One Life To Live: April 2025

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.

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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.

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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 a 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.

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.

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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?

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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.

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 ।

Saturday, April 5, 2025

ଅଭିଯାନ

ଚିରଦିନୁ ଆଶ୍ରିତା ସେ ମହା ଦ୍ରୁମ ଛାୟାରେ,

ନିରାପଦେ ବଢିଛି ସେ ସୁରକ୍ଷିତ କାୟାରେ ।

ଦୁନିଆର ରୀତି ନୀତି କି ଅବା ସେ ଜାଣିଛି,

ଆଲୋକର ମିଠା ମଧୁ କେବେ ବା ସେ ଚାଖିଛି !

ନିତି ଦେଖେ ଗୁଣ୍ଡୁଚିଙ୍କ କୌତୁହଳ, ପିମ୍ପୁଡ଼ିଙ୍କ ମେଲଣ,

ନିତି ଶୁଣେ କିଚିମିଚି ପକ୍ଷୀ ଗୀତ, ସାଧୁଙ୍କର ଜଣାଣ ।

କିନ୍ତୁ ଦେଖିନି ସେ ନୀଳବର୍ଣ୍ଣ ଆକାଶରେ ମେଘମାଳା ଶ୍ବେତ,

ଶୁଣିନି ସେ ଚପଳାର ମୃଦୁ ଧ୍ବନି ଅବା ସକାଳର ସ୍ବର୍ଣ୍ଣ ଗୀତ ।

ଭାବେ ବସି ବିଦେଶିନୀ ପବନର ସ୍ରୋତ କଥା,

କାହା ଗାଥା ଗାଏ ସେ ଯେ ଲାଗେ କିଛି ଅଧା ଅଧା?

ମହକେ ସେ ଅଜଣା ଏକ ପୁଲକିତ ବାସ୍ନାରେ,

ଅଛି କି ଏକ ଦୁନିଆ ତା' ଦୁନିଆ ବାହାରେ !?

ଦେଖେ ସିଏ ନିତି ଏବେ, ଏକ ଅଭାବନୀୟ ସପନ,

ଭାବେ ବସି ଅକଳ୍ପନୀୟ ଗାଥାରେ ଲୁଚିଥିବା ଗହନ ।

'ଅଭିଯାନ ଯେ ଅପରିହାର୍ଯ୍ୟ', ଶୁଣିଛି ସେ ଜୀବନେ,

ଅଜଣା ଅନ୍ଧକାରେ ସେ ଯିବ ଏବେ - ଆଲୋକର ସନ୍ଧାନେ ।

Wednesday, April 2, 2025

ଐକାନ୍ତିକ

ଅସରନ୍ତି କୁହେଳିକା ସେ ଚକ୍ଷୁ ଯହିଁ ଚାହେଁ

ଚାହୁଁ ଚାହୁଁ ଗୋଲାପ ସ୍ବର୍ଣ୍ଣ ତହିଁ ବିଦ୍ୟମାନ ହୁଏ

ହେବ ହେବ ବୋଲି ଦ୍ବିଜ-ସ୍ବର ପୁଣି ଶୁଭେ

ଶୁଭ ଶୁଭ୍ର ଉର୍ମି ବକ୍ଷେ ଆଭା ମୋକ୍ଷ ଲଭେ

ଏଭଳି ଦୃଶ୍ୟର ଦୃଷ୍ଟାନ୍ତ ବା କାହିଁ

ସବୁଠି ଥାଏ କିନ୍ତୁ ଦୃଶ୍ୟ ହୁଏ ନାହିଁ

ଜୀବନ ଭଳି ମନେହୁଏ ଅବା ତାହା ହିଁ ଜୀବନ

ମନ ମଧ୍ୟେ ପ୍ରଶ୍ନ ଅସୁମାରି ହୁଏ ଉଦ୍ଭାବନ

ଅନନ୍ତ ଶିଖା ଭଳି ଜଳେ ପ୍ରଶ୍ନ ଏଠି

କେଉଁ ରାଜ୍ୟେ ଖୋଜିବୁଲେ, ଉତ୍ତର ଅଛି ଅବା ସେଠି?

ଆଖି ଦେଖେ ଯାହା ଏଠି, ଭ୍ରମ ତହିଁ ବିଦ୍ୟମାନ

ସ୍ବପ୍ନେ ସତ୍ଯ ଉଭା ହୁଏ, କେବେ କରେ କି ସନ୍ଧାନ ?

ମରୁ ମଧ୍ୟେ ଉଦଧି ଥିଲା, ବୋଧ ହୁଏ କେବେ

ରତ୍ନ ତହିଁ ସାଉଁଟିଲେ, ମିଳିବ କି ଏବେ?

କିମ୍ବଦନ୍ତୀ କୋଳେ, ଅସ୍ପଷ୍ଟ ସେ ତାରାଦୀପ୍ତି ମେଳେ,

ପ୍ରହେଳିକା ଅନେକ ।

ମନ କିନ୍ତୁ ପ୍ରଭାମୟୀ, ଚିତ୍ତ ଦ୍ଯୁତିମୟୀ

ସମାଧାନ ତହିଁ ଐକାନ୍ତିକ ।

Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Dancing Star

"Man muss noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebären zu können."
(You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.)

Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

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Calmness of the breeze whispered to the waves wild,
Could you stay still, perhaps for a little while?
'cause I have miles to go and lives to change,
Charm a smitten heart with tales from lands strange.

Crisp cosmic voice of the waves spoke,
Candor in her stance a muted innocence did invoke.

Could you move, as you stay where you are?
Could you live, when the zeal is further from far?
Could Big Bang be birthed from a state of calm?
Could a poet compose without a few qualms in her palm?

Curiousness in her eyes, the breeze listened with a fervor keen,
Calmness too needs chaos, she knew now as the waves set the scene.

Entropy is the provenance, of the cosmos and all at par,
For you need chaos within, to give birth to a dancing star.

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A Little Something:

Inspired by the quote from one of my favourite books by Friedrich Nietzsche (Thus Spoke Zarathustra), and a response to the poetry prompt "Chaos", this piece is a part/snippet of one of the write-ups that belong to the lengthier side of my writings.

Though it has multiple patterns and few poetic devices, the one I would like to highlight here is the first letter of the first 12 lines (the lines that make up the conversation) in this 14-line piece. It is in line with the beginning letter of the prompt: "Chaos".

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