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 ! 

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#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!

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#D2June

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Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

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?

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#D1June

Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

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।

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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.

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Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

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

Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

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.

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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 ।

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

Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

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. 

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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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Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

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 

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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. 

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

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