Holiday season

 It’s that time of the year y’all,

when the orange-red leaves wither and fall

 As the summer takes a snooze so deep,

we enter the season of wheeze and sneeze

Hope no one stayed for long, so weary,

and pepped up for the month of  trick or treating.

Roasted turkey, pumpkin pie and much more on the table,

family and friends for thanksgiving dinner, if able.

Snowman, candy cane, carols are sung,

gifts by the tree means the Christmas magic has begun.

The holiday season wraps up this year with joy,

 a path to a new one with more adventures and blessings to enjoy. 

A thanksgiving poem

Let us sing a joyous praise, 

some glasses to toast, we shall raise.

As we approach the end of another year,

Let us celebrate with our families, near and dear.

Gratitude is what our hearts shall bring, 

For the harvests in abundance we reaped since spring

Together at the table with grateful feelings

A thanksgiving dinner with joy, laughter and lots of second servings.

Reflecting back at all the blessings we received,

Our thanks to the lord and everyone who helped us through the pandemic.

Galiyon sa rishtey

Rishtey bhi 

galiyon ki tarah 

Milti hai aur milvaathi hai 

Kabhi pathli, kabhi moti.

Bachte bachate hue 

Idhar udar, yahaan wahaan 

Kuch naye anubhav dilathi hai

Rishtey bhi 

Galiyon ki tarah 

Kabhi chupke 

aur kabhi sandesh ke Saath 

Muddke jati hai

ek doosare se takraathi hai

 Bichadbi jati hai 

Aur phir pata hi nahi chalta 

Kaunsi gali kis taraf chali gayi.

Rishtey bhi hai galiyon ki tarah 

Bachte bachate, idar udar, yahaan wahaan.

आत्मविश्वासी ज़िद्दी लोग

 

चाहे क्यों न खुदा भी करे  उनके जिद्द से नफरत

नफरत करने वाले भी सब्र करना सिखा देते है 

खुदा का खेल भी कुछ अलग नहीं

सब्र के नाम पे कुछ लोगो की ज़िन्दगी बीत जाती है

कहीं बार उन लोगो के ज़िन्दगी में कुछ अच्छा नहीं बनता

ऐसे ही कुछ लोग नास्तिक बन जाते है

और कुछ लोग अपने आप को बदक़िस्मती समाजके रह जाते है

पर कुछ लोग ऐसे भी होते है, जो ज़िद्दी है..

.. ये लोग किसी को दोषी नहीं मानते - न खुद को और न खुदा को..

..क्योंकि  वो कभी आसानी से हार नहीं मानते

चाहे खुदा भी क्यों न करे  उनके जिद्द से नफरत

Missed carriages

She has waited long,

to also be taken along.

She listened to ‘em all,

who told many a tales, tall.

They traveled their journeys,

with splendid views they glee.

Leave thy worries at bay

.. so they all say.

For, her carriage shall also come,

A journey under the Splendid sun.

Several miles astray

Refugeed in sheds of hay.

Wandering many paths

Looking for whats not hath.

sought a carriage after so long

Hears a distant mourning dove’s  song

Oh! she hears the song of misery

Hath she known, days to come so weary.

Wheeled over a rock so huge,

the carriage went down, apart it blew

Oh! her poor soul, it’s not her fault 

Fate has tricked her to stumbled and fall.

Persistence has kept her feet go on

Through many carriages that were missed and gone.

Now she has only a glimpse of hope

Until a miracle to her, if could approach. 

Samay ki darbar

Jawani hai kitni nasheeli

Samay ke darbar me 

jaise ek naachwali 

Naachti hai koobsurat se 

Magar usse yeh aagah nahi 

Uski nashe bhi toh hai utarni 

Aakir hai to Darbar samay ki,

Jahan budappan ki natak bhi hai honi. 

Translation:  

In the theater of time

Youth is intoxicating.

In the court of time,

Like a dancer

Who dances so beautifully 

She is not aware,

that intoxication would also wear out.

After all, in this theater of time,

Where old age will also show it’s talents.

Mountains

It always starts with a dot

Progresses to a circle

And then a sphere

It’s got beautiful curves

Like a paisley

It looks very pretty

Attracts her and others around

It kindles the consciousness

As it raises up like a mountain

Firm and rigid, yet beautiful and strong 

It also builds insecurities 

As someone else’s hands lay on ‘em 

It can also bring her shame

But it’s not her fault.

It’s helping her nurture 

For, there’s no other that’s better. 

The mountains are cracked

Is it what’s underneath it?

It hurts.

It has to be taken off.

It’s no longer beautiful and no longer useful

It is painful to get it off.

It was her identity. 

Ajeeb log

na jaane kaise ajeeb log hai woh,
unse baat hone se hi tanhahi cha jati hai

agar mein kuch kahoon toh
woh samajte hain 'bohut bholti hai yeh!'

agar mein kuch bhi na kahoon toh,
woh samjthe hain 'bohut ghamandi hai yeh!'

darr lagtha hai kabhi, is duniya walon se
har din jeene ka bhi dhum ghutha hai mera

kya sab k sab aise hi hai is duniya mein?
ya phir mere rishthedaar hi hai itne ajeeb?

shaadi k pehle maine aise kabhi mehsoos nahi ki,
maa-baap, bhaiya, behen, dost, in sab se apnapan mehsoos hua

isi tarah toh samajthi hoon mere sasooral k logon ko bhi,
meri parvaar se inti door jo hoon, sirf mere pathi hi hai meri ek sahara. ache hai woh!

Mere saas, sasoorji bhi achche hai. kam se kam unki baatein mein kataas nahi hoti
unke rishthedaar, jo mere bhi risthedaar bangaye.. woh.. kyon aise hai?

kuch logon se toh hamare itne kareeb rishta bhi nahi hain,
par kyon aise taang hadathe hai? kator baatein bholthe hai?

shayad mein unko pasand nahin hoon? !!
ya phir mein unko ghalat samajrahi hoon? !!

jho bhi ho par dardh hoti hai unki baaton se, harkatoon se.
darr lagti hai un logon se milne ko, baat karne ko.

kyon hai itne ajeeb yeh log? kyon?

Kwaab ki baatein

Agle janam hai ya na, hum dekhe toh nahin.

Par jitna bhi kwaab ab dekhe hai, puri karne koshish karenge abhi.

Kwaab toh kya sabko aati hi hogi,

Par Jo usse maanta, aur paane ki koshish karta hai, himatwala hai wahi.

Kwaab toh woh hoti hai, Jo khud k Mann mein aaye,

Na ki woh Jo dusre k zubaan Se.

Agar zindagi mein kuch pana hai toh kuch kona bhi padta hain,

Apne kwaabon Ko hakiqat mein paana hai

Aur dil Se darr koh mita Dena hain

Aakir is duniya mein kum hain log, Jo apne sapne puri kar pate hain.

little things...

The days I wake up early,
Sun rise, a breath taking view.
A longing to do this daily,
One priceless happiness, i know

Joy of cooking for loved ones,
Even though I am bad at it.
Praised for my effort by some,
though they had to swallow bit by bit.

On my bus journeys from school,
The driver's light hearted humor.
Makes me feel warm and get over the cold,
Brightens me up to live a day, another.

From the bus stop, on my way back, home
With slight detour, I walk through a trail.
Hearing the birds chirp and the creek that flows by,slow,
To keep my energy boosted, nature is the best way.

Thank You, Mom and Dad

For all that you both do for me,
words aren't enough, to express my gratitude.
Unconditionally Loving me.
To celebrate and embrace life, you taught me.
Raising me in a stable household.
Instilled in me the traditional values, I strongly hold.
I could not have asked for better parents and role-models,
For the continued support and encouragement  you give.
As brother and I grew up with those wonderful memories to cherish,
No matter how far away we are,
in all our happiness, you are always missed.
Although we are grown up to be independent,
we will always remain your little children.

Trans(ce)

To resume another new day,
I call it off, for a reboot to make.

With saved Experiences & processing memories,
I remember the times I've had, least of worries.

A visual poetry starts to weave, as I  fall into a trance.
A smooth wave and a soft breeze, it feels. As if in Trans.

What is this place, I've never been to before?
Like in an adventurous game to play, I adore.

Men so fierce, in a desert unknown. Riding on ursus, as white as snow.

I run for my life, faster than I've ever done,
Until I fell, a labyrinth by a tree under a hidden mansion.

A labyrinth it was like in Rick Riordon's book,
Into a place like the ancient Rome, it got me hooked.

Here I see a battle field, amidst the ruined collosium,
Sitting beside me, with armors and shields, is my husband.

We run for our lives from horses and armed soldiers,
With narrow escape, from heads being chopped by swords, shaped like shear.

Tripped by a debris, I fall into a hole,
It's the labyrinth again. Stop! Behold!

As amazing it seems, so was it thrilling,
Mind cautioned, heart pounding, and rush of adrenaline.

Now in a place I stand, so much like India
But so very quiet, so very clean - this is euphoria.

Huge they are, each like a palace,
People's homes, who to me, were familiar.

I walk past their homes, admiring the architecture.
And greeted by all, who seemed near and dear.

It was the last house that looked so familiar.
Realized it was, home of a friend very dear.

Startled by a noise, I turn back to see,
The fierce men and bears, were there, hunting for me

I run into the house, taken into a room,
Shut to safety, take a deep breadth or two.

With fear of death, my closed eyes pray,
Shook by an old man, who looks scared and dazed.

I tell him I'm chased by the fierce men and bears,
Shocked to life, he tried to escape from here.

Trying to hide, he suddenly disappears,
Probably a opening to the labyrinth was there.

I hear the bears sniffing out the door,
By the time they broke in, I came out of the show.

Dreams they are, that take me beyond,
The world never known for so very long.

diwali ki Hardik shubkamnahein

Har raat taaron Se hoti hai mujhe roshni mehsoos
Par diwali k rangeen raat, taare bhi na lagti mehfooz

An unfair world

Unable to accept the unfair world,
As if I am the newly formed butterfly.
Flutters freely in the sweet smelling meadows,

Until getting a view of the chamoflaged dangers.
 Not minding the threat, & not to lose the freedom,
Flying freely, until getting strangled in a cobweb.

Struggling to get out of the thin yet firm strings,
A painful realization to be a guest of an eight legged
Until the rain drops broke the strings & gave a 2nd chance

Flew to safety with a lesson for a lifetime,
To not always be carefree, be modest a times.
For, the world  can make our life go topsy-turvy

If I were..

If I were a dream,
in someones eyes, like a gleam,
I would impel their minds to achieve me,
See them walk through their destiny.
how they win, with obstacles, so many

If I were a flower,
I'd hug the bees and give'em  nectar
feel the wind and sway with the other,
spread my fragrance across the borders,
and rest in peace, on the day, another

If I were a tree,
I'd take pride in giving shade to thee,
In bearing you fruits that tastes so sweet.
I'd provide wood to built shelter for thee,
and yet not show pain, when you cut me.

If I were the moon,
I'd rise early, for the sun set view.
A visual lullaby, I'd put you to sleep, soon
I'd tell you, if I captured a hare or a goon.
And i'd see the world go quiet, so soon.

If I were the sun,
I'd start a dream for some,
see the sunflowers bloom at once,
admire the trees grow so awesome,
and bid goodbye to the moon, while I go down.

If I were...

Hear it here

sounds of hunger

amidst the class, about food and culture,
with the longing to eat, my mind wanders.
Its been a while, since i had my last meal,
I thought for myself,I can manage, no big deal!

'food' for thoughts, foods we visualize,
'food' for discussions, talks - none otherwise.
Oh my cravings! please don't die,
Don't call ghrelin and make me shy.

a victim to the stares of my neighbor, already,
for the musical notes playing in my tummy.
Ms. Professor too seems like a lead of an orchestra,
listing all the cuisines and restaurants in the area.

For a project it is, to taste test and comment,
I urged to start mine, that very instance
with her cont'd instructions, it grew more intense,
filling me with the utmost embarrassment.

all of a sudden, the class fell quiet,
Ghrr! Grrr!  burrp! now that's my diet.
heads turned, for a view of the culprit,
but the professor laughed in all good spirits

feeling abashed i cupped my face
i was filled with aw, when they all  gazed,
'Relax!' my neighbor said with sympathy
relieved I was, when she knew I was hungry.

my hungry tummy, the sounds it makes
for I thought, a fart, they all would mistake.


Hear it here

My pen

It's so much pleasure to write my thoughts,

Better than sharing with the friend I walk.

Sometimes moody and some very silly,

 Always noting the muses of its lady,

Never will argue, none will question,

Any color of the ink, when chosen.

Heartless indeed, but a quiet listener,

Who never judges on what I ponder.

Sometimes stuck in my occupied mind,

Words don't flow with the emotional mime.

Yet it's tries scribbling, to amuse

It's lady to whom, gives an idea to muse.

Here I tried to personify a pen. Making the pen a private friend with whom I share the most secretive thoughts, for, a pen - a materialistic thing without a heart or soul will not judge me by my thoughts and will always be a quiet listener. The pen would even  try to cheer me with its scribbles, and when words don't flow, these scribbles would even give me ideas to think 

Yeh dooriyaan!!!

Itne Kareeb ho k bhi  kitne door hain hum,

Kyon dikarahi zindagi yeh tanhayi k sitam?

Itni jaan-pehchaan k baad bhi kitne alag hai hum,

Yeh rishta nibhane k liye pyaar kafi nahi hai har dum?

To the blood sucking rascals! :P

Oh dear, I cannot sleep
Without hearing their noisy squeaks

Oh they think, it's a song so sweet,
The shrill tones, only makes me weep

I plug my ears, pillows covered too,
Ain't any good, their songs make me blue

pierced though me their snout, like needles,
"ouch! snap! aah! You blood sucking evils."

Malaria, dengue, encephalitis
mere utterance, gives me tingles

your tiny bites would make me feeble
"Oh Dear mosquitoes! Please don't mingle"

Hear it here

The Artist

Slipped her hands, feeling the anklets' beads,
Tingling sounds, like wind chimes and breeze,

Wearing it on, stood  in a pose,
With hand gestures, a dancer she supposed

the wind, the sky, the trees, the birds,
everything surreal were audience to her,

Opening her doors of imaginations, Spree!
To the sounds of birds, her expressions - glee!

rustled the leaves; and clouds of thunder,
she wore on her face, a symbol of fear

the passing clouds, and the clear sky bright,
concealed the fright on her face, with delight

her sorrowful face, heard the distant bazaar
tampering the peace, of her oneness hour,

evoked now, by the feeling of wonder,
blown by the wind, that  moment of terror,

the musical notes of the anklets on her feet
made her dance, as the expressions repeat,

heroic it seems, her care free mimes,
even to the nature's signs, she rhymes.

as she sequels the eight hues of expressions,
the door ajar, and she showed, the last essence

expression they are, of an emotional appeal,
if  only she could visualize, the beauty of her feel.

The Artist - a poem about a blind girl who portrays herself as a classical dancer, wearing on the anklets and dancing to the natures music,with her profound expressions of the navarasas.

Hear it here