Aayi

Dedicated to my mom...
This poem was written on her birthday..
Here goes my first try in Hindi Poem Writing!

Aayi...

Aasuon mein tu
Saason mein tu
Takdeer mein hai
Hai mere dil ke tasbir mein tu
Bhool naa paoon tujhe chaahke bi..
Meri zindagi hai tu.

Yaad karta Hoon main yaha;woh yaadein meethi
Aapke haath ka mast khana;aap ki haath ki rothi.
Mujhe gudgudaake,aap bi hasti
Aap ki woh meethi aawaz:
Abhi bhi hai mere kaanon mein basti.

Aap karte bhagwan se prarthana roz
Ki mujh pe koi aanch na aaye ..
Mein deta unko chunoti thös
Aur kar aata Kuch ghaav naye
Unki aasuon ko dekh kar mere ghaav bhar jaate ..
Vahi unki aakhon mein khushiyan laate

Diye hai Maine unhe taklifein kayi
Sahii hai unhone sabhi, soch ke mein Kuch samajh tha nahi!
Kabhi kabhi Mann me hi unse
Maang Leta hu maafi iss ke liye
Kabhi sochta ki, pooch loon maafi
Aur ek shararat ke baad hi sahi!

'Aayiii' karke mein chillata
Tu aajati daudte,liye woh chinta bhare nain
Main poochta tujhe tab
"Meri rajayi kaha rakhi tune?",
Chah kar hi bolta main woh,
Sunane ko teri loriyaan,
Paane ko teri jhappiyan
Aur woh meethi GN pappi
Jiske bina mujhe naa aati need,naa chain.

Jahaa tere chaukhat mein
Mujhe bhagwan dikhta
Ab tu hai uski chaukhat mein
Tu apne aap ko akeli matt samajh Aayi...
Mein yaha pe roz hu usey pukarata,cheekhta.

Aur nahi seh sakhta yaha tere bin
Har ek lamha hai,jaise ek yug.
Naa bulaaye bhagwaan toh kya hua mujhe,
Main aa raha hu khud.

On the ends of Good and Evil

(Based on the Cherokee legend of Two Wolves)


My old man used to say, that
There are two wolves in our mind.
One is good and bright,
Another is evil and jealous of others' sight.

Which one prevails?
Which one do you become in the end?
It's the one you feed, he said.
One to which your thoughts you lend.

There's a narrow alley,
Between good and bad.
We are the ones who choose,
No wonder sometimes people go mad.

What defines good?
What defines evil?
The prospect of one's life?
Or the principles we live by?

Is it the situations, which turn aloof?
Or is it the time itself?
Deciding if one's good self or bad self,
That is in a perilous state.

The World is black and white.
But how to decide which side it is,
If one hasn't seen the difference?
Which side of scabbard do we see: silver or gold?

One man's tragedy is another's happiness
One man's loss is another's gain
Circle of life continues,
Through a death and another birth.

Mind confesses,
That it has a dark side.
Everyone does, isn't it?
Sins are committed.
Rules broken, wrongs happen.
Mends are made.
True conviction, blind beliefs.
Though there's no righteous sin, is there?

One's perspective of life changes,
Like the shapes in a kaleidoscope.
Like the sand dune,
Shrewd change it is.

The life and its ways always elude me
Even after these many years..
Still wondering which wolf it is,
That rules my mind.

Inequality & People

Governments come and go.
Reforms are made to widespread equality.
Only thing that changed is time.
And money, from one hand to the other.
The hands that that gave money grew older,
While there were already new hands to extort.
They wore golden bracelets,
While the leather belt of old man's wrist watch withered.
Rich gets richer, poor continues to be poor.
Inequality prevails!

(published on Quora blog Inkdrop)

The Doors

I saw the doors of that temple open. God seemed to be beaming at me and inviting me in with arms wide open. But, the doors of my mind which led to faith, in God and temples, had closed forever; the day they threw us out of our own home. To build those same doors of the temple, which were open. I couldn't help but think that this temple stood on the grave of my home, of my memories. Yes. For me, it was a cemetery. Those walls that had witnessed my memories of growing up in that home, the happy times our family had , the grief and sadness we had been through together had been brought down. With that ,had crashingly come down my faith and my love for God. They tore our home apart brick by brick. But in doing so, they tore me and my memories connected with those each brick. Because each of them had their own story to tell about me. I had grown up with them. Now, I had witnessed their death.