Wednesday, October 5, 2011

मैंने सोचा था की मै हूँ…

वो अर्थ नहीं जिसमे मै हूँ,
कुछ व्यर्थ नहीं, जब भी मै हूँ,
कुछ अभिलाषा है क्षणभंगुर,
कुछ दृढ़ निश्चय जब भी मै हूँ...

उन्माद नया, भय भी मै हूँ,
सच कह दूं तो लय भी मै हूँ,
पर कुछ सरल से राग न जाने,
कैसे खो देता हर दम मै हूँ...

पर फैला लो नभ भी मै हूँ,
सब संभव करता वो मै हूँ,
उन पलकों के पीछे - मृगतृष्णा!
मैंने सोचा था की मै हूँ...

- अनुभव

Saturday, July 2, 2011

ऐसा क्या इत्तेफाक

ये भी क्या मुमकिन है की तुमसे दाद होगी,
फिर से तुम पूछोगी, फिर नामुराद होगी,
माज़रा क्या है की आँखों में सहर होता ही नहीं,
अभी कुछ वक़्त है शायद कुछ और बाद होगी...

इतने खामोश हो, कोई फरमाइश इजाद होगी,
मेरी ख़ामोशी पर शिकायत की तादाद होगी,
और कह दोगे की इत्तेफाक से हम साथ में हैं,
ऐसा क्या इत्तेफाक की हर पल में तेरी याद होगी...

- अनुभव

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


Watching by Anubhav Kushwaha
Watching, a photo by Anubhav Kushwaha on Flickr.

I often find myself watching myself from far above,
Wondering what is it that I am doing and why -
Am I forced to watch myself from far away in the sky?
Why is it that I am wearing a blue shirt and black shoes?
What is it I am looking for with my wide open eyes? 
Lost among people, places, dreams, duties & desires,
Seen within a shaded window somewhere at dusk,
And within another equally shaded window at dawn...
Why is it that I am not flying across the deep blue skies?
Why is it that I am not an ocean or a mountain or such?
Why is it I have so little and am wanting so much?
I wonder if I am watching myself or a shadow of me?
Thinking what it would feel like to be far away in a boat,
Or to be painting the skies with clouds in my hands...
Watching myself take leaps and stumble at small steps...
Realizing in retrospect of this place I have reached, where - 
Little dreams are not so little and big ones are so small.

- Anubhav 

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Dreams in ink

In a hidden world, there are things to be found,
A thought, a dream, a teddy bear or a broken hand,
Etching dreams on the white paper of memories,
With ink spills and beautiful curves spread across…

Red check marks reminding of the cold mornings,
With fresh apples, milk and bread to start the day,
And sometimes reminding of the hearts you drew,
On the small paper card which was thrown away…

Little circles of blue, holding hands, going around,
With some little shiny shoes and some not so shiny,
Yelling, screaming, laughing, crying and whispering,
Sharing hundreds of things wandering in little heads…

Green pencils draw the grass where you used to run,
Every evening with the hope to reach the pillar first,
Ink spills reminding of the moments when you did,
And realized that sometimes it meant reaching alone.


Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Fictitious reality

In the deep blue moment, a few minutes after sunset,
There is something wandering around the fringes of vision,
A subtle sound, a sullen thought of something that may be,
Or of something that might have been; something different.
But how often do we have a moment after sunset to pause;
And to think of what reality really is? Of what we really are?
Is it real? What is happening? Or what might have happened?
Is possibility a reality? Is hope a reality? Or is it all a dream?
A little bit of both perhaps or just a little bit of nothing…
I say, yesterday had meaning and then I say it didn’t!
Is tomorrow’s reality a reflection of yesterday’s dream?
When I touch; Am touched; Smile; Cry; I win; I lose;
When I was born to live and when I live to die, what’s real?
How different is reality from fiction? Is everything a dream?
What if someone is dreaming us and we are but figments –
Of an imagination gone awry? Would we ever know?
Living each day as it passes, counting, celebrating, mourning,
Waiting for the day for someone to say, “Wake up,
You’ve been sleeping for too long, dreaming up your life”,
When the moment comes, call it a good story and go to sleep.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

What happens if you die on facebook?

(Click image to enlarge it)

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Being Human

When you fly, don’t you feel like falling down?
Just once, to see what it feels like to crash,
To find the very bare grit rub against your shin,
To yell out in pain, to feel alive, to feel human…
To be human! What is it? Is it about winning? Losing?
Is it about changing the world? Is it about silence?
Or is it about whispering while holding hands –
Of someone that you know will not be around…
Is it about running fast when you feel scared,
Not stopping to look behind, running, breathless,
Fast as you can, to survive, to come back again,
To stand in the corner and be afraid once more…
Or when you stand in the center of the room,
Claps echoing in your ears, is that being human?
Feeling like the pivot of the universe, the only one,
Around which the world deserves to move slowly…
It is not about none of it, I have done it all -
And I can’t call myself human, I won’t die, I can fly,
Being human is about having just one chance,
Just one go at it - at happiness with a deadline.