दुविधा - २

जाने ऐसी क्या हो गयी है बात,

जो बाहर ना कुछ आहट होती है;

दिन से लगता है शायद अब हो गयी रात,

छिपी कमरे में, वह सोचती है, रोती है।

जब वह इस कमरे में आयी थी,

तब अंधेरे से उसकी ना ये लड़ाई थी; 

और आसान लगा था यूँही छिप जाना,

ध्येय था तो बस सखी को देख चिल्लाना।

पर, फिर समय की गुलेल कुछ लम्बी खिंची,

उसके अधपके दर की क्यारियाँ, उसकी दुविधाओं ने सिंची;

"क्या छिपी रहूँ यूँही, चुपचाप, इस बिस्तर के नीचे,

या कर साहस भाग चलूँ बाहर, अपनी प्रिय सखी के पीछे?"

अब तो सन्नाटा भी गहराता चला है,

संग साहस और संकल्प भी ठहराता चला है;

याद आता है तो बस सुनी उन कहानियों का डर,

जहां बिस्तर के नीचे होता था काले भूतों का घर।

शायद वो भी लुका छिपी खेल रहे हैं मुझसे,

धप्पा बोलने को, यहीं कहीं ताक में खड़े हैं कबसे;

अब तो सखी की पुकार ही लगती, मेरा एकमात्र सहारा है,

पानी तो ठहरा, भले ही अंततः निकल जाए खारा है।

बरसों से खेल यह सब खेल रहे हैं, 

और यह खेल अनवरत जारी है;

मुखौटे ही बस बदल रहें हैं,

आज हमारी, तो कल निकल जाये किसी और की बारी है।।

अलफ़ाज़

क्यूँकर ये मेरे लफ़्ज़ों का दरिया 

है चला जाता बहता, अकेला युंही?

ना दीखता इनको कोई अजनबी मोड़ कहीं है

ना अकड़ता पत्थर ही मिलता है कोई 

और ना ही वो ऊँचे से अचानक गिरना 

ना जाकर किसी घनघोर सागर से मिलना;

फिर क्यूँकर चला जाता है बहता 

ये लफ़्ज़ों का दरिया, अकेला युंही?

सुनी थी कभी पंछियों की कोलाहल किनारे

अब तो हैं बस फैले ये सुनसान वीराने

और छोड़ दिया है युंही, इन लफ़्ज़ों को अकेला

बहते जाने के लिये — हैं बहते ये जबतक | 

इक पेड़ का मंथन

हा! काटो, एक और सही, की हैं शाखाएँ अभी और भीं

सह लेना बस थोड़ा, की है खुद ही खुद को सताने का दौर भी |

जलाएगा सूरज तुम्हे कुछ और, तो क्या?

जलाती तो है तुम्हे इर्ष्या और बदले की आग भी |

माना होगी हवा कुछ कम, तड़प लेना जरा

आखिर तड़पते हो फंसे, अपनी तन्हाईयों औ चाहतों के जाल में भीं |

ना पंछियों की कोलाहल, ना कोयल रूपी जीवन की कूक होगी,

पर शायद बहरे हो! अपनी छोड़ सुनते ही हो कौनसी आवाज़ दूसरी अब भी?

दौड़ो...! पर थकोगे, आज या कल -- कभी तो तुम -- या शायद नहीं 

की मशीनी सी हो गयी है ये आगे बढ़ने की तुम्हारी दौड़ भी |

हमारा क्या है, सिमट जायेंगे इस जहाँ से हम, पर तुम्हे क्या? 

शायद हमारे जाने के बाद, हैं जीने के तुम्हारे सहारे कई और भीं |

Days, Seeking Nighthood...!!

Night, a friend;
So many stars to befriend.
Grow deeper, these bonds;
With its bright light when, 
The moon too absconds.

Day, but a pretender;
True feelings are real slender.
Harsher feels, this truth;
Gone are the days when,
Of your seemingly short youth.

Words...

Can the words carry my feelings for you
intact, and then aptly convey it too?
Maybe they can't, I just wonder...

And I wonder if they are worthy enough
to be trusted, for they've been traitors before
and are known to betray when you need 'em most

But then I think maybe those are just words 
that you want. And I wonder if I'm right
I just sincerely hope that I'm wrong!!

दुविधा

दरवाजे पर खड़ी चिंतन में,

सहमी, सकुचाती इक बाला;

विस्तृत होता अन्धकार है,

बहती दुविधा की अविरल धारा |

अन्दर शायद सखी छुपी है,

खेल हो रहा लुका छिपी का;

ढूँढना उसकी लाचारी है,

वरना यह खेल अधूरा है |

"पर क्या अन्दर दीपक जलता है;

या यह रात अमावास है?

भीतर जाकर देख पाने का

साहस क्या उसके पास है?"

अगर वो अन्दर जाती है,

और छुपी सखी उसे मिल पाती है;

तो वे लौट के घर जायेंगी, 

और अँधेरे के दूतों को, हा हा करके चिढायेंगी |

पर अगर अँधेरे ने दबोच लिया, 

और आशाओं का आँचल नोच लिया, 

तब क्या ये साहस रह पायेगा?

या उसके आसुंओं में, तिनका तक भी बह जायेगा?

इतने तक तो तब भी ठीक है,

क्यूंकि सखी का साथ अभी बाकी है;

पर आँकों तुम मूल्य इस खेल का,

गर जो सखी ने साहस छोड़ दिया... | 

The Nature of Heart

And ain't this the nature, of this friable heart,
To sigh yet beat, even if it lays torn apart?
Pick up those shards, one could try,
But slips though my fingers is just some sand dry.
Ain't this the nature of the fragile I?

And ain't this the nature, of that stranger wind,
To wear away the shreds, the existence rescind. 
And to carry those pieces, till it would like to play,
Then dump 'em bluntly, and call it a day?
Ain't this the nature of the alien you?

And spread on the shore are all such pieces;
Deluged and invisible, till the tide decreases.
And playing with 'em, people, one can find;
Takes just a few drops, for this sand to bind.
Ain't this the nature of the heart' sand?

An Ode to Sleep

That elusive, eternal sleep,
Refreshing the mind 
And comforting as if,
One has reached atop 
A mountain, high and steep.
Or, has 
Touched the floor 
Of an ocean, blue and deep.
These highs and lows 
So unlike, the ones
You'll get with a wine cheap.
Ah! If only I could get,
That eternally elusive sleep.

फ़साना

क्या बतायें फ़साना, हम अपना तुम्हें

कर हीं देतीं हैं बयां ये आँखें, लम्हे दर लम्हे

पर शायद तुम करते हो बस चेहरों से मुलाकात

तभी पढ़ नही पाते हो इन कहती आँखों की बात.

पर गम ना करो, कहने को है भी नही कुछ ख़ास

उड़ जाती है खुशबु, रह जातें हैं तो बस मेरे काश

और जिंदगी बन कर रह गयी है इक जले का दाग

मिटाने को जिसे छेड़ा हो जैसे, किसी ने बारिशों का राग

और उन कातिल बारिशों से टकराती जूझती

सहमती, सिसकती, तो कभी जरा भड़कती

छोटी ही सही, पर अब भी दहक रही है आग

के बुझ ना पातें हैं मेरे, ये आशा-ए-चराग...   

A Tribute to "Metallica"

This is my tribute to "Metallica". "The Learned Ones" already know the importance of words that are bold, and I've chosen my favorite ones.

Oh! I hear The Call Of Ktulu,
That dreaded call, but for whom he calls?
And I hear the bell toll,
But For Whom The Bell Tolls?
I do not know, neither does the Astronomy.
So just pour metal(lica) into my veins
For I go to War...That is all there is,
And Nothing Else Matters.

O My Friend(s) Of Misery,
Do not cry, neither sing
The Low Man's Lyric,
When I fall and become,
Or not, The Hero Of The Day.
For I've remained King Nothing
for ages, ...and its time for justice,
justice for me, ...And Justice For All.

Oh! Its the day Of Wolf And Man within you,
The Day, for which a lifetime you may wait,
And yet, The Day That Never Comes.
Though that Tuesdays' Gone, but I remember
What the Mama (had) Said. Oh she'd said not to fear
But to live. "Carpe Diem Baby", she'd said,
"For you've already been dubbed The Unforgiven,
By the One...that Master Of Puppets".

Oh! I remember, 'cause The Memory Remains
Like a Thorn Within, and will Fade To Black
With me, but only when its time to fade.
And then, Enter (the) Sandman will,
For now it'll be his turn, his turn to Turn The Page.
And I'll happily Ride The Lightning holding my Fuel,
—My Whiskey In The Jar, and roam Wherever I may Roam.
This is how I'll meet The God That Failed, however Sad But True.

Success...

Success is when an egg hatches.
None hath seen
The struggles of young;
The pain, and its glory, left unsung.
If you want, and are keen;
Just look on the walls for those desperate scratches...

Heavens are Far

Men come and then they're gone; 
Haven't even the Gods dwindled? 
Some are now a part of the lore, 
Others, just a dot, unknown, of yore. 

Yet, for things that are but a wraith; 
We kill, we rape, and thus, we declare our faith. 
But only to the ones feeling, 'tis a crime; 
To the ones dealing, these become acts sublime. 

And so, what will become of the promised lands; 
When we as victors reach there? 
Having already made one as hell; 
Isn't it time, to stop — and think what we're trying to sell?

My Reeking Thoughts

The night reeks of my thoughts and desires;
Nights that aren't dead,
Desires unmoving,
And preyed upon by reminiscence.
How the pile keeps getting bigger,
And bigger.
And how every other night dies,
With one of my thoughts,
Or desires.
Pure, but still reeking.

Like those satis burning, on their husbands' funeral pyres;
Women, that aren't dead,
Husbands unmoving,
But to keep their essence.
How everything burns, with vigor
And rigor.
And how they go one by one, as a reprise 
From those lots,
Willingly, or forced into such fires.
Alive, yet heaven seeking.

"Statutory Warning: Pretty Hard Stuff. Read at your own risk."

Tuesdays' Really Gone

'Twas a Tuesday...just like any other, out there.

But that was a year before. Or, maybe its a lifetime on...,
and my thoughts circle around the lyrics of "Tuesdays' gone".

The Tuesday sure is gone. With the Wind.
I bet, whilst leaving, it must've grinned.

Now theres' just this wait. I sit alone, bare, on the station
waiting, for the train, or on rails, the slightest vibration.

Can not leave the station. I'm the one carrying it on.
All the parts I play, and characters I don.

The wind comes back. Feel it on my face every now and then,
packed with the Tuesday's scent. Starting to forget I'm when.

Oh! the train did pass from here before,
— and maybe, I missed it;
or, maybe 'twas an express nonstop, I wouldn't know,
I was just too late to catch it...!

"Note: Prior listening of the song "Tuesdays' Gone" should help a bit :P"

In a Windy Winter Night

On the heels of a day mundane,
   another night has put its feet --
'cause dies down every fire there is,
   and a chill replaces its heat.
   And left behind are some bones, some ashes
      of memories, and mere dark stains, --
   to be scattered in time by winds harsh, and
      washed away by years of incessant rains.

The night has brought the struggle back,
   to rein in my thoughts stray, however vain --
thoughts do come, what're they if not hungry lions,
   and its hard to stop'em, from coming out of their den.
   Trapped between the jaws of those beasts
      should I give up, be a prey, writhing, --
   or play a tyrant I must, kills his own subjects
      who, and doesn't even feel a thing?

And by the window, against the wall,
   lie the vast plains of my bed --
quiet and empty, it resembles a Pharsalus
   and surely its' perfectly made.
   Flee from the encounter I can,
      condemn myself if I just, to the chair, --
   But punish the innocent clay if I,
      the struggle will be anything but fair.

So I go to this bed of mine, seeking
   subsequent glories, comforts coveted --
under the blanket, lose if I were to,
   at least the conflict may stay veiled.
   And just about the time when I,
      having won, was to fall asleep, --
   appears is a dagger unseen, of cold,
      and slashes me repeatedly, deep.

Though the cuts were deep but no more
   than those piercing words of theirs(/*yours*/) can reach --
I canvass the surroundings of my room,
   for the probable point of breach.
   True, walls you can raise against your foes,
      but what fort can hold its head high, --
   when the traitors are the sentries themselves,
      and the words are just words, from a disguise.

A mere look around was all it costed,
   to find the window with a missing glass --
only a paper I had, I tried to paste, except,
   when bronze is the need, doesn't work a brass.
   Stubborn was I, and I persisted,
      another lesson was to be learned, --
   irritated, I completely opened the window
      though this is not what i had yearned.

And outside, blows such a cold wind,
   and persists the darkness stark --
shivering are the dogs, or have,
   some reasons beyond their bark.
   Unaware of this all, was a flutter of moths,
      overjoyed, as they had a perfect host, --
   singing and dancing in the dim light of
      a distant, and warm old lamppost.

Maybe it was the sublimity of the lamppost,
   I got all the warmth I needed --
I slipped into my bed again, and
   the cries of old wounds went unheeded.
   Quiet have become things now,
      maybe subsided has their pain, --
   but those dogs will howl again, unless,
      the warm light of a lamppost they gain.

And perhaps, the next night when it comes,
   the cold will remain as before, dense --
and unclear may remain the path,
   laid down for me to embark. --
   But I've hope, for my warm lamppost,
      and for things to reveal their sense,
   then free of my borrowed crutches at last,
      I won't be creeping, I will proudly walk.

That Little Face

How you try to fade,
that one little face,
and so you start a chase,
for a new one to replace.

Initially it works,
but in shadows the old one lurks,
and on one fine day,
keeping your assurances at bay;

it breaks those chains,
that little face comes again.
To look into your eyes,
and to ask the question why.

All you're able to say,
how agitated you stay;
'cause you're not mine,
so you had to draw a line.

But is that enough,
or, you just being tough?
Will you ever forget that face?
And you ask, to yourself...!

The Fading You

And thus draws the night dark nigh;
with that dies the hope high,
and as the clear day turns to gray;
only that old fear seems to stay.

Will this night be, one of those,
spent with questions, your memories pose;
while in my bed, I lay awake,
and with the imaginary you, talks I fake?

Or, is this going to be a simpler one;
where sleep will have a decent run,
and in my dreams you will come;
talking some, listening to some?

Night is dying, and I fear the dawn ahead;
like those dreams blur, will you fade?
Or, like those days of yore;
from your heart again, you'll pour?

Leaf...

He was walking, against the breeze,
in deep thinking, but having thoughts none;
when he heard a rustling and what he sees,
is you, O leaf! Forced down the road, undone.

Now all he could think of, was,
whether to be the wind, or just the leaf again;
carried by his life and the flaws,
trying, but not long before it goes down the drain.

Must This All..., Remain the Same?

How the memories fade...,
but the bench remains the same;
How you try to overcome...,
but the pain remains the same.

How you try to run…,
but the pace remains the same;
How you try to cover…,
But the distance remains the same.

How you try to tell…,
but the story remains the same;
How you try to forget…,
but the song remains the same.

How you try to sleep…,
but the nights remain the same;
How you try to wake up…,
but the dreams remain the same.

How you try to acquaint…,
but the void remains the same;
How you try to let go…,
but the things remain the same.

How you try to cross…,
but the bridge remains the same;
How you try to undo…,
but the deeds remain the same.

How you try to look…,
but the face remains the same;
How you try to be numb…,
but the feelings remain the same.

How you try to meet…,
but the expectations remain the same;
How you try to hide..,
but the exposure remains the same.

How you try to steal…,
but the assets remain the same;
How you try to help…,
but the dispensability remains the same.

How you try to climb…,
but the height remains the same;
How you try to stand…,
but the enemies remain the same.

How you try to build…,
but the ruins remain the same;
How you try to destroy…,
but the number remains the same.

How you try to answer…,
but the questions remain the same;
How you try to surrender…,
but the conflict remains the same.

How you try to survive…,
but the situations don’t change;
How you try to change…,
but even you remain the same.

Of me...and you

of constant struggles...and the undying spirit,
of prevailing hope...and the failed expectations,
of inviting unrealities...and the bare truths,
of weakening will...and the promises kept,

of biting sarcasms...and the jovial talks,
of desperate wants...and the killed desires,
of selfish sharing...and the unwanted outcomes,
of strong memories...and the fading words,

of dull numbness...and the unspoken feelings,
of momentary chatters...and the long silences,
of forced seclusion...and the closeness felt,
of piercing quietness...and the inaudible shouts,

of concerned eyes...and those little smiles,
of habitual dormancy...and the long walks,
of innocent warmth...and the apparent coldness,
of inner knowing...and the uncertainties therein,

of bright opportunities...and the wrong choices,
of changing me...and you, O indifferent life,
this is the story.........