When I visit your thoughts 

Thoughts of the then you 

I visit the then me

I rediscover what am worth 

Then it becomes breathable again 

Then I feel worth the while again 

Then I know I am worth having 

Then I know life is worth having 

I pick my own scenes like the scenes I picked from the tea stall

To find the pieces of the puzzle of life 

The pieces tell me, the complete picture is there somewhere strewn all over the pieces of puzzles. 

Some painted as scenes on the broken pieces of my heart, some in the drops lost from the eyes, some on the broken photo frame and glass of dreams. 

They may be strewn, nevertheless the pieces are there. 

Some day I will find all the pieces. My fingers may cut and bleed looking for the pieces, the heart may wreath when prodding through it, the eyes may burn dry, but, some day I will find all the pieces. 

Drop the bottle

How many has it happened to you when you have suddenly realised that the bottle in your hands is empty, and you have carried it so far when you could have actually let go of it, and walked free with open palms since long.

We tend to do that to a lot more things than just bottles. For instance somebody's words; we carry the hurt and the pain, long after they've lost relevance.

No baggage. Just drop the bottle :)

Rashmi Manna

Kahan Shahar Mera

Kis shahar ko kahoon apna
Kahan basera mera
Roz bichhati hoon khilaunon si duniya
Roz samet kar fir dhoondhti hoon naya basera

Jahan bachpan bita, kya woh hai mera shahar
Wahan koi toota khilauna tak nahi bacha mera bataur nishani

Jahan bachpan ne aankhein khol duniya dekhi, kya woh hai mera shahar
Wahan toh koi na raha mujhe jo yaad kare ya dhoondhe meri nishani

Jahan koi wada mila, kya woh hai mera shahar
Wahan toh wafa thi jaise koi ehsaan tha, aur ye chaah ki na badlein aapas me koi anmit nishani.

Nahin koi, kahin koi mera shahar
Banjaron ki qismat, aur zamindaron ka dil
Yun dhoondhne chale apna shahar
Zindagi ki shaam dhalne ko hai
Shahar ki thaur, sar chhupane door tak kisi parchhayi ki nahi nishani

I do

I looked up at the vast azure and asked
Why?
Why am I denied what is so easy for everyone else
Why every time I have to seek like a beggar the opportunity to be all that I can be

He looked down at me and said,

"Daughter, see where you are standing
You say you are a beggar
You who stands in her own Home
You who had once thought of it as a distant, impossible dream
You foolishly ask to lead one home
I have built you to lead a hundred homes
You dream to mother a child
I have filled you with strength to bring up a thousand children
You wish to cradle an infant
I have made you to be a mother of men
You wish to nurture a son or daughter
You are to be a mother to fathers and mothers forgotten
You aspire to spoil a naughty child
You have to show the path to a people gone astray for the want of a mother.

You wish to inculcate civility in your lineage
You have to bring back a generation to the path of righteousness.

You have to bring back the faith in right doing.
You are looking at taming hills.
When I have built you to rule mountains.
How can I oblige Oh daughter?
I have made the world to be your home
You ask me for a hut
How will you fit in
You are not born to beg
You are my princess
You are to rule on my behalf
You are to re-establish my name
You are to take the throne from me
Take charge my daughter"


I bow and say... "I do"

You within me

Not a penny in hand
But the resolve to build a castle

Not a bone  unbroken
But the arrogance of taming the peaks

No future inheritance in sight
But the pride of giving away all

Heart bleeding with a hundred holes
Still the wish to anoint others with the reddened elixir

You gave this.. O Lord
To the meek, the doubtful
You stood beside and made look tall
The soul that was about to be dwarfed by its own shortsightedness

May you rule all the breaths this life has
May you design all the lives this soul has

The celebration of your grace is my pride
Treading the path illuminated by you my good fortune

Wish I were the breeze... Neither  adding anything nor taking away.... Just touching lives.... Leaving a refreshed air.... Breaking into a thousand streams while soaking through beings... Uniting again into a whole on the other side.... Neither resisting nor resisted, neither hurting nor hurt.... Only caressing never binding.... Ever travelling never gathering......
Always a memory... Never a pain 

Roaring Rivermouth

Not able to hear myself
Too much of noise
From the river passing by the river mouth, teased, humbled, ennumbed
From the crackling spark spitting cinders; agitated, smothered, smarting fighters ensembled
From the early spring winds, that take off on the wings of happiness yet land with a dash of pathos mingled

Quiet, quiet, quiet all of you
For the lamp in the temple cannot be and shall not be wavered;
The sparkling drop of water on the alocasia  has to stay glittering, pride enamoured;
The serene, pious quiet of the mornings, innocent drops of Manna to be gathered
The light behind the eyes must continue to illuminate,
No stray sparks, lest the parched, delicate papyrus is gutted and shy poetry shattered

All have come to pass; winters, springs, summers and rains.
What has stayed is the sky, up there, with His promise of vastness, rains or no rains.

Promise of sunset and sunrise
Promise of childish mornings and evenings wise
Promise of sleep and awakenings,
Promise of unbreakable promises
Mild, sober happiness and loyal pains
Pens of cinders and potions of ashes.
Welcome losses and unworded gains.

Stubborn waves

Waves after waves fold out to the walls and recede

Walls too high...walls too strong

The moon shines and burns both sides of the wall

The very same moon

Waves keep pouring their soothing grace up till the walls

Hoping the same to get carried in some mysterious way, through the tricky paths of worldly wisened jungles of people and a talkative mind, to carry peace, to carry dreams, to carry two moments of solace.

Waves keep going to the walls

Hoping the walls have gotten shorter, thinner, weaker

They keep caressing the green lichen on the walls

Hoping they have become cooler

They keep looking at the sky overhead
Hoping it has become more blue
The blue of new morning

But they dare not burst forth the wall
What if there is no sand to wet on the other side
What if it's a vacuum,  a dark hole gaping at them

They will loose their reason to come to the wall every day
They will loose the rhythm;
the game of wax and wane with the moon, that they now so happily play

She raises her eyes to look at him
Her brownish black traces slightly turned with her lashes

Her face brightens up
A slight curve on the edges of her lips
A light depression on her cheeks

He lowers his head
Caresses the Brown strands
Smiles and looks at her eyes

She lowers her eyes then shifts her vision
Can't keep her eyes fixed on his eyes and can't take them off as well

She smiles to hide the reddening blush on her cheeks
Tries to talk away her shyness

He's perturbed..
Doesn't she like me
Why would she look away.

She feels elated and graceful
She finds something precious
Something she can loose

He feels doubtful n unsure
He readies for worst possible
He readies to give up rather than loose

She's decided to stay forever
He's decided to walk away than be denied
She is firm and resolute

She raises her eyes to look at him
Her brownish black traces slightly turned with her lashes

Her faces brightens up
A slight curve on the edges of her lips
A light depression on her cheeks

He lowers his eyes
Looks at his own empty open hands
Sighs and looks at her eyes

She lowers her eyes
And puts her hands in his
He holds them, he doesn't want to leave them; she doesn't want him to leave them

When I look at you it feels like there's a different world out there and it seems to be beautiful

Mehfooz nahi mera dil mere pass
Kitni baar toota meri laparwahi se
Machal uthta hai bachchon ki tarah
Dimaag ko koi mauka hi nahi
Majaal hai aankhen ise ek sapna dikhaye fir main usse wo bhula sakun
 Par ab bas
Dil bachcha hai main toh nahin
Waada hai isse, ab na hi tootega, na zakhmi hoga.
Na sapne dekhega na roansa hoga
Sambhal ke ek band kothri me rakhungi ise
Jahan sirf mausiki ki mehfil hogi, mangadh kahaniyon ka jamawda hoga
Na beintehan khusi na had se zyada gam
Na sapne na intezaar
Na yakeen, na pyar, na ye ghaate ka karobaar

Dear God

I just hope that on the last day of my life all this makes sense; to me atleast
All the madness, all the impulsiveness, all the evenings, all the resolutions, all the plans...100% cancelled :), all the preparations. ..99% not put to use :), all the fears 99.95% unfounded and unrealized, all the eager waiting....100% unfructified, all the apprehensions. ..99% not materialzed :), all expected sadness...99.99% never felt :)
I hope it all sums up to something meaningful....on the last day of my life......atleast to me :)

Marete Hodenu

I was going to go back to sleep, till the tea comes, after opening the front doors for the tea walah.

But then a glimpse of the golden morning through the door and I couldn't go back to sleep.

The morning didn't let me sleep.

What a metaphor...I was going to go back my sleep of sulk from life only to wake up for the tea of work to get me going. In the process on my way to ofc I came across a glimpse of "Sanchari" for 30 sec, tempted I held open the doors and I was exposed to the blinding brilliance of this song, the lyrics speaking of a world I live in in my dreams....the music like a healing touch of a cool caress on a forehead throbbing and hot with pain.

And I couldn't go back to the sulk anymore.

Then I looked more carefully at the brilliance and I saw a face.....Where the eyes were speaking and smiling more than the lips...the face had a purity often committed but rarely found.

It made me fearless somehow. ..I don't know how and why...but I am more ready for life .....come life...

Every time I put myself out there at the same battle where a win will give me - a hug, which I can be assured of having to myself all my life; a heart, which I can try to win everyday day all over again as it will stay; a hand on my head caressing me, forgiving me all my mistakes; eyes which will look forward to look at me.

Every time I come back bruised, bleeding with a little more tattered heart that I stitch back with optimism and dreams.

I wonder, should I continue till I am left with so small pieces that can't be sewn back together or should I withdraw from the battle ground and be content.

My heart is tired, so are my eyes. My brain is ashamed of continuing to guide my tongue to keep thinking and dish out interesting conversations, with the changing palettes.

Aren't the others tired enough to confess, give up or give in.

Ab bhi chand mein khargosh nazar aata hai
Bachpan ka sukoon ab bhi kahin baaki hai
Ab bhi pehli baarish muskaan le aati hai
Upar wale ka karam, kuchh achhai shayad ab bhi kahin baaki hai

I am scared
Not for the first time
But for the first time the fear looks so real

It pushed me to be courageous enough
To accept that I am scared
To put it on paper
For the record
That I am scared

Scared of a lonely old age
Scared of having no one on whom I will have a right
Scared of not having any child ever to put to sleep
Scared of all my affection remaining locked away like a lost treasure in a crimson box of my heart
Drowned under oceans of loneliness
Lost through broken anchors of promises
Under the debris of broken dreams of togetherness
The shadows of the silence of hypocrites
The greys of the indecisive cold feeted claimers of love, who can't tell between two women through their faces or souls
Who respect one woman who created them but forgot to teach them that other women deserve the same respect, commitment and dedication

The heart that doesn't bleed anymore from stabs as it is drained long back

Whatever takes me to the next moment

http://rameshsood.blogspot.in/2016/02/you-go-fast-im-slow.html?showComment=1455561508192&m=1


Wow... What a perspective..( the above post by RS). . I will go at my own pace. You make haste and have your undercooked, half baked dinner. I will have my tasty spread on the table and would have also walked enough by the time to look forward to and relish the dinner without guilt of gluttony. It will be as I had dreamt of with the thought and the image that can be imagined only by me. You won't have any part of it coz the charm you added to the dinner table was also my imagination of your persona. You never had any inkling or inclination but for grabbing anything to fill your stomach and kill your hunger.
The romanticism, the touch of elegance, the soft, beautiful haze of light, the tinkle of the forks and the twinkle in the eyes is me. It will not be lost by me and had by you coz you never knew, neither had an inkling of my imagination.

Thanks to RS for writing Haikus that help me get lines of thought. About this write up which is in fact my comment on sir's blog....guess I took it to a note of vengeance which is definitely not a part of practicing happiness but nonetheless it soothes me to think thus for now. Thanks for showing this approach RS.

एक मुलाक़ात अपने आप से.....

बीते कल से कुछ सपने उधार ले फिर जीने की कोशिश कर रही हूँ ।

 मेरे ही अन्दर हैँ सब जवाब इस यक़ीन पे यक़ीन करने की कोशिश कर रही हूँ।

मेरा अपना दिल ही नाराज़ है मुझसे कि क्यूँ खोजा मैंने सुकूँ बाहर

जो वादा था इससे जीने का, न झुकने  का,  न माँगने का

फिर क्यों बेसब्र हो गई , क्यों हो गई काफ़िर ?

 

गिरते पड़ते दो क़दम चढ़ती हूँ फिर चार क़दम फ़िसल  आती हूँ

लेकिन थमना नहीँ है अब

कभी तो चार क़दम की चढ़ाई होगी और दो  क़दमों की फ़िसलन 

तब तक माज़ी में कहे अपने ही  अल्फ़ाज़ों को छूते रहना है

 

अपने ही पुराने आप से अपनी मुलाक़ात कराते रहना है 

जब तक दोनों  फिर न मिल जाएँ 

मैं अपने आप से 

मेरा दिल मेरी मंज़िल से

 

Can't find the girl anymore....

I knew a girl once. I remember the girl was sweet.

She would cry when she saw a stray dog beaten up. Her face glowed and eyes glittered when she earned a friendly smile or an encouraging tap. Her head used to bow in humility when she got praised on her face.

So innocent that her cheeks burned red and she trembled with anger when some guy proposed her..... love a crime at that tender age she thought.

She spent sleepless nights when a teacher got angry.

She used to run to her favorite neighbour's house at the slightest chance and stayed on for hours, completely ignorant of time and conduct. She was unaware of the codes of conduct, egos, status quo, protocol, and all such words, their synonymns and their meanings.

Waited for power failures to run out and play in the moonlight. Tried not to sleep for fear of missing the early morning picnic bus.



Too dumb to notice when her presence was unwanted. Too slow to pick up the hints to vanish during big discussions. Unable to read between the lines when she was not wanted and was conveyed the same in not as many words.

She used to keep talking ....yak...yak...yak...yak..... without a care if someone is listening or not.

Too glad daydreaming of talking to his dream man...a celebrity ! :) unaware of any other dimension. And these day dreams, her diary full with imaginary conversations with the man and his photo (gifted by a friend, who got it by buying chewing gums or cold drinks) was too big a love affair for her to be dealt with, in optimum secrecy and spoken of in hushed tones with her best friend. She did not bother to think that the dream man's agreement and commitment can matter. She imagined him reciprocating like a movie hero to the heroine :). Rejection was no where in sight as far as her heart could see or imagine. She cried bitterly and got one of the worst marks of her career the day she read of his marriage in the newspaper :)

Oh yes :) she used to see n think from the heart.

Now, she seems too unreal, too good to be true or to emulate. I can't remember, even faintly, the state of her heart within, which gave her that calming, resilient, attractive innocence outside. Can't find the girl and can't emulate her...badly in need of her calming presence. Can someone find her for me.


Note: Looking for vitality :) Sanjeevani to bring back to life the spotless soul, that can be soiled by no amount of sadness or negativity around. Groping for strength, an oar to sail me through.

P.S. Reposting. Had posted it on 8th Sep'10.... but still looking for her... so posting again... :) :)

What it takes ....

Misery may be a standard currency in the land where you come from; where, with it, you can buy livelihood, respect and love.

In my kingdom all it buys is pity. For all else there is just a barter of equally valued things.

Hard work, skill for livelihood.


Knowledge, humility, talent, blood, respect for respect


Her love for his love.