http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wySoQeD3dqU&feature=related
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
यह कर सकते हो?
बीज बोया…
कोसी कोख मिटटी की,
सूरज की किरणों के उगते
सींचा उसे सपने भर हाथों नें,
आंखों का अमृत छिड़क कर
पलोसा,
दुलार दिया।
और फिर ऐसे,
अर्सों तक,
बरसों तक
परोसा उसे
प्यार,
ओक भरी प्रार्थना,
पलक से छंटी धूप
और
कांच... बहती नदी का
ऐसे
उस पौधे को पाला पोसा
बड़ा किया।
आओ उसे आज उखाड़ आयें,
इस प्रेम को उजाड़ आयें.
JANUARY 16, 2008
Painting Courtesy: jacquewadsworth.typepad.com
लेह-लदाख
ढेर,
मिटटी, पत्थर और रेत के,
कहीं कहीं अचानक से पेड़ के भी…
ढेर,
जैसे उसने एक दिन खेल खेला हो,
अपने किसी बच्चे होने के एहसास में,
बनाईं बहुत सी ढेरियाँ मिटटी की
और लेप दी अपने हाथ आये रंगों से,
उमंगों से।
कभी मला एक पीला नीला हरा पौधा हाथ में
और गून्न्थ दिया एक पर;
दुसरे पर फैलाया हाथ भर कर सूखा धान
और किसी और पर बरसा दिए गेहूं के छिलके;
कुछ पर पत्थर बरसा कर
निकाल दिया रोष अपना;
और कुछ को प्यार से फुसलाया
पास से गुज़रते बादल लेप कर.
दुसरे को बहला लिया हरा भरा कर के,
और किसी और पर रख दिए पिघलते रूयीं के गुच्छे.
कुछ पर सरसों की होली खेली,
और खेलता रहा…
और फिर थक गया ढेरों को ढकते
और उन्हें छोड़ दिया,
किसी और दिन के खेल के लिए।
यही ढेर
बहुत से प्यार और पूजा के,
गूंजती चुप और गाती आंधी के,
हांफती ऊंचायी
और खेलती धूप के…
ढेर
पिघलते सूरज में नदियाँ बहाते...
यही ढेर बन गए
एक लेह-लदाख
June 29, 2007
Photo Courtesy: www.lehladakh.net
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I passed away
Today, I am very far away. Maybe I passed away.
I can’t hear my voice. There is such noise.
My insides speak but I have woken with my system crashed. I can’t understand the grammar. The words shout out at me, they form shapes but the sounds seem to rise from lifetimes below.
The song drums on my ears… but I can’t smell its roses, its rivers, its rain, its dusks, and the handholding under tables.
The long list of ‘friends’ scrolls down my cell… But someone curdled it last night and now it reeks of acid. It reeks so much that my arms have begun to decay from the hugging.
This world in front of my car… it seems to brake a little too much, a little too often, a lot too soon.
The man at the red light seems to stare too much and I slay him in my mind.
The cop tells me of rules and I strangle him from under my sunglasses.
My brows gather too much skin.
My skin is falling dead. The blood it hides is turning cold.
My eyes are turning toxic.
My lips are thinning from the polite hassle, the Smile is the ever-rising Alien.
These days, I wake up to Rage in my mirror.
I wake up to barbed wires around my heart.
I wake up to dripping blood on my tongue.
I wake up to a swelling of suspicion.
I wake up to nothing.
I wake up nothing.
I wake up to dripping blood on my tongue.
I wake up to a swelling of suspicion.
I wake up to nothing.
I wake up nothing.
I feel no water through my hands.
I feel no grass under my feet.
I smell no mud in the garden.
I see no birds around my trees.
I don’t smell the mango as I shove its mouth into mine. And even as its pulp drips, scatters, and tickles my throat, I can’t taste the blessing. I only gulp oxygen and it never returns.
I don’t smell the mango as I shove its mouth into mine. And even as its pulp drips, scatters, and tickles my throat, I can’t taste the blessing. I only gulp oxygen and it never returns.
This world is not my planet.
This world laughs too loud.
This world laughs too loud.
This world laughs at no reason.
This world laughs too much.
This world laughs in madness…
...And I have lost my madness.
This world laughs too much.
This world laughs in madness…
...And I have lost my madness.
I am mad looking for it.
Today I am far away.
Maybe I passed away.
Maybe I passed away.
(You have to bear me… so that I can be born again).
Painting Courtesy: http://www.strangefamiliar.com/
Monday, June 15, 2009
A river runs through me
A river runs through me,
one thin sheet of glass,
and if I turn rock at my edges and bends,
it cuts away at corners...
gnashing at me,
wounding,
bleeding me,
and flings me away,
into times lost.
A river runs through me,
and I am just about learning,
to wear it in a perfect fit.
Painting Courtesy: www.clatsopcollege.com/ River Spirit, by CCC Painting Instructor Kristin Shauck
The Bridge knows
Between your Inside Ocean,
and the words that fly off your tongue,
swings a bridge...
that knows,
that the medium
is not always the message,
that the words that roll off scalding,
smolder from a heart gone cold, sour and wounded.
That the words that fly off your tongue,
still don’t always sing
what the ocean’s song is.
The bridge knows.
Painting Courtesy: http://www.jamieandrade.com/
and the words that fly off your tongue,
swings a bridge...
that knows,
that the medium
is not always the message,
that the words that roll off scalding,
smolder from a heart gone cold, sour and wounded.
That the words that fly off your tongue,
still don’t always sing
what the ocean’s song is.
The bridge knows.
Painting Courtesy: http://www.jamieandrade.com/
Monday, June 8, 2009
Bout
It has this most snaky wayof creeping up on me.
Toe to head.
Always
toe to head,
in devilish glee.
In its first lurks of landing
it deposits little needles of weight
into the valleys of my soles;
and my toes begin to feel
like frozen iron bricks
tied to wherever I lie, pause or sit.
And then it begins to sneak,
up my heels, ankles, and legs,
flowing into my blood stream
and into the heart of my calves
breaking them into halves
of strain, load and pain.
And then, in a fresh bout of frenzy,
it turns a dagger in my pit
and soon I begin to smell it
riding flames inside my nose,
my breath turns up the temperature
and my eyes redden to the heat.
My limbs succumb to the stranger
my head turns a bulge of cloud
my jaw begins to stiffen
and finally my shoulders accept defeat.
Soon… I am limp mass
following the stranger like a slave
around my bed, slumber and pills.
It has the most creepy way
of crawling up on me,
and turning me dead meat.
Nothing quite tames me
like Fever,
the bad old bout of Fever.
Painting Courtesy: http://www.kmberggren.com/
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Kedarnath Singh's 'Tum Aaayeen'... And how!
तुम आयीं
जैसे छीमियों में धीरे- धीरे
आता है रस
जैसे चलते - चलते एड़ी में
काँटा जाए धँस
तुम दिखीं
जैसे कोई बच्चा
सुन रहा हो कहानी
तुम हँसी
जैसे तट पर बजता हो पानी
तुम हिलीं
जैसे हिलती है पत्ती
जैसे लालटेन के शीशे में
काँपती हो बत्ती !
तुमने छुआ
जैसे धूप में धीरे- धीरे
उड़ता है भुआ
और अन्त में
जैसे हवा पकाती है गेहूँ के खेतों को
तुमने मुझे पकाया
और इस तरह
जैसे दाने अलगाये जाते है भूसे से
तुमने मुझे खुद से अलगाया ।
जैसे छीमियों में धीरे- धीरे
आता है रस
जैसे चलते - चलते एड़ी में
काँटा जाए धँस
तुम दिखीं
जैसे कोई बच्चा
सुन रहा हो कहानी
तुम हँसी
जैसे तट पर बजता हो पानी
तुम हिलीं
जैसे हिलती है पत्ती
जैसे लालटेन के शीशे में
काँपती हो बत्ती !
तुमने छुआ
जैसे धूप में धीरे- धीरे
उड़ता है भुआ
और अन्त में
जैसे हवा पकाती है गेहूँ के खेतों को
तुमने मुझे पकाया
और इस तरह
जैसे दाने अलगाये जाते है भूसे से
तुमने मुझे खुद से अलगाया ।
Painting Courtesy: fineartamerica.com
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