Old Woman In The Moon

As a child, I was very choosy about food. It was a pain to feed me. The only possible way to make me eat my meal was to distract me with stories. My mother was a wonderful narrator, and she had a rich stock of stories to tell me. My father, however, would have a hard time as I would ask questions when the stories did not make sense, and I could tell when he was making them up.
Once, when I had a stomach infection, I woke up in the middle of the night due to pain. My mother went to the kitchen to cook the only thing that I would agree to eat those days, and my father picked me up and took me out on the verandah. I must have been four years old then. My father wiped the tears off my face and showed me the moon and the pattern of an old woman in it. The memory of that night still transports me to that verandah with the cool summer breeze drying my tears, the sound of utensils clattering in the kitchen as my mother prepared my food, the moonlight washing the street outside, the comfort of my father's lap, the peacefulness of midnight with the knowledge that the world is asleep, and the pattern of a kind old woman watching over us from the moon.

Somewhere, something inside me had captured the beauty of it all, for me to cherish years later, on a similar summer night.

Gold

He found love in gold

sheer glitter and glory

that made him take risks

and place all he once had

Integrity, Innocence, Identity

in shiny chain-links

until they were all smothered

or sold

Gold, for her

was his curly hair

that she drew circles in

on golden evenings

amidst golden sunflowers and

mustard; when all was fair

like his promise

to grow old

together

He watched them silently

returning from a long day

on the fields

and wiped

the golden beads of sweat

that trickled down his cheek

as his body ached

and children starved

for a few golden grains

of wheat

Inspired by In The Moment. The cue was 'Golden' :)


Linked to Poets United. Visit them and read a lot of inspiring poems. Savour art! :)

You are not all I want

I wish to feel the morning breeze

and taste the morning dew

I wish to smell the lilies

and watch the sunset hue

I want to tread on unknown lands

and form friendships all along

To wake up on a boat

To be the subject of a song

To see the lights of a far off village

that glisten on an evening still

to pour my love in the glass of the universe

until it fills and spills

I wouldn't say you're all I want

for that would be untrue

I am just a gypsy, and life my dance

that I want to share with you


Linked to Poets United. Visit them and read a lot of inspiring poems. Savour art! :) 

वात्सल्य

चाँदनी थी धवल, शीतल थी वात

कार्तिक की पूर्णिमा की पावन सी रात

पर नदी के तट पर था क्षण क्षण का संघर्ष

रेत पर लेटा था नन्हा सा, हाय, ममता का रूप वो वीभत्स

नन्ही सी हथेली में बंद था एक जीवन

क्षण क्षण रुक कर दम भरती थी धड़कन

क्रंदन कर सकने का भी कौतुक ना था शेष

कैसा था हाय यह माता का क्लेश!

पर सृष्टि के कारक की लीला अपरंपार

उसकी ही कल्पना का नाट्य तो है संसार

की देख लिया उसको वात्सल्य की उस मूरत ने

मर्म को भेद दिया निष्कलुश सी उस सूरत ने

वक्ष से लगा कर, सहेज कर ले आई वो घर

"ईश्वर के इस उपकार को सींचूँगी जीवन भर"

यदि जीवन की कथा होती है पूर्व लिखित

तो मुस्काया होगा विधाता, सुनकर उक्ति ये विदित

उर के आँगन में बसे उस तुलसी के पौधे को

निम्मो कहकर पुकारा गया

अश्रयों से सींचा और आशाओं से निखारा गया

माता की गोद, सखियों की टोली

क्रीड़ा की उमंग और तॉतली सी बोली

कब छूट गये पीछे भान ना हो पाया

काल चक्र की गति थी या अपने मन की ही माया

आँखों में अग्नि, हर कदम में दंभ

हृदय में तरंग और साँसों में हड़कंप

विश्व विजयी मुस्कान लिए

माँ का आशीष, अरमान लिए

महासागरों के पार, जो है अनोखा संसार

था उसकी प्रतीक्षा में, सजाए संभावनाओं का हार

"शीघ्र लौट कर आऊँगी, किस्से सभी सुनाऊंगी

माँ बोलो ना परदेस से, उपहार क्या क्या लाऊंगी"

अनगिनत स्वप्न थे, अपार था हर्ष

फिर भी माँ की मुस्कान का था अश्रुओं से संघर्ष

थरथराते होठों से बोल न निकलते थे

मन में पल पल ममता के टीले जो पिघलते थे

पीछे छोड़कर भाव विभोर सा संसार

निम्मो आ पहुँची सागरों के पार

अथाह आसमान की नीलिमा के तले

भविष्या के अनगिनत स्वप्न थे पले

समय के साथ स्पर्धा थी जैसे

दौड़ रहे थे निम्मो के दिन रात वैसे

कि एक दिन गाँव से पत्र वो आ गया

रोशन जीवन में अंधकार-सा छा गया

"चली गयी छुड़ाकर वात्सल्य का आँचल,

माँ क्या रुक ना पाई तू मेरे लिए पल-भर?"

आँखें जैसे खोई हों टूटे सपनों की समीक्षा में

निगल ना जाए रात इन्हें भोर की प्रतीक्षा में!

टूट कर ढह गया साहस का हर स्तंभ

अब कैसी अभिलाषा! कैसा कोई स्वप्न!

कोई नही जानता था उस हृदय का क्लेश

जब लौटे वो कदम वापस अपने देश

घर की चौखट पर था सन्नाटे का शोर

और मुख पर अंतिम दर्शन से वंचित नैनों का बिछोह

दीवारों की तस्वीरों में बीते हुए सुख का दुख

शब्दों से रहित था उस सुवाचिका का मुख

पर माता के प्रेम को स्वीकार ना थी हार

मेज़ पर रखा था एक अंतिम उपहार

उन परिचित हस्ताक्षरों मे लिखी पंक्तियों का चयन

दे गयीं थी वो एक नव निर्माण का वचन:

"जीवन में एक सितारा था,

माना वो बेहद प्यारा था,

वो टूट गया तो टूट गया,

अंबर के आनन को देखो,

कितने इसके तारे टूटे

कितने इसके प्यारे छूटे

पर बोलो टूटे तारों पर

कब अंबर शोक मनाता है"

(जो बीत गयी, सो बात गयी)

With all due regards to Harivanshrai Bachchan and the magic he created with his words!

Emerald Colored Lake

[I realized this post might appear vague and incomprehensible. I went overboard with my incoherent blabber in this one. :)

So, just to simplify, its a letter written by a girl who has been sent to a mental asylum. The letter is addressed to her elder sister. Hopefully, this knowledge would add more meaning to the post as you read it.]

Dear Aapa,

I am happy. I have finally got wings. I am learning to fly. This morning, I flew across to the mountains through a haze of cold fog that settled between the earth and the sky to dissolve the boundaries between them. I kept flying until my wings slowly melted in the warm morning rays and I landed onto an emerald colored lake, where I fell asleep, because the water was so still.

These days I sleep a lot, and dream a lot. Ammi used to say, dreams are like bubbles. I believed that, until recently, I stretched out my hand and felt a dream.... D-R-E-A-M....and guess what, it wasn't that fragile.

I love my new home. I feel free. I no longer see the world through a window. Here, they let me step out of the door into the garden, and bathe in the sun. Remember how I was scared to laugh because then I always had to cry later on? Here, in the garden, I laugh a lot, because the others join in to laugh and cry in chorus with me, so that the balance of the universe is maintained. Balance between laughing and crying, between loving and hating, between windows and doors; there are many such balances-this is what a friend here tells me. He is wise. Sometimes, I also join in to cry when someone else feels like laughing. You know, its not really that bad to cry.

And yes, thanks for sending my favourite butterfly to me. When she lived in the painting back home, she never flapped her wings. I always wondered why. My wise friend tells me, may be she flapped her wings whenever I flapped my eyelids. So now, I have befriended the butterfly. She doesn't play that trick with me anymore. She seems happy too. Sometimes we play hide and seek. But then she cheats me and flies out of the garden. I am not allowed to go there. So, I get angry and shout at her. The nurses then give me an injection. Its a sting, like the one that occurs when I bite my palm with the corners of exactly two teeth. And then, I get wings again.

The other day, it rained while I slept. And when I woke up, the garden was full of my favourite scent. I tasted a little bit of earth. I felt very happy, very free. Then I went back to sleep. My friends here tell me its because of the medicines. But I think its like a blessing - that I don't need to identify where D-R-E-A-M ends and R-E-A-L-I-T-Y begins.

A Vague Dream

How strange is the chase

for dreams that don't have a visage

Nor a definition

A vague hill...fluid, unbounded

A valley of unidentified flowers..

yellow and white

a soul, soul-mate-like

unnamed, without a face

but well-defined fingers

that slide behind my ears

to tuck a stray strand of hair..

And time..is frozen..

ice-cold. But its pleasantly warm

under the skin of my cheeks

I see no colour

hear no sound

as I try to identify

You....

But all I am left with

is a dream

and its characteristic uncertainty

that tests my patience

bit by bit, crystal by crystal

through a narrow decade-glass

of Not Knowing

The mist above the hills

grows denser

and you walk away

leaving behind the illusion

of a smile, and the reality

of longing




This poem is linked to the Poetry Pantry at Poets united. Do visit them to share your work, or just to read some beautiful poems by other poets. 

The Secret

Snehal walked on the sand- barefoot, lost- neither happy, nor sad, just peaceful. Full of sea smell and the taste of humid breeze. She sat on a stone, gazing at the horizon, at the sun that was setting away from her day to rise into his. She felt connected. To him, to the sun, to the unfathomable sea, to the changing sky, to the birds that returned home in flocks, to the empty shell under her toe. She looked up at the lighthouse and noticed two lovers watching the sunset from above, silhouetted in orange, dusky red, and then grey, as if morphing into souvenirs. Souvenirs of the beautiful moments that had slowly, stealthily grown into memories. And now, they were her most treasured belongings- the hysterical laughters, the unembarassed tears, the crazy stories, the fast music, the long drives; life, in hindsight, looked like a fast forwarded reel. Only at some points, it stoppped. Like the day they spent building castles of sand. Like the game during which they exchanged dolls as a promise to be together forever. Like the day he picked up a fight with the bully of the colony for her sake. Like the evening she spent waiting for him in the park, full of anticipation, anxiety, hoping he would come (though she hadn't called him and he didn't come). Like the night of college fest that they danced away. Like that night on the beach when they came close, when friendship crept away from between them like sand from a tight fist, only to make way for something else. Bigger or better was for fate to decide. She smiled at the moon. It smiled back, a mischievous smile, as if it held a secret it wouldn't disclose. She understood. She had secrets too. In her heart and in her womb. She inhaled the scent of wet sand and closed her eyes, trying to listen to the second heartbeat. She wondered if it smelt what she smelt, felt what she felt, if it was aware of the strange pangs of love that she felt for it, love that choked her, engulfed her, transformed her. She did not know the answer. But she was content with the not knowing. She felt complete. She got up to leave. Tomorrow he would be made party to yet another secret of hers. Rest was for fate to decide.

The whiff of life in the morning air
Those sights the heart beheld!
The noisiness of the playful river

that the silence of the mountains bequeath!!

The spirit's merry,broad-winged flight
while on an appalling course
...and on the zenith of the night
the indulgence in repose!

When after a long chaotic slumber
a familiar blessing voice reminds
one by one in astounding numbers
the melodies we left behind!!

The crashing cymbals in the heart
when the churchbells solemn chime
The crumps of longing in throat enmasse
listening to a forgotten rhyme....

The subtle songs of love and praise
that evolve with us through time!
The lovely caress of life's embrace
like the smell of earth.....divine! sublime!!