subah

kisi din subah
jab tum kholo aankhein apni
aur muskurao chupke se
raat ke kisi sapne pe

us waqt agar
tumhare chehre par jhuke
main bhar jaoon tumhare naino mein
bus jaoon tumhare hothon mein

tumhi batao pyaar
kaisi woh subah hogi

a dream for a morning.

translation, i'll attempt in the comments section.

m not writing poems here. there is no craft involved. all these are just pieces of conversation we've. like the last one before christmas. or when i imagine i've talked to her, like this one, today.

image courtsey, getty images.

Happy Birthday Jesus

There's a bit of us in every Jesus we love

May we realise our powers to fulfill His wishes

Merry Christmas

p.s. my Christmas is in office too, its a week since i met her :(

image courtsey: corbis.com (most of my images come from this site)

agar / if

agar

agar main kahun
ki jab woh hansti hai
tab uski naak khinchti hai bade pyaar se
aur chaar lakeerein khinch jati hain us pe dono taraf
toh kya ye kavita hogi?

agar main kahun
ki uski palkein acchi lagti hain jab
chooti hain mere chehre ko
aur saans ruk jati hai meri tab
toh kya ye kavita hogi?

agar main kahun us se
mujhse likha nahi jata ab kuch
ke ab main sochta hoon ab sirf tujhe
har ghadi, har pal, har dhadkan
toh kya ye kavita hogi?

jab main kehta hoon us se ye sab kuch
wo kehti hai, bikher do shabdon ko kagaj par
bus saj jayegi kavita khud hi
ab tumhi batao dost
kaisi wo kavita hogi?


if


if i say
that when she laughs
her nose stretches very beautifully
and four lines form on it at both sides
will that be a poem?

if i say
that her eye-lashes feel good
when they touch my face
and my breath stops at that time
will that be a poem?

if i say to her
i can't write these days
the only thing that occupies my mind is you
each moment, each second, each heartbeat
will that be a poem?

when i say all this to her
she says, just sprinkle these words on paper
a poem will decorate (take form) itself
now you tell me dear friend
what a poem that'll be?

have not been blog-surfing or writing much these last few days. though work has been hectic, the main reason is, i haven't found words to tell what meeting her last time was like. just that ki we both felt more complete with each other, and as the days go by, only when we are together, that feeling of whole is there, rest we are incomplete. anyways, that not writing about us last time got me into a block, somewhat. till i talked to her last evening. then she said, u just spread those words on the paper, a poem will come to life itself.

and i love her.

so much.

p.s. it's sunday today and m at office, for some big-shot presentations. but the mind, and the heart and everything that i've is with her. wish i was with her now.

moonrise

chaand

(dhundh ki) apni rajai mein simte
us chaand ko
haule se chooma maine
aaj ki raat
ye chaand bhi
surkh-haya roshan hua hai


a feeble attempt at translation...
moon

snuggled up in own blanket (of fog)
i kissed,
that moon tenderly
tonight
this moon has
shined with a blushed-shyness

image courtsey, corbis.com. most of my images are sourced from this site.

imp

sab kuch ulta ho gaya hai

aankhen, jo ban gayi hain honth mere
aur honth, jo ban gaye hain aankhen

aankhen, chhu ke aati hain baar-baar
aur honth, padhte rehte hain bus
us chaand chehre ko

is shareer ishq ne
sab ulta kar diya hai



everything has turned upside down

eyes, that have turned into lips
and lips, that have turned into eyes

eyes, caress it many times
and lips, keep on reading
that moon-face only

this impish love has

turned everything upside down

back from the clouds...

koi to hai

koi to hai,
jiska naam lene se
aankhen muskurane lagi hain,
gungunane lagi hai ye fiza
aur dhoop khil uthi hai sardi ki is saleti subah mein
koi to hai woh!

someone somewhere

There is someone

whose name makes eyes light up

the clouds part to give way to the sun

and the entire universe hums to the tune of her existence

yes, there is someone,

someone just like that in my life

translated by my dear twin, and there's one more in the comments section, by madly in love, sugarlips :)

and the story begins...

monday was spent floating above the universe.
and tuesday is no better either.

and this is monday

and this time when i met her,
i took her home
got blessed and blissed
and this time,
i've no words even to say i've no words...

today is saturday

is baar

is baar jab miloonga us se
ginoonga ek ek palak us ki

chu-oonga us ko apni saanson se
aur bununga sapne hazar, sirf uske liye

is baar jab miloonga us se
jioonga usse phir ek din, jee bhar ke, baar-baar

this time

this time when i meet her
i'll count every eye-lash of hers

will touch her with my breath
and spin a thousand dreams, only for her

this time, when i meet her
i'll live her one more day, to the fullest, many times

a poem a day

a shoelace poem
loose open words
have to be tied down
lest,
they fall apart
and take them with you

a coin-poem spinning round
and rapid
and round
it has to come to rest
make noise
and be of some use

a log-in poem
you start typing it
and it helps itself soon
someone remembers it for you
somewhere in an other conscience
like password help

a festering wound poem
has to be filled up
with ointment of feelings
and bandaged with words
it won't let you rest
until it heals itself

a poem is everywhere
all you have to do

is write it down
a poem a day

it is
and more than love it needs

this is being written on the 8th of december morning. sometimes i don't feel right with myself. and many times i use the drafts saved on previous days. like here. and perhaps more i'll use. we all utilise our past in our future. hope u all are fine.

braille

zubaan ke liye likhe
in shabdon se pare
ek duniyaa hai alag
sparsh ki,
bin bhasha
ehsaas ki...
...
uska sparsh,
ungliyon ke poron se ris kar
umadta hai dhamniyon mein
dhadakta hai sangeet ban kar
...
jise na ankhen padhein
na kaan sun sakein
ehsaas,
chu sakein sirf jise
aisi kavita hai yeh
aisa hai uska hona, mere saath


a feeble attempt at translation.

beyond these words
written for the tongue
there is a different world
of touch,
of feelings
without language...
...
her touch,
seeping from the fingers' pores
waves in the veins
throbs as music beats
...
something which the eyes can't read
and the ears can't listen
which, feelings
can only touch
it's a poem like that
that's her being with me, is like


we come across so many people in life. familiar, unfamiliar, people whom we like, and some perhaps dislike. faces which generate an instant smile, others whom we might even frown upon. friends, for whom we wait on our side of the road, with open arms, as they come towards us. and loves, for whom we can't wait any more and want to run into their arms, across that busy road.

we met this sunday afternoon at the 'sahitya academy' intersection. and m glad i resisted my urge to run & hug her, blindly crossing the busy road :) there was an art exhibition on, which she'd seen already, but wanted to go through again, with me in tow.

i liked the sculptures, she liked the paintings, 'histoscapes' more. of all the exhibits, i think our unanimous favourite was a tribal couple's sculpture. they carried their whole material belongings with them, and perhaps love in their heart. the best bit was how the woman carried a hen, a pot and practically her whole existence in a wicker basket. funny, how we see love in inanimate objects. or is it somewhere within us?

roaming through c.p., sitting nowhere in particular, eating bhel and patties and sipping mountain dew and chai...we almost talked nothing, an occasional remark, a chiding, a question, some answers...or it seems that howsoever much she talks, its not enough...then three hours went by...merged into moments that i can only recall now and whisper to myself...memories that we'll share in the days to come, like how i forgot my wallet on the pattie-wallah's stall and how i forgot to pay the cold drink vendor, how she wished for a chai and the chai-wallah materialised and how difficult it gradually became to take leave of each other. three pauses, totalling twenty minutes for a five minute distance and you can gauge how difficult it becomes to separate...

...hmmm. long after she's gone, her presence still remains. her eyes, her smile, her voice and her touch, it's not about the words i use, it's the days i'm living. they are poetry now. do wish me more of these.