Letting Life Happen

It has been a hectic blogging spree for me for the past few days. I have met and made friends with a lot of amazing people in the blogosphere. These are friendships that transcend space and boundaries, because when art speaks to you, it speaks to your soul. It inspires you to create. To live. To slow down. To breathe. 

Art is alive. It is not the artist. It is more than what the artist is. Because it is also what the artist wants to be. The artist is human. Art is her attempt at things more celestial. It is her attempt to dream things that are somewhere above her, in a place more glorious and more beautiful than the world she lives in. An artist lives multiple lives, dies numerous deaths. Art is those lives and deaths that are not her own, but that she experiences every day. It is the dance she was too awkward to dance, the song she could never strike that right note of, the painting she spilled wrong colors on, the dessert with an extra pinch of sugar, the verses that never rhymed. Art is the artist's imperfection. It is what makes her go on. She loves what she creates, but it never satisfies her, because she has a taste. For utter brilliance. She explores and pushes her human limits expecting a new glimmer every time. She is always trying. Never, ever content. Art is her child. She suffers to give birth to it, and she is reborn when it is born. She protects it from mediocrity, and nurtures it in details. She knows it is not perfect, but she loves it none the less. Art is the mark of her affair with life. A passionate, ignited affair, the flames of which burn her soul and keep her thirsty all the time.

I am going to take a break. And allow an inspiration to engulf me, till I write my next post. I am going to lay back for a while and allow that inspiration to happen.

Gathering Dust

Picture by Rob Hanson

Its been a year

since the end of anticipation

since the last of the million times

she picked the receiver

to check if the line still worked

and placed it back

with shaking wrinkled hands

He had said he would call

to tell her how high 

the jet had flown

How inviting the sky seemed

even at war

'Although there are
no borders in sky'

She had observed and sighed

He was thrilled beyond words

Too thrilled to hear the prayers

she muttered 

beneath her shaky breath

Then one day, the phone rang

and severed the last thread of hope

in her tiny fretting heart

Yes, the battle is won,

but he was her only son

The phone, his victory, her life

since that day, gather dust.

The picture that inspired this poem is taken by Rob Hanson, who is interviewed today at One Stop Poetry, and lends his picture for the Picture Prompt Challenge. If you are inspired by his picture, or if you would like to read other entries inspired by it, visit One Stop Poetry. 

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!

Perception

I have come to believe in the two forces theory. The first force drives you in the direction you should be going, and a second force which tries to take you the exact opposite way. The influence of the second force becomes visible in events and actions that you fail to justify on a rational ground. We condemn this force when it strikes the hardest- in the forms of crime and terrorism; but we ignore it, allow it, and even give it impetus while it grows inside us. Something tells me life was supposed to be simple- just as the creator is. But we complicate it. We make rules, norms, rights, wrongs and then define crime, punishment, sin, redemption. Ironically, inside, we all sin and forgive ourselves, each day. Its just too hard to do that for others. We get restless hearing about terrorism, racist attacks, but we do not care to contain the narrowing of eyes or discomfort in our body language realizing the presence of someone from a different community around us. We all nurture in our minds baseless negative prejudices, in large or small amounts. Why is it so hard to give others what we want the most ourselves- respect and acceptance? It does not require more than a thought to see the meaninglessness and futility of our everyday hate stories. We do not choose where, when and as who we are born. How can we become so 'proud', aggressive or for that matter, defensive about something that is not even under our control! God created diversity to break monotony, not to divide himself. Faith can not be fought about. What you fight about can not be faith. Because faith has nothing to prove. It is absolute, certain, obdurate, pure. It is part of the first force. It can only lead us in the right, simple direction.