A tree is felled
The Earth shakes,
The man with the axe, Unmoved
Category: Poetry (Page 5 of 9)
आख़िर फल मुझे क्यूँ मिलता नही
ऐसा रहा हरदम तुम्हारा रवैय्या
पर जो धक्का तुम लगाओ ना सही
तो भला क्या काम आएगा पहिया?
प्रतिभा है तुम्हे भेंट में मिली
पर मेहनत करना है तुम्हारी ज़िम्मेदारी
जो सत्य, सत्त्व और समर्पण मिले
तो साकार होंगी कोशिशें सारी
जो दीप भले तेल से छलके
भीनी सी हो सूत की बाती
जो मन में ज्वाला न जागे
तो कैसे रोशन हो दुनिया सारी?
कस लो कमर, करो तुम परिश्रम
अब पीछे छोड़ो तमस का घेरा
जब कसर रहे न कोई कम
तब ना रहेगा दिया तले अंधेरा
अब उठो और उठाओ तुम्हारा शस्त्र
कलम हो, कुल्हाड़ी हो या हो सितार
बलिदान से संवरेगा हर नक्षत्र
आखिर कर्म से ही होगी तुम्हारी नैय्या पार।
On the mighty plains, under the setting sun,
There flowed a mighty river
On its silty banks, there sat a lost man,
Much did he cry and quiver.
Through snuffles and shivers, he
gathered his voice, a few words he spun
To mother river, thus spoke, a beaten farmer son.
In utter grief, he partook in a dip, and the river knew of his tears
To allay her son of all his fears, the river whispered in his ears.
When met with rocks of refusal, my child,
Do not stop, and submit to surrender
Like a gushing river in monsoon swell,
With a lovely grace, charge and meander.
But mother, when will it end, this dreadful season of sorrow?
Without a rain, why should I sow, hope for tomorrow?
Trust the gradient of life, flow, do not ask for a reason why
Believe and be true to your spirit, surely shall you thrive
And even if the farmland is parched, desolate, run dry
The clouds are riding on the wind, wait as they arrive.
How long could I wait for, it has been too long a while
When the hand that feeds the world sleeps hungry, life seems all too futile.
To deem life futile is but futile my son, do not submit to a passive revolt
Ever wondered why I drain my fresh water in an ocean full of salt?
My end may seem tragic, but my life is magic, despite tides high or low
For the meaning of life is not in the end, but in all the life I create as I flow.
So, arm yourself with a sickle, and set out on your challenging quest
When fortune finds you working hard, shall you reap a bountiful harvest
Gather all your courage my son, despite darkness however deep
Arise, awake and march on, there is no time for you to weep
You have a world to feed after all, and promises plenty to keep
Set out in the field and make a change, even a little step is a giant leap.
The clouds heard their conversation, and together did they ply
To congregate and condense, to become a river in the sky
And thus the elements conspired with nature at the helm
As the first drop of rain and the last teardrop of the farmer, fell in tandem
And amid the drizzle, in ecstasy, the farmer ran to his farm
And the wise old river, blessed her child, and flowed on with a loving charm…
When the little bird
With a faith blind
Embraced the whole world
With its delicate wings
It flew.
एक आंसू रोता है बंदा
रोता है आंसू बंदा-नवाज़
जो इंसान को ढूंढते भी खुदा न मिले
ना खुदा को ढूंढते मिला इंसान
Rooster Rex and Helen the hen,
Snuggle up, in their little den,
They warm each other, on a bed of hay,
And cuddle lovingly, in every which way
And when the world mocks the hen,
For sitting idle all day,
The rooster finds his zen
And keeps all the naysayers away
There are chirrups in the barn, a few weeks hence
The rooster wails aloud, from atop the fence
Little chicks, they snuggle up like Golden balls
As they coo gently, to mama hen’s calls
The rooster, the hen, feel vindicated
The gift of children, comes not too belated
The wise rooster marches, stomping his legs,
He calls all naysayers, he pleads and begs
‘If you must sit idle’ says rooster Rex
Make sure you’re warming, a bed of eggs.
When a lost poet felt, he had exhausted, each idea, every card
In desperation, he knocked, on the door, of a saintly, old, bearded bard
The old bard invited his younger self in, and sat him in a chair
Lovingly, the wise man spoke, to ease the poet’s despair
“When poetry comes into being, through you,
Sometimes the words will be fresh, as morning dew
But do not expect it to be spectacular everytime,
For sometimes, the words might not be, even worth a dime
Poets are people too, and just as prone, to be a fool,
For most of us, do not realize, that not every poem, is a perfect jewel
But some fools are poets, for they only put out work, that is their best
Some poets are fools, for they never put, their worst work, to the test
But there are poets wise, who value, each and every line,
Who realize, that infact, even bad poetry, is a clever evolutionary design
They put out a jewel, just to kindle, a budding poet’s fire,
They put out their worst, hoping a lost poet, shall once again aspire
A wise poet, is a channel pure, beyond I, mine and me,
He knows, that poets shall perish, but forever lives poetry
So, put out every poem, as it comes, bypass the sense of self,
So that a young poet pens,
And fulfils poetry’s longing for itself.”
And so, the young poet learnt, and from the rocking chair he arose,
Beyond good and bad, and ego and self,
he penned down, the above prose.
Swelling with, a vanity vain
There burnt, a proud little flame
High from its heat, haughty, unmasked,
To the blowing wind, it jeered and asked
‘Hey, you wayward wind’ it slew
‘You aimless drifter without a clue’
‘On a fruitless search of lands new’
‘I wonder, how relevant are you?’
Solemn, silent, saintly, the breeze
Flew past quietly, with graceful ease
It left behind an answer, much to the flame’s ire
The breeze whispered, and the flame was a raging fire…
Cheeks are pale , Not rosy
A product of a sin
For her fingers touch a display
And not her baby’s skin
As a mother’s halo eclipses
By the glow and sheen of a screen
The child, lonely and forlorn
A complex grows deep within
Do we need a rosy cheek, a dimple?
A motherhood pure and simple?
A childhood filled with bliss?
With no gaze, no touch, ever amiss?
Don’t trade your time and touch
And save yourself loneliness much
Keep screens aside,
Slow down your pace
And accept your motherhood
With joy and grace
For every child
Should beam and smile,
On the journey of life
Every mile
Touch
Hold
Cuddle
Kiss
And leave behind
moments to reminisce
For Mother and child
Shall realise soon after
That life is an echo
of all your childhood laughter.
Can one
ever live
A Life,
Deeply
If he
hasn’t learned
To Love,
Deeply enough?