To You...

Fill my silences with poetry
Say my name
Call for me.

Like that solitary moon
Smoldering through the inky nights
I hold the promise of you
In the void of my closed eyes.
Wrap your fate-line around my destiny
Hold my hands
Call for me...

Questions-I

Most of the times it’s ‘why not me?’

If the sky can accommodate so many stars.

And at times I am tempted to ask ‘why me?’

Life, do you always teach lessons so hard?

A Vaccuum Called Home

I have a home I lost
It still exists like it was
But I didn’t know when I moved on
I would also move beyond.

Do you remember that stupid definition
Of 'Vaccuum’, the schools had taught?
I learnt, it’s having nowhere to go
When you are broken and all distraught.

And may be
Vaccuum is not, not having a shoulder
When you need to hold on.
It’s watching some idiotic flick
And not having someone to say to
‘What the hell is going on?’

Tell you what,
You never miss home
Until you know it’s no longer there.
You waltz the world in your suitcases
To flop back on your favorouite chair.

A Poem of Fury

Someone snatched
and tore apart my poetry
Filled it with images
of a blood-stained VT.
It’s a strange numbness
They make me suffer.
It’s the gunned down Leopolds
My pen can’t get over.

Of the ones I want to kill
I have no names
It’s everyone who cheered, failed or took advantage
When they set my Taj on flames.

Death and cigarettes

I blow rings of smoke all the time
Every wakeful moment, each season
Coz death can be a zillion things
I wish to choose my own poison.

Out of the many things that kill us
The most lethal is Boredom
And most obnoxious, of course,
Is the cold altar of Altruism.
Fatal can be a Lover’s Distrust
Ideas can be toxic
One wrong move can prove ruinous
While Humour might be caustic.
A Sacrifice, suicidal
Indecisiveness can be killing
And a Suspicion can gnaw your insides
A Failure might be drilling.

Have you never seen a Spirit die
Or the ebbing of a Passion
Or the necrosis of true Love
Or Faith suffering erosion?

While life hangs on to each labored breath
Death almost always, has no reason.
My smoke rings create an illusion of power
At least, I chose my own poison.

The Alchemy Of Hurt

You wonder if it’s just the tough shell
And I hide somewhere within its patterned whirl
Practicing that arcane art ocean taught me,
The alchemy of hurt- turning pain into pearl.

I wonder when it is going to stop.
My senses have been overwhelmed surreal.
Those distraught neurons are hoping, someday
They would give grief a decent burial.

I close my sky

I close my sky in a square 10X10
And get high on the solitude in my veins.

Each of us dwells in our own microcosm
I chose to close it more- upper limit one
While silence within roars, world is a distant hum
Ties either untangle or come undone.

When you wade through the river of sadness
You leave footprints of that pain
I believe I walked out of that madness
When I closed my sky 10X10.

Dreams and Legends

I want to be the stuff legends are made of
And go on to become one, one day
I wonder what it is like to be happy
So much that I don’t care if I don’t live to see the very next day.

I want to breathe the stuff dreams are made of
And live a life built out of them, one day
I wonder what it is like to feel the win within
And keep the moment frozen in time till my dying day.

I don’t wonder about the meaning
Or the purpose of my life
All I know is what I want-
The power to walk assured on the edge of a knife.

Love

They whisper about this thing called love-
The voices inside my head
While others scream- Screw it!
The age of irrationality has long been dead.
Lazy weekends and lots of space
Are the only things you need
Yet they whisper- how would it be
If you can just let it go; let someone else take the lead?

We The Generation

When net-working on the net didn’t make sense
‘Catching up’ was possible without a mobile
Video parlours existed
And Bollywood was the only style
When even as teenagers we were quite innocent.

Hanging out for drinks at a plush joint
Still manages to thrill
Coz back then
Beers were just a furtive drill
And curfew at home indeed had a point.

Yup! We were not ‘connected’ 24X7
And yes, the cable was a revolution
We were the ones who heralded Coke
And got trapped in a strange juxtaposition
BPOs, Godhara, India Inc. and 9/11.

The generation grapples with its contradictions-
The need to be ‘living in’
And shaadi dot com profiles
Going through parental screenings;
Between the Bhagvad Geeta
and consumer addictions
We the first-borns of globalization.

Don't tell me how to live

Don’t speak to me of accomplishments
Or moving on with the same gusto.
I am just hanging in there
Burning the debris of sentiments
Scribbling a new manifesto.

It’s been a crazy year
And a crazier one before that.
It takes time to resurrect
Time to assimilate,
The world isn’t flat.

Don’t speak to me of love
Or the possibility even
There was a time for dreams
A time, when I was really driven.
The candle light has lost its sheen
And ‘foolish twice’ is not forgiven.

I am no Cinderella lost to cynicism
Just a woman trying not to lose.
Don’t tell me ‘how to’ live
Coz when it comes to survival
You don’t get to choose.

Ode To Useless Presentations

An opiated silence rushes
Through the alleys of brain
Diffusing the endless drones
To a comfortable torpor.

Through glazed eyes
I see intelligible squiggles
Interlacing the illuminated bed
Created by the projector.
Puddles of ludicrous raphsodies
Weave inside the skull-
Now a quagmire of absurdity.

Onerous doodles on the notepad
Attempt to rejoin the erudite whispers
Failing utterly
Denting the superego.
Id reigns the cacophony
Beckoning Morpheus
Until…
A sharp nudge dislodges slumber
Dragging conscious
Back to the listless ennui of presentations!

Loneliness

On a cold night

suddenly

the path seems too lonely;

rustle of fall leaves, too loud.

An unexpected silence rushes.

The pain of the night

sinks deeper

in the heart of loneliness.

एकांत

ट्रेन पकड़ने की जद्दोजहद के बीच
जनाप्लावित प्लेटफोर्म पर
हठात मद्धम होता है अगिनत प्रलापों का स्वर
एकांत हाथ रखता है हाथ पर।


समय धीमे बहता है
स्मृतियों का प्लावन लिए।
मौन विलाप करता है।
सुनता है शून्य -
अनसुनी पदचापों का स्वर
निरंतर....
एकांत हाथ रखता है हाथ पर।


रात्री की कालिमा क्रमशः
गहराती है प्रति पहर।
प्रतिपल विकसित होता है
अन्तरिक्ष का एकाकी विवर।

अन्तरिक्ष के फैले विवर में

ऊंचा उठता है झींगुर का एकाकी स्वर।
एकांत हाथ रखता है हाथ पर।

Hope

Rain, mist, clouds...
I like golden rays the most.

The unbending geometry
almost like an answer
to the Tibetian invocations
written on skyward flags.

On days
when the soggy sky bleeds pale
they burst forth
like ressurances
from the far off Atlantis

Unknown to the barred windows
breeding rot and pain
beyond rain, mist, clouds

Prayers reach
the golden chariot of seven horses.

शुरुआत

फिर बिस्मिल्लाह की शहनाई से जागें
फिर मालकौस पर सर रखकर काटें रात।
सुबह जब क्षितिज पर पर फैलाए
रतजगे की उबासी से आँखें सहलाएं।
फिर शिमुल के फूलों के पीछे दौडें
कागज़ की नावों पर तैराएँ बरसात।

सागर की गहराई नापें आंखों से
मुंदी पलकों पर रखें तारे
दिनों पर फिर कोरा कैनवास टांगें
भूले हुए रंगों से फिर करें शुरुआत।

Ants

They-
One belief, one mould
tolerate no exceptions.

They march in a file.
Each one follows
unaware of the goal.

They hunt together.
A single motif
guides a blindfolding trail.

Their apostles
shelter within the blind walls
of rootless,
dark cells.

Jehaad

When the wounded sky
wraps dusk
Somnambulists hunt
in its habituated darkness.

The night rusts..
on the torn pages
of the mute Bible

The Play Called Life

Along the Ghats
Unborn saints kneel on stone altars
Impregnating the Ganges with prayers.
Through a thousand day-dreams
The river carrying corpses
Promises Moksh
Or a possible epiphany.

Along the ghats
The indifferent stylus
Writes
Erases
Rewrites
The script of life.

Afternoon

The sun pours
Scattering coins on the shadow splashed floor.

Words halt
At a drowsy semicolon,
And balcony slowly closes eyes
On her favourite easy-chair.

The noon grows wings;
Chases day dreams.

Aamrapali

This is an attempt to capture the immense sacrifice of Amrapali in verses. Amrapali was the Nagarvadhu (Royal Courtesan) of Magadh. She was forced to become a ‘public property’, quite literally, because her beauty posed to threaten the solidarity of the republic of Magadh. It was feared that the powerful figures holding the public offices of Magadh would not even hesitate to assassinate each other to win over Amrapali. The threat of internal schism drove the council to request Amrapali to accept the post of royal courtesan, thus incapable of favouring one admirer over another. She was a public property to be used for amusement by the administrators of Magadh. Amrapali accepted the offer for the sake of her nation and was thus to live a life of luxury and admiration without true love and motherhood, the joys every woman yearns for.

वैशाली की स्निग्ध ऊषा

दग्ध हुई

दावानल समस्त दिशा

प्रज्वलित श्रापित निशा।

प्रकृति की तुलिका पर

परिहास हुआ भाग्य का,

कलुषित त्यक्त देह से

अभिषेक हुआ त्याज्य का।

"क्षक्षात तेज प्रतिबिम्ब

मर्त्यलोक की श्रेष्ठ रति,

लुप्त निशेध्य अन्तःपुर में

हो मंत्राग्नी समक्ष सती। "

सतर्क हो उठी नर सत्ता,

वैशाली की भाग्य-विधाता,

वैशाली की नर सत्ता।

"कलह दूर हो!

भाग करो,

भोग करो!"

"साधू! साधू!"

"आम्रपाली, तुम सार्वजनिक,

तुम वैशाली नगरवधु।"

Barsaat

सुबह से जड़ी लगी है

टूटकर पिघलते बादलों की

फिर धूप ने घुटनों में मुह छुपाया है

बारिश से रूठे बच्चे की तरह ।

Kavita

ठीक तुम्हारी आंखों के पीछे और कानो के बीच

संवेदनाओ की एक दुखती गाँठ है

जो चोट की हर टीस के साथ

एक कविता जनती है ।

उसकी स्याही हर बूँद

तुम्हारे खून की सी नमकीन महकती है।

बहुत पहले एक समझदार आदमी ने मुझसे कहा था-

"आदमी कविता को नही, कविता आदमी को लिखती है,

और फिर आदमखोर की लपलपाती जीभ से उसे खाती है."

फिर भी अनचाही गाठों की विलासिता के चलते

हम उसे सहते हैं

क्यूंकि कुछ देर ही सही

इसकी जाँघों के बीच घुसकर

अपने चेहरे में रहते है ।

बर्दाश्त की उस हद पर

शायद हम सब सहमत है-

मासिकधर्म से भीगा हर चिथडा

गर्भाशय की असफलता पर

एक दर्द डूबा मजाक है,

और कविता ...