରେ ଛିଞ୍ଚି ଦେଲି ହାଲକା ହାଲକା ପୁଣି।"

ଏହା ଶୁଣି କହିଲେ ସେ, "ଆରେ ବାଃ ! ବଢିଆ କବିତା। "

"କବିତା ? ଏ କି କବିତା ? ଇଏ କ'ଣ କବିତା !?," ବୋଲି କହିଲି ମୁଁ।

ଆପଣ ମାନେ କୁହନ୍ତୁ ତ...

ଓଡ଼ିଆ ଖାଦ୍ୟରେ ଭାତ ର ମହତ୍ତ୍ୱର ସରି,
ଜନନୀ ମଧ୍ୟ ମୋ'ର ଠିକ ସେମିତି
ଟିକିଏ କାନିକା ପରି...

କାନିକାର ମିଠା ମିଠା ସ୍ବାଦ ଭଳି,
ମିଠା କଥା ଥା'ନ୍ତି ସେ କହି ।
ପୁଣି କେବେ ଅଳେଇଚ, ଡାଲଚିନି ମସଲା ଭଳି,
ବ୍ଯଙ୍ଗଭରା କଥାର ଛୁଙ୍କ ମଧ୍ଯ ଥାଏ ତହିଁ ।
ଦେଶି ଘିଅ ଭଳି ଥାଏ ଯତ୍ନ ଓ ପୋଷଣ
ପ୍ରଭୁ ପାଦେ କରିଥାନ୍ତି ସେ ସର୍ବଦା ଜଣାଣ।

ଓଡ଼ିଆ ଖାଦ୍ୟରେ ଭାତ ର ମହତ୍ତ୍ୱର ସରି,
ଜନନୀ ମଧ୍ୟ ମୋ'ର ଠିକ ସେମିତି
ଟିକିଏ କାନିକା ପରି...

/25

: 146

==============================

A Little Something:

The conversation mentioned here happened as it is... exactly as mentioned. So, permission and consent has been taken accordingly.

The last 12 lines may come as a surprise for her.

==============================

Sunday, April 13, 2025

Love Like Hers

Like the ferocious storm
That could capsize entire oceans
Like the exquisite redolence
Of the pristine flower from heavens

Like the astute philosopher
Perceiving an entire cosmos in thoughts
Like the whimsical butterfly
Gliding by, radiating rapture beyond noughts

Like the refreshing zephyr
Of the summer moon
Like the warm sunshine
Of the winter noon
Like the peachy glimmer
During the birth of dawn
Like the purple shimmer
The silken gloaming has spawn

How could mere words be ever enough?
Even imagining a Love like hers is beyond tough.

For when she loves
She is born
For when she loves
Eternity has her heart adorn
For when she loves
She is earth's profound emotion
For when she loves
She has the sky in motion

She loves like the fiery passion in heart's heart
She loves like the dreamy calmness in ethereal art
She loves like Time has never been born
She loves like Space is still in the cosmic churn

Yet she stands as if she is
Of an inconsequential presence
It would need gems for eyes
To comprehend her divine essence

How could mere words be ever enough?
Even imagining a Love like hers is beyond tough.

/36

: 198

Saturday, April 12, 2025

A Quiet Note to Her

The clean crisp soft notes

Of the Dressroom scents
And the remnant hints that
The seldom-used peppermint oil presents

Just the kind of unusual harmony
She walks on
That no one else would expect
But I know how she finds it just perfect

She would stare at me
For what could be seconds or hours
The next moment

She would be in those pages
Or humming about

Blue galaxies or flowers

That's just her version
Of quotidian aspects she lives by
That no one else would have to wonder
But I know how frustrating it feels
When she gawks at an invisible sky
And would ponder

All said and done,
As her pillow
I wish I could tell her things
That I would be there
Through the weary winters
And sparkling springs

/ 26

: 132

Thursday, April 10, 2025

I would not be still

I have seen the rains,
The silver drops speaking with the terrains.
I have basked in the sun too,
The golden shine humming as the bees flew.

The winters too were never that tough,
For spring has always pampered life enough.

Oh! The days I have seen,
And the nights,

When the moon set the scene.
Sometimes it would be
A tad gloomy and dreary,
But the wheels moved and
The next moment would be hunky-dory.

But there were times
When I was shook to my foundation
I bled too,
As I witnessed the agony in creation
Some parts healed,

But my tips never went further from the scabs
(The tips bled through the scabs,

The frequency ? No one kept tabs.)
For they witnessed desperation the most,

And the treacherous stabs.

I wished, I hoped, I begged, and even cried,
But the animosity among these creatures...
Never died!
I was a bystander
To their cruel destructions as I grieved,
My bleeding tip witnessed them
Building graves upon heart of the bereaved.

Being stationed as high could be heart-wrenching
With none seeing the worse,
You bear the most, silently, with jaws clenching.

I wish the wheels turn again,
And a hill like me...

Could be at peace then.
Until then, I would try with all my wit and will
Even though I can't move, I would not be still.

/ 36 +2

: 216 +12

==============================

A Little Something:

The prompt was "My bleeding tip". However, to write about the pen didn't quite feel fine. It just didn't click. Additionally, I already have a piece on a similar theme.

So, the next thoughts were considered. Among a couple of ideas, I decided to go with the soliloquy (sort of) of a hill and how its peak (or tip) bleeds observing the spiraling events and incidents happening around. (Wherever 'tip' appears in this piece, it refers to the top of the hill or the peak.)

Being at an advantageous position (here the height or tallness of the tip/peak, as compared to the rest parts of the hill) is not as beneficial as it seems. Grass is greener on the other side.

==============================

Wednesday, April 9, 2025

The Lavender Box

The travel-memory boxes glanced

From the glass shelves like every other day.

Calling out to me with their ounce of hope,

As if they have lot to say.

I picked up the one covered with lavender satin.

It was from the summer of 2017.

The inner fabric was still bright

But the exteriors had faded,

From the sun's golden light.

The box had a receipt of the cafe

The one with the dartboard from across the street

The printed letters had ashened

But the handwritten message on it

Still smelled sweet.

A letter, a ribbon, few bills,

And that leaf from the park,

Some muted, some still same,

And few with some marks,

Chronicled the anecdotes, the conversations,

And the stories,

Like they would never let go

Of those days of glories.

The faded fabric and the marks

Didn't matter anymore,

When the travel-memory box

Brought its core to the fore.

Aren't memories too, mysteriously alike?

We think they have faded into oblivion,

But a trifling touch paints everything radiant

Within a second's strike.

/ 30

: 174

Tuesday, April 8, 2025

Nothing

In the beginning of beginnings,

If there ever was a 'time',
Where there was "Nothing"
And everything seemed to have
Neither reason or rhyme.

That is when the "Formless" played
Sans any perception,
Consciousness was "made".
And then anything that could become,
Became.

There was concept,
Yet there was none.
Every 'probable' universe,
The mind could have churned,
Existed, when existence
Came into being.
But in what dimensions,
When even Space and Time
Aren't even a thing?

And now, (even when there's no now)
They question Dream
And dissociate it from Reality
As if it's an ongoing theme.
But if Reality would be "real",
'Form' could be conceived in mind,
And wouldn't that be surreal?

For if it is the conscious mind,
Where probabilities are birthed,
Is it not where multiverses are "earthed"?
But then again,
It was Nothing
That became everything.
And the conscious mind
Is just every form
That it could become
In the multiverses of 'being'.
That which can, becomes,
If that is what one is seeing.

/ 38

: 165 +5

==============================

A Little Something:

This piece sounds insane, probably. That's imminent, when you are passionate about Multiverses, Quantum Mechanics, Cosmology, and anything that is associated with these fields. You have loads to say, (you probably could go on for days or months), but could only say words that are numbered, and hence everything you say (or write) seems insane, just like this piece.

Having said that, if you find yourself interested in any of these fields and actually read the entire piece (you are already a hero!), we could discuss it further, in a few more words. What say?

==============================

Monday, April 7, 2025

A Cup of...

The ever blissful bright mornings

Come often to sprinkle the fairy dust,
Laced with essences of arete and hope.
There are mornings too,
When the sheen's subtle and
The glistening glimmer got not a clue.

On beginnings like these,
Where wishes sparkle,
But moxie's on a reel...
You come to me
Like a fragrant cup of Lavender Love
The folds of your eyelids,
As you glance with a lazy warmth,
Are the tranquil waters on the edge of Dawn
That gives me poise and makes me go on.

There too are balmy evenings,
That welcome the ivory night,
But sometimes seem to carry,
The day's worth of plight.
On moments like these,
You come to me
Like a cup of Ginger Goodness.
The serene smile,
As you speak of mundane things,
Is the potent elixir that the twilight brings.
It eases my strain off, even if the day was tough.

Then there are the velvety nights
Where the stars twinkle,
And enigmatic tales
The mysteries of the mind sprinkle.
But when the moon takes a rain check,
From the dance of dreams,
Eclipses unfold with dour themes.
During spells like these,
You come to me
Like a cup of Chamomile Charm.
The aurora in your voice,
As you beam with your starry-eyed adore,
Is the Forever that destinies desire

And wishes wish for.
It soothes my soul and heals my heart to the core.

You are the Dream of dreams,
The Love of Wishes,
A promise of eternity
Until (and beyond) the Sun gleams.

/ 45

: 254 +2

Sunday, April 6, 2025

हैं खानाबदोश वो

टिमटिमाती तारों की
उन रोशनी की हर रेशे से पुछो,

या लहराती हुई हवा की
खुसबू में छिपे हर नज़्म से पुछो,

हैं किस्से कई जगहों के
हर मोड में शामिल मगर,

हैं खानाबदोश वो, उन किस्सों की
मंजिल का पता ना उनसे पुछो ।

कहीं सपनें नींदों में छुपती हैं,
पर बादल अपने सपने
अपनी आवाज में लिये चलते हैं,

कहीं आशाएँ मंजिलों में तय रह जाती हैं,
पर लहरें अपनी आशाएँ
अपनी रूह में बसाये चलती हैं,

हैं रास्तें कई, दिशायें कई,
बिन ठीकानों के मंजर कई मगर,

हैं खानाबदोश वो, वह अपना घर
अपने दिल में लिये चलते हैं ।

उनकी ज़िक्र में थोड़ी आशाएँ
हमने भी रूह में बसा ली,

उनकी निगाहों के उजालों में थोड़े सपने
हमने भी गीतों में बुन ली,

उनकी खुशबू की लहरों में
एक-आध पंक्तियां हमने भी चुन ली,

उन मुस्काती नज़ाकत में थोड़ी रोशनी
हमने भी रेशों में पिरो ली।

हैं खानाबदोश वो, कुछ बात तो है उन राहों में,
हमने भी खानाबदोशी से दोस्ती कर ली ।

/ 28

: 165

Pages

Tuesday, June 3, 2025

Sunday, June 1, 2025

Thursday, May 22, 2025

Sunday, May 18, 2025

Wednesday, April 30, 2025

Monday, April 28, 2025

Saturday, April 26, 2025

Friday, April 25, 2025

Thursday, April 24, 2025

Wednesday, April 23, 2025

Monday, April 21, 2025

Monday, April 14, 2025

Sunday, April 13, 2025

Saturday, April 12, 2025

Thursday, April 10, 2025

Wednesday, April 9, 2025

Tuesday, April 8, 2025

Monday, April 7, 2025

Sunday, April 6, 2025

About Me