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.

I'll be me. Always ! !

You cannot take away from me that what I am; like nails on my fingers it will be stuck stubbornly to me. Cut it, batter it, injure it all you can; all you'll manage to take away is the dead part of me. I'll grow again from the very roots, from the battered fingers. Only this times the nails would be those of a tiger's claw, an injured tiger.