Ye kaunsa paudha hei...

Ye kaun sa paudha hei?
Is ka naam kya hei?
Mein nahi jaanti,
Mujhe kuchh nahi pataa...
Fir bhi mein use roz dekhti hun...
Uth te baith te, chalte-firte, sote-jaagte
use hi dekhti jaati hun...


Kyunki!!!
Kyunki iske dard se mein aagah hun,
iske benaam aahon se meri pehchan hei,
Aur iske mazbut irade se bhi meri sanasai hei.


Iski sukhi tahniyan,
jale hue patte,
murjhai kaliyan,
udas saya,
Na jane kitni ankahi dastaan sunati hei
kitni hi gumshuda sanson ka pata batati hei.


Isne zamane ke sard o garm dekhe,
Zindegi ki dhup wo chhaon me
saansein leta raha,
Har mausam ke tanz ko
hanste hue apne aagosh me le liya,
Patjhad me apne saare patton ko
alwida kahte hue
sawan ke intezar me muskurata raha...

Ye kaun sa paudha hei?

Mein nahi jaanti,

Fir bhi mein use roz dekhti hun...

Uth te baith te, chalte-firte, sote-jaagte

use hi dekhti jaati hun...

Mein bhi kitna pagal hun...

Mein bhi kitna pagal hun...


Khanakti sawan ke har paher ke sath...
Umadte badalon ke har boond ke sath...
Mehekti fiza ke har jhonke ke sath...
chah chahati bulbul ke har sur ke sath...


Chahat ki khili ghulab ke har pankhdi par...
doobta hua dil ke har deewaron par...
mawoof zahen ke aayina par...


mein khabon ka aqs dhundti hun...
armanon ka mahel banati hun...
jo palak jhapakte yun tut ta hei ki ...
uski karchiyon ke chubhan se...
dil se lahu tapakta hei...


fir bhi mein sapnon ke 
un karchiyon ko samet ti hun...
aansuon ke oot se muskurati hun...
dil ki weeran basti ko un muskurahat se 
abad karti hun...
ek aur khahis, ek aur ummid ka sapna sanjoti hun...
tute sapnon ke us barbad wadi me
shukr o sabr ke sath abad rahti hun...
mein bhi kitna pagal hun...
hei na...

The killer minute...

I killed him...
Yes, I killed him with 'the' minute...
it was very sharp,
Sharper than the sharpest knife,
Do you know? a minute can kill!!!
yes, it killed him...
and
I found myself dead...
Yes........
I died in that moment...
And I am dying every minute after that...
with an excruciating pain...
For the irrecoverable loss...
Due to an innocent crime...


The emptyness of my conviction...
Nailed a void in my heart...
A void forever...
I died out of the pain and...
I am dead forever...


I killed myself with that minute...
It was very sharp,
sharper than the sharpest knife...
Do you know!!! I killed him...
But
Thank God, he did not die...
But
I am dead forever...

Burning flowers

I loved him and he became mine,
And I lost him, when he was mine,
The gardener burnt his garden...
with his own hand...

The flowers were burnt alive,
with ashes floating around...
The plants were dead...
There was suffocating smoke in air,
the suffocation of regret...
with the smoke of an innocent mistake...
emanating from my heart,
from the glacier of the burden of regret.

I was burning in the fire,
in the fire of ice...
Tears kept flowing in his memory...
My eyes were empty,
My heart was desolated,
I was alive but
life was far away.

I could not die,
I could not live,
But I am still alive.
Counting days in hope,
waiting to get again,
a life, which i can never get.

I do not know what I got...
I do not know what I lost...
I am not able to differentiate...
I forgot the distinction forever...
The gardener burnt his garden
with his own hand...

Mera gulistan jal gaya...

Meine use chaha..
Usne khud ko saunp diya...
Meine use paya...
Lekin paane se pehle hi kho diya...

Mali ne apna gulistan khud hi jala diya...

Mein sulagti rahi...
Uske yaad me roti rahi...
Pachhtawe ki aag me jalti rahi...
Meri ankhein beraunak ho gayin...
mere dil me weerani chha gayi...

Mein zinda thi par
zindegi mujh se ruth gayi...
Mein mar nahi payi...
mein ji nahi payi...
Fir bhi zinda rahi...

Use pane ki ummid me...
ek kabhi na milne wali
zindegi ki ummid me...
kya paya, kya khoya
wo bhi samajh nahi payi...

Mali ne apna gulistan khud hi jala diya...

Shades of mountains...

I am always fascinated
to look at the stretch of mountains...
at the multitude of shades they have...
at the variety of colors they reflect...
at the dimension of emotions they create...

They change their colors as sun rises and sets...
they change their colors in summer with piercing sun...
or when rain reigns with perforated sky...
they blow a captivating spirit  in autumn ...
and touch my soul with angelic white brush in chilled winter...

They also change their color as clouds pass by...
Create ripples of emotions with their gradation of colors...
An absolute delight is the game of shades and somersault of passions...
and my heart prostrates at the feet of thy creator...
and says O Lord! Thy belongs to all praise...

You are the creator...
You are the benefactor...
To you alone I supplicate...
To you I will return...
O Lord! Thy belongs to all praise...

The Silent Valley

I was
I was always a silent person
lived amidst lot of noise
Last year
suddenly I met with
outward silence
I craved to talk more and more
and
ended up with lot of noise inside
This year
This year I wish to observe silence
a dignified silence
a thoughtful silence
that speaks better than my speech
I think thats the valley
I meant to be in
'the silent valley'