Monday, May 21, 2012

इसकी फितरत

फिर से इसकी फितरत नज़र आती है,
खामोश सा है पर इसमें फ़ितना है बहुत,
कभी ये देखता है मुझको बेज़ारी से,
कभी हलके से मुस्कुरा कर बुला लेता है,
वक़्त! ये भी ऐसा कातिल सा ख़ालिस है,
बड़ी धीरे से सिराजो को बुझा देता है,
मै बहुत देर से बैठा हूँ इसे भूला देने को,
और ये है की हर बार याद दिला देता है,
फिर से आकर मेरे सामने आईने में,
मुझे कुछ और ये पीछे ही बुला लेता है,
ज़रा ठहरो और अश्कों को ठहर जाने दो,
बेहया हर बार ही मुझको रुला देता है,
कोई उम्मीद दिखती है जब भी दूरी से,
चश्म-ए-नवा उसको पास बुला लेता है...


Sunday, April 29, 2012

Coloured fingers

With the colours on my fingers, painting the winds,
Frozen at the brim of the abyss, shining and brittle,
All the needs, dreams, loves and hates of my searing life,
Hanging on the grey pedestals of would be rocks,
Just before it all started, when I was just a hope,
That someone clinged on to as her best moment to be,
Can't agree that this was all going to turn out like this,
But it did and the rocks turned out harder than reality,
The waves of my dreams smashing against them,
The bolts of my silent seething pain striking across,
The canvas of my vision, a little dull at the edges,
But bright, stark and sharp near the crimson center,
And thunders follow the lightning, a tuneful of damage,
Etching certain marks on me and others elsewhere,
Drawing out masterpieces from hopes and dreams,
With a rolling stone, cold cookies and steaming milk,
Little smiling faces, running on like flowing silk,
A fair barter for what was lost, whispers tell me,
Just before I felt the ice melting away on my  fingers,
And I could see deep down the abyss, a clear lake,
With no reflections of the chaos floating far above,
Just a silent cautious acknowledgement of its reailty,
Impelling me to step back and to turn around -
To look ahead to the odyssey ahead,  clear and new,
To let go of the yesterdays, with my coloured fingers,
And paint my own skies, fields and rainbow dusks.

- Anubhav

Friday, April 27, 2012

The dark horde

In the silent, calmly violent corner,
Of the deluded reach of my eyes,
I find a sudden uprising of sorts,
Bubbling little shapes of all sizes,
Seen from a distance like a horde,
Sounds of swords smashing shields,
Almost heard by the sheer upsurge,
And the vivid explosive changes -
Of their forms against the deep blue,
Backdrop of the late evening sky,
The sizes of their heads growing,
With every tiny passing moment,
Nudging the realization of their rush,
Towards me into my fading cognition,
A second here or there, I might say,
But surely it happened that they,
Were upon me with all their might,
I heard no sounds, just felt them,
As goose bumps forming over my skin,
They passed on, over me, through me,
Fading on the other side of the fence,
Leaving me staring into the blue sky,
Yearning yet again that tomorrow,
Around the same time of the day,
They would come around the same way,
And this time they will crush me...
I find myself on the verge of praying,
For them to be real for just one dusk,
To take me away into their dark rage,
Over and across the wet weak fence,
Into a star sprinkled night of substance,
To wait across the horizon for sunset,
And then to rush from the distant sky,
To raid upon another silent lost soul,
And show him the way to be one of us.