He always had an optimistic feeling for being reticent, for not letting his perceptions sprout and become vulnerable to the contrite reaction of the ambulatory beings around him. The fright of self expression tried its best to intimidate him to the core of being introvert and to diminish the crests of his self respect. When the world saw him as a numb sufferer of verbosity and dogmatic acclaims of those who move on the escalators in a muddy street, he kept on observing everything with the eyes of an eagle and sagacity of a hermit. They did not notice the stretches of mirth on his phlegmatic countenance, the signs of satisfaction within his soul.
He was born with them , he grew for them to adopt him, he tried to make them realize what his worth was, but they were all deaf. As they grew and spread their limbs, he noticed the differences they had, they had different colours, different languages , different sizes and everyone of them unsatisfied of what he had. He could sense the beginning of devastment, he could see the nebulous picture of what was lying ahead.
And his fear was for a reason, they made kingdoms and destroyed homes. The appettite to grow which could never be satiated, made them snatch others’ breads .
They learned to live and became mighty, they had power , they had wealth but… they did not stop
The multiplication of needs led to the growth of cancer of disharmony . He was in peril, he was helpless. They started with skirmishes and reached to Wars. They were hungry of their’ owns’ blood. he saw all tht , glittering swords, pool of corpses, innocent orphans and white widows and waited for the restivity…. after the chaos , he again arose, he again prevailed there with soon to be attacked by the group of the leaders who had a vow to slaughter him whenever he tries to make an identity.
From clash of sword to depinning of bombs, from spears to nuclears… they always put a step forward to destroy him , ironically searching for him only.
He is here and he will always be here but does not know how to make them understand what his name means, what does “PEACE” mean.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
The unexpressed love
Sitting under that mahogany tree, my emotions floating free
Your eyes were so blue and deep, I laid my heart for you to peep
The warmth in the air kept on rising, every moment mesmerizing.
You did not say a single word, I did not say a single word
all those talks in anticipation, two budding hearts in participation.
"The unexpressed Love"
I knew u wanted me to speak, expectations on the peak.
I kept on finding words to say, How I sketch, How I portray.
How to make you feel the same, Oh my love, Oh my Dame.
To listen your "NO", I was not prepared, To think of your loss , was so scared.
My message did not reach to you, You said Good bye , I murmured "I love You"
"The unexpressed Love"
Your eyes were so blue and deep, I laid my heart for you to peep
The warmth in the air kept on rising, every moment mesmerizing.
You did not say a single word, I did not say a single word
all those talks in anticipation, two budding hearts in participation.
"The unexpressed Love"
I knew u wanted me to speak, expectations on the peak.
I kept on finding words to say, How I sketch, How I portray.
How to make you feel the same, Oh my love, Oh my Dame.
To listen your "NO", I was not prepared, To think of your loss , was so scared.
My message did not reach to you, You said Good bye , I murmured "I love You"
"The unexpressed Love"
They call him love
Wrapped in a stinking blotted piece of rag, he lies there on his back, emaciated, pale , excruciated and counting the last few movements of his wind pipe as it struggles for the air to pass in and fill his lungs to keep him lie there as a leftover piece of meat, to be destroyed and devored by hawks and crows.
the dried stream of tears coming out of his dried eyes, stays there as a mark of stigma he has gone through his entire cursed life , for being a creature who has a heart which pounds, which pumps blood and which can feel good for someone.
He has seen for ages, deluge of humans moving over here and there, developing from crabs to cranes , stones to five star hotels, pitches to pizzas, he has seen them all being strangers and seen them working together as brothers , then he saw them slaughtering each other. He tried his best to reach out to them when they all were filled with rage, hatred and dislikes,but all of them found his ways specious and treated him as a betrayer.
He was numb, he could not find a home, nobody willing to give him shelter, he is all alone.
Those were the days he became hemophobic, the stench of blood made his respiratory system weak. his lungs started striving to avoid the suffocations. But they never cared for him. They had to rise, they had to grow. He lied there beside the traffic signal, looking at them, having mercy on them , praying for them, but he was so helpless. The sounds of bombs made him deaf, the stampede of people crushed him.
the innocent faces of the babies who became motherless wanted to kiss his face but they did not let them do it.
He is still lying there, he cant listen to all the Naras and slogan, he cant understand all these political statements, I know he will bleed his lungs out very soon and take his last breathe.
We will put a statue of him and put the garlands and will call him "Mr. Love"
the dried stream of tears coming out of his dried eyes, stays there as a mark of stigma he has gone through his entire cursed life , for being a creature who has a heart which pounds, which pumps blood and which can feel good for someone.
He has seen for ages, deluge of humans moving over here and there, developing from crabs to cranes , stones to five star hotels, pitches to pizzas, he has seen them all being strangers and seen them working together as brothers , then he saw them slaughtering each other. He tried his best to reach out to them when they all were filled with rage, hatred and dislikes,but all of them found his ways specious and treated him as a betrayer.
He was numb, he could not find a home, nobody willing to give him shelter, he is all alone.
Those were the days he became hemophobic, the stench of blood made his respiratory system weak. his lungs started striving to avoid the suffocations. But they never cared for him. They had to rise, they had to grow. He lied there beside the traffic signal, looking at them, having mercy on them , praying for them, but he was so helpless. The sounds of bombs made him deaf, the stampede of people crushed him.
the innocent faces of the babies who became motherless wanted to kiss his face but they did not let them do it.
He is still lying there, he cant listen to all the Naras and slogan, he cant understand all these political statements, I know he will bleed his lungs out very soon and take his last breathe.
We will put a statue of him and put the garlands and will call him "Mr. Love"
I hate Politics
I have always had a hatred for politics, It started with scoring low marks in political science in the premilianary classes and propagated through dark streets of disbelief and lack of congeniality and has recently consummated with the induction of incendiary and sordid words vomitted by the scion of the Nehru family, Mr. Varun Gandhi.
I have always concieved politicians as a Non- ambulatory, Non-Emphathatic, pot-bellied and to an extent less educated work force. I remeber skimming through an article in Sunday suppliment of Times of India about the younger generation of the politicians , all of the them hailing from the Big names in Indian politics, all of them having thier alma matars as the best of the educational institutions in the far west. The author looked to me an epitome of optimism and showed faith in these rising stars when i had all the skeptism prevalent in my mind about these bloods.
last friday, I was watching the much disputed and TRP enhancer episode of how Varun gandhi was puking the venom out , making the Hinduism a ladder to step upto the pinnacle of politics of vote, the whole gamut of gullible voters of the poor land getting misled by the politics of hate. I find it an anethema to the helpless people of this country when I see people exicted about these denigrating incidents rather than shedding tears on the grave of the principles of communal, lingual and traditional integrity dreamt by the people who sacrified their lives to set this country free.
I really feel grieved when see people like Varun gandhi slaughtering their intellectual remains and getting ready into the corpulent body of political effigy of selfishness, nefarious actions and inhuman deeds of achieving the success easily.
I have always concieved politicians as a Non- ambulatory, Non-Emphathatic, pot-bellied and to an extent less educated work force. I remeber skimming through an article in Sunday suppliment of Times of India about the younger generation of the politicians , all of the them hailing from the Big names in Indian politics, all of them having thier alma matars as the best of the educational institutions in the far west. The author looked to me an epitome of optimism and showed faith in these rising stars when i had all the skeptism prevalent in my mind about these bloods.
last friday, I was watching the much disputed and TRP enhancer episode of how Varun gandhi was puking the venom out , making the Hinduism a ladder to step upto the pinnacle of politics of vote, the whole gamut of gullible voters of the poor land getting misled by the politics of hate. I find it an anethema to the helpless people of this country when I see people exicted about these denigrating incidents rather than shedding tears on the grave of the principles of communal, lingual and traditional integrity dreamt by the people who sacrified their lives to set this country free.
I really feel grieved when see people like Varun gandhi slaughtering their intellectual remains and getting ready into the corpulent body of political effigy of selfishness, nefarious actions and inhuman deeds of achieving the success easily.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
कोई तो होगी......
सघन वन में झुर्मुटों से झाँकती किरणों के जैसी,
कुमुदिनी की पत्तियों पर श्वेत जल के बूँद जैसी,
कोयल की मीठी कूक जैसी, सर्दियों की धूप जैसी,
कोई तो होगी......
जानता हूँ मेरे सारे गीत अनसुने हैं अभी भी,
संघर्ष पथ पर हूँ अकेला और मैं एक अजनबी भी,
मेरे गीतों को समझ कर, हाथों में मेरा हाथ लेकर,
साथ दे जो हर कदम पर, प्रेम के प्रारूप जैसी,
कोई तो होगी......
हर तरफ चहेरे ही चहेरे , खो गयी है भीड़ में वो,
ढूढ़ लूँगा एक दिन मैं, प्रयत्न चाहे जीतने भी हो,
फिर नया जीवन मिलेगा, फिर लिखूंगा गीत नये में,
सृष्टि के प्रारंभ जैसी, शब्द जैसी,चाँद जैसी,
कोई तो होगी......
कुमुदिनी की पत्तियों पर श्वेत जल के बूँद जैसी,
कोयल की मीठी कूक जैसी, सर्दियों की धूप जैसी,
कोई तो होगी......
जानता हूँ मेरे सारे गीत अनसुने हैं अभी भी,
संघर्ष पथ पर हूँ अकेला और मैं एक अजनबी भी,
मेरे गीतों को समझ कर, हाथों में मेरा हाथ लेकर,
साथ दे जो हर कदम पर, प्रेम के प्रारूप जैसी,
कोई तो होगी......
हर तरफ चहेरे ही चहेरे , खो गयी है भीड़ में वो,
ढूढ़ लूँगा एक दिन मैं, प्रयत्न चाहे जीतने भी हो,
फिर नया जीवन मिलेगा, फिर लिखूंगा गीत नये में,
सृष्टि के प्रारंभ जैसी, शब्द जैसी,चाँद जैसी,
कोई तो होगी......
Sunday, March 1, 2009
1st March 2009, 11:20 p.m.... In the search of options
There was nothing very new wid this Sunday... a pshycological feeling of triumph for not going to work.. My room is so devoid of sunlight for the full day that if i don get up forcibly out of bed I can sleep for the whole day without breaking the ornamental soporific ambiance...got up half heartily out of bed... whenever i get up late in the morning I feel like do not have anything to do and start thinking of the options...did the same thing today.. there had been a thought going on for so long ... I want to bring some revolution in the field of child education... I do not prefer to mention under privileged children as it is implicit that If i am tending to emanate some sincerity towards some children for thier studies , they are for sure underprivileged ..anyway... had dropped a mail to some Ms Aparna asking her for a volunteership in an organisation "Friends of Children" which I have got acknowledged while skimming through a report on child education last night on some website.... They had put some stats like 50% of the children in age band of 6-8 yrs do not go to schools in India and 58% of them are girls.. nothing excites me much as I have been observant of these facts..I know this is a region where we always have female:male ratio higher.. Well I would not go into detail of girl's education as I know I would be accused of being feminist....
Well, checked my mail... I have got a reply from Ms Aparna and she asked me to meet...again nothing to my surprise She also works for Infy...
I have observed it that this IT junta is really aware of social issues as they are found in plenty as volunteers for many NGO's ... still analyzing on what colud be the reason behind it.... when do they get time to think of these issues when they spent thier whole life in cubicles(If u search oxford dictionary, cublicle means a small box use to sleep).....I hope meeting with Ms Aparna would be complaisant as I have had bad experiences with these NGO volunteers....
Did some searches on google to find some children to sponser... did not agree with the concept the organizations are having...so dropped out the plan for now..
sleeping tonight also thinking of the options by which I can contribute to this cause.. I know this is something (an iota of the stuffs I have been doing so far) which I really want to do ... Lets see how I start up the things..May God bless me with the pluck to prepare an itinerary for this voyage....
Well, checked my mail... I have got a reply from Ms Aparna and she asked me to meet...again nothing to my surprise She also works for Infy...
I have observed it that this IT junta is really aware of social issues as they are found in plenty as volunteers for many NGO's ... still analyzing on what colud be the reason behind it.... when do they get time to think of these issues when they spent thier whole life in cubicles(If u search oxford dictionary, cublicle means a small box use to sleep).....I hope meeting with Ms Aparna would be complaisant as I have had bad experiences with these NGO volunteers....
Did some searches on google to find some children to sponser... did not agree with the concept the organizations are having...so dropped out the plan for now..
sleeping tonight also thinking of the options by which I can contribute to this cause.. I know this is something (an iota of the stuffs I have been doing so far) which I really want to do ... Lets see how I start up the things..May God bless me with the pluck to prepare an itinerary for this voyage....
Friday, February 27, 2009
संवेदना
ढलती हुई शाम को एक स्पर्श होता है ...
हर बीते हुए पल की सच्चाई का एह्शास होता है..
जब जागती है एक लौ के जैसी ....
संवेदना..
हर चेहरे में दूंदते हैं वही चेहरा रकीब
तन्हाई में भी भीड़ का एहसास होता है..
दूर होकर भी वो साथी पास होता है.
रात के अंधियारे में जब जागती है पौ के जैसी ..........
संवेदना..
हर बीते हुए पल की सच्चाई का एह्शास होता है..
जब जागती है एक लौ के जैसी ....
संवेदना..
हर चेहरे में दूंदते हैं वही चेहरा रकीब
तन्हाई में भी भीड़ का एहसास होता है..
दूर होकर भी वो साथी पास होता है.
रात के अंधियारे में जब जागती है पौ के जैसी ..........
संवेदना..
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