Let Them Weave The Tapestry Of Their Dreams

We give them the whole world

But in our measured mould…

Lame, limited and limiting

A bother, a burden, a binding.

Let go, let them break free

And soar in their own sky…

Paint their own rainbow

Live life, embrace it, or defy.

Let them push their limits

Happy thus they are, let them be…

Shackle them not in selfish love

With emotions teary n knotty.

The carpet we spread for them

Is warm and comforting…

But let them weave

the tapestry of their dreams.

Wistful…we wish with us they are forever

Alas! together apart, when distant closer…

Fist’s sand soon slips silently away from fingers

Are times and relationships, in palm, held ever?

 

Pic: Jump: Peter Conlan

लफ्जों  के  लिबास  नहीं  होते ! Words are Naked !

जो  बातें  कभी  जाहिर  नहीं  होती

खामोशियाँ  जिक्र  कर  जाती  हैं

लिहाज  का  क्या  कहें

लफ्जों  के  लिबास  नहीं  होते

काफिले  चलते  रहते  हैं

कारवां  जाता  है  गुजर 

क्या  खोया  क्या  पाया

रिश्तों  में  हिसाब   नहीं  होते

परछाइयां  धुँधली  हैं

पर  खोया  चेहरा  ढूँढ़ते  रहते  हैं

आईने  पे  सायों  की  जमी  हैं  परतें 

अधूरे  ख्वाब  कभी  पूरे  नहीं  होते

हवाएं  न  जाने  कहाँ  उड़ा  ले  जाती  हैं

परिंदे  परेशां  नहीं  होते

ऊंचे  आकाश  में  छुपी  है  समंदर  की  गहराई 

ख्यालों  के  कभी  दायरे  नहीं  होते

बनावटी  बातें  जो  हैं …उनसे

कभी  कभी  नमी  का  अंदेशा  तो  होता  है

पर  लफ्जों  की  धोकेबाज़ी  से

दिलों  के  रेगिस्तान  हरे  नहीं  होते

बेगानों  में  अपनों  को  खोजते  हैं

और  दूरियों  में  नजदीकियां

दहलीज  पे  खड़ी  ज़िन्दगी देती  है दस्तक    

धड़कनों  के  दरमियाँ  फासले  नहीं  होते

ख्वाइशों की हसरतों  से  हैरत  क्यूँ ,

फितरत  को  जब  हरकतों  से  फुर्सत  नहीं

उधार  की  ज़िन्दगी  से  नाराज  क्यूँ 

हमराज  अक्सर  हमसफ़र  नहीं  होते

क्या  इंसानियत  के  चर्चे 

क्या  हैवानियत  के  किस्से

शख़्शियत   के  कई  अंदाज  हैं  ये 

हासियों  में  बंटी   ज़िन्दगी  के  मायने  नहीं  होते

Pic : Amanda APS

आओ कभी… मेरी खिड़की में बैठो…Come Sometime… Sit in My Window

आओ  कभी … मेरी  खिड़की  में  बैठो…

कुछ  गाओ , कुछ  गुनगुनाओ

कुछ  हंसो , कुछ  मुस्कुराओ

कुछ  खिलखिलाओ , कुछ  फुसफुसाओ ;

और  आओ …

करें  कुछ  चुगलियां , कहें  कुछ  चुटकुले

करें  कुछ  कानाफूसी , लगाएं  कुछ  कहकहे

करें  कुछ  गपसप , और  कुछ  गिले शिकवे

कहें  कुछ  किस्से  सुने  सुनाये , कुछ  अनकहे ;

आओ  कभी  अलसाई  लसलसी सी  दोपहरी  में …

मेरी  गरम  अदरखि  चाय  के  घूंटो  में 

करवट  बदलती  खूबसूरत  कहानियों  की

चुनिंदा  चर्चरी  चुस्कियां  हैं ;

आओ  कभी  शबनमी  धुँधली  सी  शाम  ढले …

मेरी  पुरानी  रक्तिम  शराब  के  प्यालों  में 

सलवटें  और  खुमारियों  भरे

दबे -पावं  रिश्तों  के  नशीले  लम्हे  हैं ;

आओ  कभी  फटे  पन्नों  वाली  पुरानी  किताब  में …

ढूंढे  अपने  आप  को , या  फिर  खो  जाएँ ,

और  उसकी  लज़ीज़  लिपटवां  खुसबू  में

लपेट  लें  वो  अरमान  अर्सों  पुराने ;

आओ  सुलझा  लें  मांझे  को , जिसमे  उलझी  है …

पतंगो  सी  उमंगें  और  ख्वाहिशें ,

अतीत  की  मुंडेर  पे  बैठ  दो  पल …

आओ  करें  कुछ  ऎसी  बातें  मुलाकातें ;

आओ  कभी ऐ जिंदगी , के  एक  मुद्दत  हुई ,

आओ  के  सहला  जाओ , तुम  मुझे  बहला  जाओ ,

झरोके  मेरे  खुले  हैं , अपने  खोल  दो ,

झांको , मत  झिझको , मत  जाओ , रुक जाओ , रह  जाओ .

आओ  कभी … मेरी  खिड़की  में  बैठो …

कुछ  कहो …

या फिर कहने दो खामोशियों को…

*****

There Was A Tree, There Was An Island

I am the Tree, I am the Island…

In air, In water, and on ground,

I am in, I am out, I am within…

Real or Reflection, seen or unseen;

My leaves sway, shimmer, and seek…

My roots soak, sink, and surrender,

Longing to merge, melt, and meet…

Some will soothe, others shock, stab, and shatter;

Insides surface as outsides submerge…

In tight embraces, truths emerge,

The tree in me is shaken…

The island in me is broken,

Soil of memories clings to roots that now rot…

Waves gnaw, chip away every bit and mote;

Soon my sap seeps and saps…

I dissolve – I am particles, I am pieces,

Yes, there was a tree, there was an island…

Nothing ever remains except reminiscences.

Tree Island

pic: Gavin Hard castle

S I S T E R

‘Sister’…the word echoes and evokes all that is good and beautiful.

Sister gives us love akin to parents, shares strength of a brother, and brings happiness like a friend. She is our go-to person – in joy and in sorrow. She gives us her shoulder to cry on, stretches her hand to pull us up, keeps our secrets like her own…sister is our ‘man-friday’ in woman’s clothing.

Sister is a person for all seasons. A selfless soul, she gives all of herself and more…mostly unseen,  unsaid, and unacknowledged.

Some sisters laugh and slap our backs, some hide their smiles and slap nothing; few offer ‘kadha’*, others snatch and finish off our beer in a gulp. Aren’t they amazing?

Good that we can’t choose our sisters, for we will not have any others.

Our sisters paint beauty and create joy in our lives.

(I write this on behalf of all my bros and friends, and dedicate it to all our Sisters: sisters born to our parents, and sisters who left their homes to make our homes).

* Kadha: an Indian herbal concoction

children-1879907_1920

“Eternally She Lives, Forever She Dies.”

“Gujaarish” (meaning ‘Request’) is an Indian movie masterpiece starring Ash and Rithik, and the cigarette smoking scene in the speeding car vividly paints the agonies and ecstasies of their relationship. I have tried to capture these contours and “breaking free moments” in my poem: 

“Eternally She Lives, Forever She Dies.”

-Intimately, she lit a cigarette between my lips…

Tendering tiny tendrils of life, never yet lived,

Passionately, over precious puffs she lingered…

Her parched soul too, by life, lusted to be kissed.

-With yearning eyes, primal passions she ignited…

With tempting touch, forbidden fantasies she lighted,

Her scent so intoxicating, languorous life I inhaled…

Her silence so seductive, infernal inhibitions I exhaled.

-Wind in the hair and longings in the heart…

Desire daredevil, euphoric like a prancing dart,

Luring labyrinth mysterious! Whispering wishes run amok…

donning dancing hooves, waltz like wanton wants. 

-Snatching lifetime, for an instant from time’s grip…

Extracting every ounce, its sweet nectar insatiably we sip,

Intoxicating love, nuanced yet intense…

Scorch our spirits, souls, sanity and sense.

-Tentalizing touch of her fingertips to cigarette my quivering lips…

Stir memories of our tempestuous times and trials under veils,

Soon to fade away with the drifting smoke…

 Poignant reminder of life unfulfilled, a cruel joke.

-I was destined to be wasted, and she by design…

She gave me all of her, and much more to align,

Transient time tethered, stood still for some time…

Sanguine souls fused forever, but bereft bodies pine.

-What is she to me: a mother, a lover, a sister, a friend ?

Undefined relationship, ensconced in feelings unexplained,

Agonizing and exhilarating, is our unspoken bond…

Unfathomable! It’s much more…above, deep and beyond.

-I was Sisyphus! Struggling to claim what was not to be…

Now I surrender, for life chose not to be in me,

She insane in her fight, I triumphant in my defeat…

In this tragedy, there was nothing to win and none to beat.

-My life is her liberation, and death my freedom…

Right or wrong, in the twilight of finality who can fathom,

As I say goodbye, my death she wants to defy…

But death is the ugly truth, life but a beautiful lie.

-Life lifeless we lived, yet clinging to the magnificent moment…

My existence is her life, our parting her torment,

In death’s shadow, imprisoned and intertwined are our lives…

Within me, eternally she lives! With me, forever she dies!

 

Disclaimer: I am not aware whether I am violating any copyright by posting these pics. I have no intention of piracy and have posted these pics only to make my poem come alive. I am prepared to remove these pics if the copyright owners (if any) so wish. Thanks

Friends, Not Lovers !

Relatively speaking, all relationships except love and friendship are governed by legal, social, religious, economic or political sanctions.  Friendship and love have no written or unwritten contract (lawyers are too expensive). However, friendship flows naturally (despite unnatural tendencies in some), whereas love has compulsions (of unmentionable benefits). Let’s juxtapose these relationships:

In a love relationship, we love, sacrifice and give (do we have any options), but we also consciously or unconsciously presume, demand and take for granted (our birth-rights). In love, we care and cuddle (hoping quid pro quo), but at times we are mean and jealous (genetic predispositions), and subtly or not so subtly pressurise and control (natural instincts). Friends do not compare, compete or complain, nor do they expect, exasperate or exacerbate (who will let them without a contract).

A lover can leave one and take two, but you don’t discard a friend in favour of another. Either one is a friend, or one is not. In love the joining date may be blurred on the postcard from the past, but the termination letter is clearly and neatly dated. Friendship is neither by appointment nor is there any expiry printed on it. Oscar Wilde is succinct “Friendship is far more tragic than love. It lasts longer”.

I can indulge with friends five or fifty, but can’t eat, drink or dance with lovers two or twenty without having my skull split open on all sides. Can you imagine back-slapping bonhomie among your past, present and future lovers? As Nietzsche said “Love is blind. Friendship closes its eyes”. If I may philosophise further: falling in love blindly is an eye opener, and friendship is an open and shut case.

As friends we are at our unhindered best… nice, naked and naughty…perfect partners in peccadilloes. With friends we can let our hair down yet keep the chins up. Borrowing from Robert Bloch, friendship is like pee in the pants; everyone can see it, but only we can feel the warm tingling sensation inside.

Yes, friends are sometimes pain- in- the- ass, but never hemorrhoids.

I will take my lover (yours too if you like) as my friend anytime, but not vice versa.

(This is written in good humour and not to belittle any relationship)

Still !

Still I am…

And distill my stillness still,

Some substance and residue plenty to fill…

Yet, in stillness how I distill;

                    Here, there, wherever…

                    I wonder, I wander everywhere,

                    Neither satiated nor had my kill…

                    Yet I am so still;

Fleeting  memories fill times bygone…

Fluttering thoughts find future untold,

Aloft near or beyond the distant hill…

Asunder, yet so close, It’s love or fear you instill ?

                    Stoic and neurotic, heroic and meek…

                    I am resilient, I am weak,

                    What couldn’t be, was not to be…

                    In the remnant you, what do I seek ?

Still I am…

And distill my stillness still,

Some substance and residue plenty to fill…

Yet, in stillness how I distill !

WHEN FATHER DEPARTS !

Dreams and memories of father waft into my nights like puffy clouds… sobbing memories, crying dreams… descending in hordes. Memories which keep me awake; Dreams pulsating and alive; Emotions overwhelming n choking. Memories of his infectious laughter, his magical touch and that naughty twinkle in his eyes… memories which beckon, dreams which whisper… tiny tendrils of tender thoughts… maudlin eyes tired of crying at times, but remembrance always wet…

With age he mellowed and sparkled like a fine vintage wine, yet father was a child. Innocent in his maturity and playful in his seriousness, he kept the child within around too. Father was full of life and gave so much of himself and his love. He didn’t preach goodness, but showed it in his methods n manners. Fond of small little pleasures, and with impeccable taste for finer things, he was neither greedy nor a hoarder, nor was he casual in his words, approach and life-style.

Father gave his best and looked for the best in others. He stood tall but never made one feel small. He appreciated all that is good and beautiful and left the world a little better. So very humane, father was among a few good men, a rare breed. He lived and died on his own terms… with dignity and grace, and in his own inimitable style! I grieve that he is no more, but am thankful that he was.

My unspoken bonding with father was such that there was little to be said between two of us. His silence was eloquent, eyes spoke volumes, and his smile or a raised eyebrow conveyed it all. Feelings ran deep and our understanding grew without trying. I wish I had held his hand more often and little longer; I wish I had hugged him whenever and wherever and for no reason; I wish I had sat by his side silently watching the sunset, sun or no sun; I wish I had stolen more of his mornings, afternoons and evenings; I wish I had drunk and devoured more of him… oh, how I wish!

Father went away, but will always be with me. He lives in my laughter and cries, in my joys and sorrows, in my sky and universe, in my days and nights. He lives in my thoughts, my emotions, my feelings. He lives in my breaths, my memories and my moments. I bask in the warmth of his love, I shine in his reflected glory.

After he departed, people thus console and counsel: life goes on as it keeps flowing like a river. But as Heraclitus said, no man enters the same river again…for it is not the same river and he is no longer the same man.

Sri HCS Photograph