दीदार

उसे दूर से हीं ताकता रहा,

बस यूँ हीं वक़्त काटता रहा,

ना जाने क्यूँ निगाहें थमी रहीं,

बस उसके चेहरे पर हीं जमी रहीं,

कभी चाँद समझ कर, कभी चाँदनी हम उसे देखते रहे तहज़ीब से,

पर कभी सोचा ना था उनका दीदार होगा इतने करीब से|

...... courtesy Table No.9

जाने किस आस में

बजाए प्यार की शबनम, मेरे गुलिस्ताँ में
बरसते रहते हैं हर सिम्त मौत के साए|
सियाहियों से उलझ पड़ती हैं मेरी आँखें|
कोई नही,
कोई भी नहीं जो बतलाए,
मैं कितनी देर उजलों की राह देखूँगा?
कोई नही,
है कोई भी नहीं, ना पास... ना दूर.
एक प्यार है, दिल की धड़कन,
अपनी चाहत का जो ऐलान किये जाती है|
ज़िंदगी है जो जिए जाती है,
खून के घूँट पिए जाती है,
ख्वाब काँटों से सीए जाती है|

.... courtesy Strings

The Juggler

A friend asked me once, “of all the circus acts, which one do you rate the best”.

My answer was simple, my answer was quick.

“The juggler, my friend is the one I admire the most.”

He shot another question in my direction. “If that is your best, can I know on what logic was your answer based?”

I answered with calmness, taking pleasure in the explanation.

“My friend, the juggler is not from my family. I do not take pity when I call him the best”.

“My assessment lies not on the superfluous but on the merit of his act it does rest.”

“Does not his act remind you of life, and it’s true essence, birth and death. What is certain, we call birth. But, death is uncertain.”

“The juggler is Maya, among the balls, there are birth and death.”

“Jugglery is a play, like life is but a play. A play of the mind, my friend.”

I am not a philosopher. I am not a bard. I do not sing, nor do I preach. But, the logic behind my choice is what I made clear.

You may agree with me or we may agree to disagree. Whatever you may think is of no concern, in the same way, as my thoughts do not matter to others.

With these words, let us part. And, never do you show me your face again.

What is death

What is death? What is death? This question keeps ringing inside my head.

Is it a hideous monster or the princess of my dreams?

This question twists my head, keeps me perplexed.

At nights it keeps me awake, and in the day it makes me a daydreamer.

The question has me obsessed, the question makes me mad. Can someone solve this puzzle for me?

Or will I have to wait till my hour of death to know the answer.

The answer eludes me, maybe because it is a two-faced monster. Or is it the God Janus personified?

Is it a sword-wielding monster or is it an angel with the golden key?

The wise man tells me, “Nothing is absolute. And so is it with death.”

“Death in itself is neither a demon, nor an angel.” The form, he says is in the eyes of the beholder.

“O deluded human being, wake up from this slumber. Realize today that soul is but a circle. A circle it is, with its center inside the mortal frame of flesh.”

“Death is neither a friend nor your foe. It does it’s duty as ever before. Death does nothing except shifting this center from one mortal figure to another.”

“So, rise up my sons. Know this today, this frame is but a shroud. Underneath it hides the immortal. All souls are immortal but few are also divine.”

So, tells us the wise man, “Do not be mere human beings, be righteous ones because the souls of the righteous are immortal and divine”.

THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE

I felt so cold, I felt so helpless, the day the light of my life was gone.

At first I felt angry, then sorrow crept in. Under my breath I cursed the heavens and all the Gods.

From dawn till dusk, I kept thinking about you. One moment you were here and another you are gone.

So, powerful this feeling is, so powerless I am, hoping against hope that this be just another dream.

I struggle with my own thoughts, hoping to free myself from the clutches of this fearful demon.

Had this been just another nightmare, I could easily have shaken myself out of it.

But, as truth strikes hard at my face, I cannot escape the fact that there is a void left inside me that even time cannot fill.

The sweet sounding voice of yours, the warmth of your flesh, I shall never ever witness again.

The promises I made, the lies that I said. I want to confess, I was at fault.

Give me one chance o lord of lords, to fulfill those promises and right those wrongs.

Is it a crude joke that life plays with us all? Are we nothing but Clockwork Oranges running hither and thither?

If such was meant to be, then why were emotions fed inside us all?

Did not the maker know what pain is, what agony was?

Is there even a maker, to whom they pray for mercy? Why have I lost you forever? Why can I not see beyond that towering, over-stretching wall of darkness?

The questions come rushing to me. The answers fail me. I am lost and dumb-founded.

What an irony, what plight I am in. The problem-solver has failed to solve his own problem.

Maybe we are all fools, accepting this world as the ultimate truth. Maybe this is just an illusion. At least accepting it to be one may soothe my mind and my soul.

Why can’t I look beyond the facts, the fiction, the shapes and the figures, that are this world?

They say the world is Maya, but it is today that I realized the fact.

So, I pray today to the great treachery, which is Maya, to lift her veil that impedes my vision and let me see beyond this fog that surrounds me.

The mist of time they say is an illusion. So, can I not go beyond time and space?

If all that I know is an illusion, then what guarantee is there that I myself am not my own figment of imagination.

I feel so cold, maybe because the conviction I had in myself is lost. The fire in my belly, the consciousness of the self, all seems false. All seems false.

                                                  Dedicated to dadu, buto, motu and all the loved ones I lost

The Question of the Lost Questions

"Working to make our survival easier has become a reason for living by itself and we have forgotten, bit by bit, the primordial question. We have forgotten that we still don’t know why we exist!"

                      - James Redfield

      I wonder how many people ask themselves this question? And how many are too busy with their day to day life to even care why they even exist on this planet?

      Studying the people I come in contact with, I noticed that a vast majority thinks that they live to go to school, get a degree, earn a living, find a partner, get married, make a few children, grown them up, see them settled at their own home, and then? Then what? Die? That’s it? Is that all there is to life? Really is that all? There has to be more!

      Sometimes, I wonder, "what does an old man think looking back to the life he has lived and forward to the years he still has to live, looking forward, expecting only to die". This might sound more or less morbid, but it’s a fact of life we have to deal with. What’s life all about, from the moment we are born till our last breath?

      Interesting question, for now I don’t have the answer. At least I have a question. What about you?