The Funeral: Grave Diggers

I was buried not long ago, 

Without much fan or fare, 

Few lips that prayed a requiem low, 

Few anecdotes to share,

I had in mind a different scene, 

Oft in dreams I dreamt, 

Few limericks for what I'd been, 

To inveigle and to tempt,

Shrouded in a regal way, 

And a countenance to match, 

Emotions running high, astray, 

A mournful lovely batch,

But alas! It dawned on me, 

Brought forth a lonely tear, 

The world that we now touch and see, 

Is the very one we fear,

We love those who would never care, 

In earnest bits of heart and soul, 

Sleepless nights, Into darkness stare, 

On fragile hearts, memories toll.

My Masterpiece

On parchments fine, 
In vain I try, 
To build in verse a masterpiece, 
My very own last supper in rhyme, 
A futile attempt to reason, 
With words of mine,tainted, 
Hollow and bare, 
Shamelessly hers to claim, 
That clings to a fond memory, 
That my pinings conjure, 
As blooms to a long lost spring, 
A relic of affluence, 
Still painfully fragrant, 
In acrostics I try to spell her name, 
Only to deceive my own intentions, 
To put to order emotions mine, 
And I get lost amidst, 
Her tresses and my words.

Happy Birthday!

Another year older,

And none the wiser,

And such other cliches,

That remind you,

There's nothing as pedestrian as,

Looking in the mirror at an aging visage,

Greying ends of lost chances,

That whooshed past to ricochet,

Off the smooth surface,

Of liquid glass,

And form the humble reflection,

That fills into the mould,

Of your present self.

An excerpt from Vaikom Mohammad Basheer's Janmadinam for those who can read Malayalam: http://indulekha.com/malayalambooks/2008/05/janmadinam.html

Bits and Pieces

Holding my life by the scruff of the neck,
She casts me away with a dismissive gaze,
Like crumpled sheets of incomplete verse,
Discarded frivolously about,
The confines of her personal space,
Her sanitarium of sorts,
I picked up bits of blotted lines,
To spell out my luckless name,
But alas! Even with harsher lines,
She enlivens my dreary life!

Poet and Status Quo

As a cynic, I believe,
That cynicism is the last step,
Of Status Quo,

And the first step,
To revolution, a violent overthrow,
Of the existing order.

Indolence, on the other hand,
Is sublime, as the Poet,
Practiser of the art.

Speak of a revolution,
Yawn a little, stretch a little,
And maintain Status Quo.

Untitled....

Clinically precise, her slash,

My heart, now divided,

Two globules of throbbing pain,

Hemispheres like Mother Earth,

One dark, while the other's shined on,

Her illuminated thoughts,

So tender, yet so diabolical,

Like a tinge of sweetness abounds,

A draught that blesses,

Perpetual sleep.

To Inspire.....

Unfettered, would my thoughts soar,
Devoid of chains of tongues,
Hordes from hordes of people tore,
From the lowest of rungs,
Hangs tenderly the mortal remains,
An erstwhile revolution,
An uprising, now spirits wane,
A fading remonstration,
To what ends were the swords drawn?
Why the blood was spilled?
Alas! An unforgiving dawn,
All our defences killed!
Illuminates our misdeeds galore,
The ebullient sun,
Rises above in legend and lore,
Bloody rivers that run,
Irrigating the dormant hearts,
Now motivated to strike,
Redder rivers in tributaries part,
Just as poets like!

The Foolhardy Clown - II

Woke up from slumber,
The afflicted Clown,
Wronged and condemned,
To exist in purgatory,
A barrage of poisoned arrows,
Against a felt-tipped dart,
In a mumble,
A voiceless sob,
'I've died and risen to die again,
Thou woundeth me with thy care,
My mysterious rhymes,
Have burdened your heart,
Your poor, fragile heart,
Innocuous lines in jibe and jest,
In a veil of careful rhymes,
I chose to speak in riddles,
When all thou wished was love,
I chose to spurn thy selfless care,
Lest I cared for thou,
All I have are islands few,
And you, the whole wide sea,
I'm a humble date-palm,
You, the oasis free,
I don't wish to exist,
As a frequent thorn,
Lest my repentance,
Spills out to burn,
Thy lovely face!'
And he dropped lifeless,
To the cold floor.

Republic Day

Aye fellow countrymen! Hear, hear!
Sixty four years have rolled by now,
Since the Big Book was made so dear,
Reverently, respectfully, bow bow bow!

For the hungry men have had the rights,
To express their views, congress peacefully,
To the boundless skies, set their sights,
And wallow endlessly in penury,

New dawns do dawn on horizons, Aye!
And shine ebullient naked souls,
They scavenge through the weary day,
Like pawns, damned in eternal roles,

You and I now cast our votes,
On the planks of exalted democracy,
Indelible ink, proudly displayed, like goats,
We bleat on eternally!

The Foolhardy Clown

The foolhardy clown, said he,
With a hint of remorse,
'I want you to, Oh love of my life!
To discard me like yesterday's refuse,
Crumpled and torn,
Wrecked and worn-out,
Like us and my promises,
Cross out my names on pages now,
Yellow with age and neglect,
Fraying edges, like journals old,
Of forgotten times,
Don't you spell out my name,
Like the verses once you penned,
Lest it bring my tune to mind,
And overwhelm your heart,
If you stumble across a crumpled sheet,
Of my personal verse,
Don't hesitate, for a second, love!
To incinerate the lines,
So it lets you sleep at night,
And live a blissful life!'
And then he sighed.

The Poet and the Wise Man

What is the point of life,
A wise, unhappy man opined,
Hurdles deter at every strife,
The will to survive the daily grind,

Tireless, our existence crawls,
Nearing its eventual destiny,
To the ground, when time stalls,
Would raze our fruitless mutiny,

Things we hope to leave behind,
Seldom stand the test of time,
Ashes and dust merely do remind,
The living, of an uneasy, dreary rhyme,

War and peace and love and tumult,
Are mere distractions for the soul,
The cards that we are often dealt,
A game that cries instantly foul,

Oh Wise One! Said the poet he,
Do hear my penny's worth,
Through my eyes for a moment see,
The world I do put forth,

The quest for the bigger picture leaves,
The best of us in pain,
But for the man who still believes,
There's a world in each refrain,

The mounds of dust thou often see,
Are my fanciest memories,
That float the vacuous realm free,
My whims and my little vanities,

A moment's heat, a second's smile,
A gentle touch, a dainty tease,
A harmless wink, a lover's guile,
An hour's war, a minute's peace,

And the air that I shall breathe,
A testament to my existence,
And the ground I tread beneath,
And marks I leave of penitence,

Odes to her grace and form I write,
In the hope that someday far away,
My verse would flatter and delight,
Her, in pages carelessly cast away,

Oh Wise One! Do you now see,
The world I paint, My canvas bright,
To live in moments or merely flee,
Is one's own choice, is one's own right,

You tell your stories woebegone,
I spin a beautiful yarn,
Together from us a life is born,
Dusk and night and day and dawn!

Father and Son

From my innate flawed self,
I'd spawn forth a luckless one,
Stuff his cradle and baby shelf,
With little teddies and fears unknown,

On lullabies that I fondly sing,
Subliminal bigotry to put to sleep,
On tender rhymes that I often bring,
Intricacies dear to forever keep,

Him and his wildest dreams in check,
Lest they wander aimlessly,
Through streets of sanity bedecked,
With gems and jewels strewn generously,

Clothe him in robes of scarlet red,
Fetter his innocent soul in place,
And on the streets, listless I tread,
I reserve for him a special place,

Fables I recite on his bedside,
Would kindle in him a raging fire,
In vain to douse the flames he'd try,
Trapped in a perpetual spinning gyre,

In his piggy bank, I'd put,
The coins my coffers abound,
Stamped on, the ships of hope that sank,
Flotsam and Jetsam lost and found,

At leisure, I would take him out,
To show the life I lived,
In nightmares he would scream and shout,
In tongues the gods forbid,

Reverence as a virtue not,
His heart would ever imbibe,
And in bliss, My tiny tot,
Would leap with pride and joy,

Behind the venetian blinds I'd stand,
Would swell my chest in pride,
Unwittingly to a hostile land,
I transport him, side by side,

And thus the nails in his coffin, I,
Would drive in ever so lovingly,
A bitter man, he shall too try,
To leave his mark unwittingly!

My Sepulchre (By the Sea)

You were the waves that once caressed,
The sands of the vast expanse, My heart,
And I with every rolling touch,
Would soak in me thy loving care,


Sometimes you would purposely leave,
A foamy stretch of remembrance,
That I would Oh! From the Sun then shield,
Lest the bubbles should sparkle no more,


Sometimes you would carelessly leave,
Little puddles of saline joy,
That I would lap up gingerly,
For a distant, familiar aftertaste,


And how the words so fondly writ,
Would disappear with thy ebb and flow,
And how very possessively so,
Thou wished for my companionship,


Thou would so often relics bring,
From the depths of thy roaring sea,
Flotsam and Jetsam of ancient ruins,
In hope of a smile or a grateful nod,


And the sparkling in thy fluid form,
As I watch you slip and glide away,
Would effervesce till the time crumbles,
To bring to view thy beloved form,


But soon I grew weary and tired,
As needles in a clock would be,
If they too had as much as life,
And as spirit as much as yours truly,


And then for granted I took thy flow,
So clockwork, Yet unwavering still,
Unassuming, thou in fondest tide,
And I so very listlessly lay,


Now blows the wind and shines the Sun,
On my glistening Sepulchre new,
You still visit as when you please,
Unselfishly laying watery wreaths! 

A Translation: Nahin Nigaah Mein Manzil......... Faiz Sahab's Ghazal

My first attempt at translating a ghazal, a form of poetry that is usually very language specific to Farsi and Urdu, I've tried to retain the rhyme and the meter of the original form, again, it's not a literal translation.

The Original Urdu (English Transliteration)

Nahin nigaah mein manzil toh justjoo hi sahi,
Nahin wisaal mayassar toh aarzoo hi sahi,

Na tan mein khoon faraaham, na ashk aankhon mein,
Namaaz-e-shauq toh waajib hai, be-wuzoo hi sahi,

Kisi tarah toh jame bazm maikade waalo,
Nahin jo baada-o-saagar toh haa-o-hoo hi sahi,

Gar intezaar kathin hai toh jab talak ai dil!
Kisi ke waada-e-fardaa ki guftgoo hi sahi,

Dayaar-e-ghair me mehram agar nahin koi,
To 'Faiz', Zikr-e-watan apne roobaroo hi sahi.........

English Translation

If the goal is not in sight, For mere desire I'd settle,
If a glimpse is too much to ask, For mere longing I'd settle,

Even with no blood to spare and no tears to shed,
Dutiful is my prayer of passion, Pure or impure I'd settle,

My fellow taverners! Let the revelry begin now,
Empty goblets, No flowing wine, For mere banter I'd settle,

If painful is the wait, till then Oh Love!
Her future promises, For mere reminiscing I'd settle,

If no friend amongst unknown faces I find, Face to face,
My country's praises 'Faiz', For a mere mention I'd settle.......

A Fleeting Glimpse

I lie, curled up and subdued,

A scaredy cat by the corner,

She swallowed me in fastidious gulps,

Spat out, In copious measures, She

My sanity and caprice, And fed me,

With the mundaneness of her world,

Unwittingly, I manifest in,

The catacombs of her dark womb,

Pregnant, My thoughts with the allure of light,

The warmth of the rays of the splendid sun,

Le Soleil, The life that once belonged,

To me, And just for me it bloomed,

To ink my parchment blanche with lines,

Of personal and private verse,

Flowed turbulent my articulate odes,

To the silken gown that adorned her form,

And flapped in the breeze her dainty scarf,

Intoxicating the gusts of wind,

The storm, so stifled, In her tresses,

And the goblets, her bottomless eyes,

Would I live long enough to see,

This haunting, evanescent memory?

Mozoo'-e-Sukhan (Gul Hui Jaati Hai...) Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Another one of Faiz Sahab's nazms, a more ambitious project, I was a little more liberal and personal with this translation, it was very very difficult for me to bring forth the emotions portrayed in this one, if a single couplet retains the original's charm, I would consider myself fortunate.

English Transliteration from the original Urdu

Mozoo'-e-Sukhan

Gul hui jaati hai afsurdah sulagti hui shaam,

Dhul ke niklegi abhi chasma'ee maahtaab se raat,

Aur mushtaaq nigaahon ki suni jaayegi,

Aur un haathon se mas honge, Yeh tarse hue haat.

Un ka aanchal hai keh rukhsaar keh pairaahan hai,

Kuch toh hai jis se hui jaati hai chilman rangeen,

Jaane us zulf ki mauhoom ghani chaaon me,

Timtimaata hai woh aaweezah abhi tak keh nahin.

Aaj phir husn-e-dil-aara ki wohi dhaj hogi,

Wohi khaabeeda si aankhen, Wohi kaajal ki lakeer,

Rang-e-rukhsaar pe halka sa woh ghaaze ka ghubaar,

Sandali haath pe dhundli si hina ki tehreer.

Apne afkaar ki, Ash'aar ki duniya hai yehi,

Jaan-e-mazmoon hai yehi, Shaahid-e-m'aana hai yehi,

Aaj tak surkh-o-siyaah sadiyon ke saaye ke tale,

Aadam-o-havva ki aulaad pe kya guzri hai?

Maut aur zeest ki rozaanah saf-aarai mein,

Hum pe kya guzregi, Ajdaad pe kya guzri hai?

In damakte hue shehron ki faraawaan makhlooq,

Kyun faqat marne ki hasrat mein jiya karti hai?

Yeh haseen khet, phata padta hai joban jin ka,

Kis liye in mein faqat bhook uga karti hai?

Yeh har ek simt par asraar kadi deewarein,

Jal bujhe jin mein hazaaron ki jawaani ke chiraagh,

Yeh har ik gaam peh un khaabon ki maqtal-gaahein,

Jin ke partau se charaaghaan hain hazaaron ke dimaagh.

Yeh bhi hai, Aise kai aur bhi mazmoon honge,

Lekin us shokh ke aahista se khulte hue hont,

Haye! Us jism ke kam-bakht dil-aaweez khatoot,

Aap hi kahiye, kahin aise bhi afsoon honge?

Apna mozoo'-e-sukhan in ke siwa aur nahin,

Tab'-e-shaa'ir ka watan in ke siwa aur nahin.......

My Poetry and My Muse (English Translation)

The ashes of a melancholy evening crumbles,

To give way to night, bathed in silver moonlight,

When expectant stares would be rewarded,

My pinings would effervesce, at her gentle touch.

Is it her garb, or the facade of her countenance,

Or a spark that illuminates the murk,

Or through the refuge of her fancied tresses,

Shines ebullient the orb of night?

Tonight, my beloved's familiar form shall overwhelm,

Her latent kohl-laden stares shall pierce,

With a hint of rouge, Her effulgent cheeks,

Her pearly hands, Ornately embellished with Henna!

Thus the cosmos of my musings, My poetry,

She manifests my soul and every resolve,

Under dark shadows that centuries cast,

What did humanity painfully endure?

Vacillating between abodes of life and death,

Would I endure my unpleasant inheritance?

The abundant hordes, Of alluring cities,

Why merely death inspires their existence?

These charming pastures, Once teeming with life,

Why merely reaps hunger now in fecundity?

The obstinate, abstruse, cluttered hurdles,

That doused the flames of countless youth,

At every stride, A million dreams guillotined,

To illuminate a billion ignited minds!

And thus, There would spring numerous rimes,

The graceful parting of her playful lips,

Ah! The wretched beauty of her material form,

Opine! Is there a greater enchantment?

Devoid of my muse, My poetry ceases to exist,

A poet's dream, His identity ceases to exist.............

Chand Roz Aur Meri Jaan........ Faiz Ahmed Faiz

An attempted poetic translation, not a literal one, of Faiz Ahmed Faiz Sahab's Urdu nazm, 'Chand Roz Aur Meri Jaan'. To paint Faiz Sahab's canvas in a foreign tongue, is the humble task I undertake, but the ever graceful Urdu language, in my opinion, can never be restored in a translation. Nevertheless, I try to satiate my own ego!

English Transliteration from the original Urdu

Chand roz aur, Meri Jaan! Faqat chand hi roz,

Zulm ki chaaon me dum lene pe majboor hain hum,

Aur kuch der sitam seh lein, Tadap lein, Ro lein,

Apne ajdaad ki miraas hai, M'aazoor hain hum,

Jism par qaid hai, Jazbaat pe zanjeerein hain,

Fikr mahboos hai, Guftaar pe t'aazirein hain,

Apni himmat hai keh hum phir bhi jiye jaate hain,

Zindagi kya kisi muflis ki qaba hai jis mein,

Har ghadi dard ke paivand lage jaate hain,

Lekin ab zulm ki mi'aad ke din thode hain,

Ik zara sabr ke faryaad ke din thode hain,

Arsa-e-dehr ki jhulsi hui weeraani mein,

Hum ko rehna hai par yoon hi toh nahi rehna,

Ajnabi haathon ka benaam garaan-baar sitam,

Aaj sehna hai, Hamesha toh nahin sehna hai,

Yeh tere husn se lipti hui aalaam ki gard,

Apni do roza jawaani ki shekaston ka shumaar,

Chaandni raaton ka bekaar dehekta hua dard,

Dil ki besood tadap, Jism ki maayoos pukaar,

Chand roz aur, Meri Jaan! Faqat chand hi roz...........

A few more days, my Love!

A few more days, my Love! Merely a handful more,

Condemned to exist, Thou and I, Eclipsed in tyranny,

Bear with me the cruel winds, smart and weep,

My inheritance, My lineage demands, I'm but a mere cripple,

My shackled extremities, My manacled spirits,

Imprisoned my every thought, Every word restrained,

All that remains is courage, And hence I persist,

The drapery, My life, A tatterdemalion's flowing robe,

Patched, In tatters, With fragments of pain,

But the times of oppression would soon cease,

Persevere, Our laments would soon cease,

In this desolate, parched desert sands,

We must now last, But not forever stand,

This crushing weight of an alien conjuring,

We must now endure, But not forever withstand,

The air of distress that tenderly envelops thy form,

The numerous gashes of our deficient youth,

Moonlit nights, Fruitless pangs of throbbing pain,

Unanswered cries of the poor heart, The body's melancholic strain,

A few more days, my Love! Merely a handful more...........

The Oracle (Signs)

The oracle in her infinite wisdom bright,

Wrote for us an esoteric tale,

In a specious cuddle, drowned in moonlight,

Thou and I, In a yacht set sail,

To the abode of hers in the clouds,

Bickering like the mighty rain and shine,

In a quest to appease the massive crowds,

Gargantuan egos, yours and mine,

Would we ever in our separate ways exist?

Or blow up in a cloud of smoke?

Would we merely in the others' dreams persist?

'Halt!', In a booming voice she spoke,

And laid to rest our crazy whims,

'March to the rhythm of thy hearts',

She opined as the moonlight dims,

And the smouldering fire in us starts,

To crackle, And the moonless night enwraps,

You and me in a warm embrace,

The twinkling in thy eyes it straps,

Our throbbing, tired hearts in place!

The Ballad of Pine - IV

The breeze it carried tenderly,

The familiar scent of my muse,

Whiffs of heaven and hell in a potpourri,

The nectar of spring, the desolate autumn,

In a melange of oxymorons,

It follows me around like shadows,

The ones that pining souls cast,

On each other's personal spaces,

In the farthest corner of a private memory,

A musing or a few lines of poetry,

An ode, a sonnet or a humble limerick,

Her inimitable footsteps plastered about,

Inaccessible levels of layered emotions,

Under the sun she burns my skin,

In the moonlight she burns my soul,

And the perfumed vespertine breeze,

Burdens my poor, lonely breast,

The punctual rooster cries aloud,

To sear open a million inward wounds,

My muse's longish fingernails,

Plows deep into my tired flesh,

And I profusely pour out,

A scarlet stream of hapless dreams,

And transcend to perpetual damnation,

My beloved muse and I!

The Black Widow

The black widow,
She shakes her shapely behind,
A barrage of urticating hair,
Like poisoned shards of fiber glass,
Pierce the skin of my tender being,
Tears open my laughable defense,
And lodges between my tired flesh,
Pours silently from my poisoned veins,
A scarlet stream of beautiful thoughts,
And as I lie enervated,
She pounces on her choicest prey,
And seals the deal,
A fatal sting,
Paralysed, I see just a blur,
Beyond my tingling extremities,
And my tumbling confused self,
Dissolves in her treacherous bile.

The Arrival

Trails of tears wash away the trails of blood,

And leaves a little bundle of joy,

Like the mild warmth of the sun in spring,

And the bubbles in a cold autumn stream,

Her unfamiliar cries announce,

Beams of light through darkest doors,

And spews fragrance into the tired souls,

Sweaty hands and sighs of relief,

Amazement at the wondrous miracle,

Thankful in our silent prayers.........

The Second Fiddle

The second fiddle in a dreamy triplet,

Churns out a melancholy strain,

But alas! A chivalrous baritone,

Drowns the serenading refrain!

The Crystal Ball

I wander aimlessly along the streets,

Where dwelt a long lost memory,

Like a dusty crystal ball that,

Rolled away never to be seen,

Beneath each piece of furniture,

I grab at each strand of hair and web,

In futile attempts to regain the past,

I slash my arm just to feel it throb.

A Sexist Jeer

In the ladies' seat of life I rest,

With my eyes tightly shut,

Lest a fairer, daintier one,

Displace me with a shove and frown!

Sonnet #3

The miles between a bed of live coals,

Simmering cruelly to singe my feet,

The air and ringlets of smoke enfolds,

My stifled urges and fears discreet,

I yearn for the air that gracefully held,

The plumes of thy timeless fragrance,

The curls on thy cheek that I once beheld,

And thy throaty impish cadence,

That clumsily broke into fervent cheers,

At every innocuous jibe and jest,

Gulping mouthfuls of indefinite fears,

And smothering every doubt in my chest,

I carelessly leap and sprint along in vain,

My feet and tired soul now rejoice in pain.

A Day at the Fair

In a cup and saucer, A fair of sorts,

Revolving clamps of rotating machinery,

The bluest sky and the comforting verdure,

In regular patters with the dampening crimson!

Look on the face, as melancholic as death,

Malevolent repercussion, overstayed the allure,

Amidst candy floss and tarot cards,

The piteous cry of a lovable man-child!

Strewn across the path the sabbath revelry,

Damp confetti and discarded tinsel,

Caked around the grass the ubiquitous vomit,

My day at the fair forgotten in a trice!

The Enterprise

Spawned is a creature in a gilded cradle,

Utmost care taken to keep it merry,

Even in instances of a bris or a mundan,

Or the taste of the sweetness of jaggery,

From a golden thimble, on a silver spoon,

Rejoicing, the spawners in shady attire,

Unbecoming of their thrifty existence,

After all it's one beautiful golden egg,

Wrapped in a quilt and warmer hugs,

The capital of the new enterprise,

Amidst shams would probably rise above,

The heads of the happy, cheerful revelers,

To transform to the comforting, homely shade,

To shield them from the dubious eyes,

The directors of other such enterprises,

To cast a superstitious, evil eye,

A blackish feline on the balance-sheet,

Almost accurate figures of erroneous calculations,

Of the ideas of credit and debit,

Gone irreversibly, horrendously wrong,

Of credits and unrealistic expectation charts,

The 'targets' in jargonic accuracy,

Each pimple absolved on the face of the enterprise,

An obvious rise in the targets set,

Every green-stained report card home,

Aghast and shattered, A certain dive,

The colourful building blocks of youth,

Gradually built the heaving behemoth,

Six-foot tall and head full o' hair,

The barter of life holds every breath,

The final judgement of credit and debit,

The ideal zero and probable profits loom large,

At the frayed ends of their sanity,

And with the strikes of the judgement bell,

Bated breaths now sighs of relief,

As the balance-sheet now tallied to show,

Definite success shines in the pearly whites,

Of the spawners of the enterprise,

Who now shelve mementos of their tryst,

Encased in ubiquitous glasses of shame,

A preserved prepuce and locks of hair,

Tinged golden in some dream of mine,

Still soft as a strand of Kancheepuram silk,

And a jaded trophy of a balance-sheet.

The Persistent Dream

I wonder what it feels in the clouds,

Looking down at the minions below,

Where camaraderie blooms a perfect hue,

Insignia in silver shines on proud,

Of sweat and blood the castles built,

Shielding from the torrential rains,

The grateful minions who hail thy name,

Sing thy praises in morning prayers,

And in a billion dedicated tears,

In the percussive melody of rosary beads,

A heartfelt, graceful genuflection,

I lower my stare, a reverent curtsy,

Blinds my world thy aura divine,

And if I were a tad bit braver,

Or a few leagues sturdier still,

A stairway to my dreams I'd build,

And if my blood like thine did flow,

On clouds I'd seat my exalted self,

And dance as the minions tunefully bellow,

Rhymes in the praise of their saviours!

My Rose

How unfortunate am I in love,

I ache with interwoven pangs,

The nectar sweet as summer showers,

In my cupped palms I hold,

Like the sourest grapes of yore,

Helplessly I try to partake the wine,

The thorn that the rosy goblet puts forth,

Punctures my heart to a shattered tale!

The Proposal

The weight of a burden off my chest,

I elegantly let fall,

A stake that I thrust so lovingly,

Through her unassuming heart,

The drops of blood like our minds coalesce,

To clot as a single entity,

We danced in a gardener's delight,

Proud of his hybrid fragrant bloom,

Little did I realize the colossal weight,

An anchor thrown in the wildest sea,

In situ I live my horrid nightmare,

I stare forlorn into the eyes,

On the visage of my grand decadence,

I let an ambiguous salty tear,

Drop into the saline, dead sea.

Her Waltz

A veneer of warmth covered her soul,

Tenderly clutched by determined fists,

I gulped down my better judgement,

With a swig of her summer wine,

Choicest grapes and subtle emotions,

Her subterfuges now floral patterns,

That adorn her enchanting evening gown,

The gyrations of her smallish waist,

A strong, heady brew, a helpless me,

To this waltz I unwittingly sway,

The tune, the harrowing requiem,

And in the breadth of an inch of time,

I manifest within my darkest fears.

Beyond the Veil

I tiptoe into my very own heart,

Beating a rhythmic lub-dub,

Reminiscent of a tender being,

That frequents my desirous nightmares,

A black cape over a silky black coat,

Blinds and binds my remnant senses,

Clouds my conviction with smoky fear,

Strange manifestations, my pinings transform,

To a thriving living form,

And curls quite like a feline scarf,

Around the breadth of my icy feet,

Like mink on a coquette neckline,

In my mind, On my lap her I seat,

To caress the epitome of brood,

Trembling fingers over luxurious hide,

Adorned with zeal and lethargy the same,

And assure myself of her fragility,

My end and my means........

Sonnet #2

I long for the warmth of her embrace,

Like the blanket of summer air,

Fragrant and heady like the enchanting mace,

A frantic heart in exhilaration, An affair

Of hearts in mystical bliss,

Ignorance of the tangible mundane,

Teems with the fecundity once amiss,

I float weightless on this breeze arcane,

Sprouting wings I glide ephemeral,

To the garden that she oft nurtures,

Discreet, I spawn an urge chimeral,

And I, the moth her glow enraptures,

The astral shimmering in her bottomless eyes,

I delved and drowned, Never to rise!

Moments

I tilted my head in disappointment,

And stared blank the longest moment,

Anticipation of a pat or a velvety touch,

I cared not much to let her know,

Any more than cryptic signals,

A tilt, a tear and glassy stares,

Merely all I cared to venture,

And now, As I relive the times,

The longest moment grows longer,

And engulfs in a time warp,

My solitude and Me.

P.D.

I stand desperate like,

A musician through a jingle,

A painter on a billboard,

A racer at a cab-wheel,

An agnostic in a church band,

A believer with a thorny crown,

A nudist draped in coal-tar,

An actor pretending to get along,

A seer with a member-less retinue,

A seed strewn haphazard in a lifeless drought,

A thinker as a trite cog,

A poet drowned in wordless pools,

And as a romantic in damned solitude,

I persist.

Untitled

वक़्त के साथ बदलतीं हैं करवटें,

सुनाएँ एक क़िस्सा तुमको,

अगर लगे ये तुम्हें नामुम्किन,

तो सब्र करें और सुनें! १ ||

'ये बच्चों के खेलने की चीज़ नहीं',

मय्या से सुनते बड़े हुए,

खेल-ए-जवानी ने भुला दी बात,

पचताए, और आज ये रच दिए! २ ||

ग़ज़ल-ए-मोहब्बत या नज़्म-ए-ख़ौफ़,

यह तो तुम ही हमें बताओ,

प्रारंभ किए थे इन अल्फ़ाज़ से,

'मुझसे दोस्ती करोगे?'! ३ ||

लाचार थें हम या बदनसीब,

ये न जाने हम कभी,

'हम सब तो रंगमंच की कठपुतलियाँ हैं',

बस इसी सोच से सहलाते! ४ ||

इश्क़-ओ-मोहब्बत थोंपा गया,

एक शरद आधी रात में,

झूल रहे थे हम बेफिक्र,

उस मौन काल में जम गए! ५ ||

'भाई, टेंशन नहीं लेनेका भाई',

कहते गए मेरे अनगिनत मित्रगण,

आज मैं बेचारा बैठा महफ़ूज़,

कुछ न कह पाया दोस्ताना! ६ ||

होंठ थे उसके या मधु की चषक,

डूब-उभरे थे उन चक्षु में,

घोंट ली अंदाज़ ने साँस मेरी,

ख़्याल हमें अब भी तड़पाए! ७ ||

टहनी-टहनी, शाखा-शाखा,

झूले उस मल्हार में,

चुपचाप से आज ये नरम पत्ते,

ख़ामोशी में चीख़ उठे! ८ ||

ज़र्रे-ज़र्रे ने हमें भरोसा दिलाया,

कि इस सफ़र में हम अकेले न अच्छे,

शोभा दे हमें वह हमसफ़र जिसके,

यादगार-ए-घाव अब भी कच्चे! ९ ||

फिर हमने उसको बताया गुनेगार,

वो जो सपनों को तब भी सताती,

रो दिया हमारे लिए दरिया,

और वो किनारा बनकर बस गई! १॰ ||

अब आरोप न उस पर लगाएँ हम,

ग़ुस्सा तो हमें ख़ुद पर आए,

कच्ची मिट्टी-प्याले की तरह,

आब-ए-चश्म में हम घुल गए! ११ ||

आज हम अगर कभी हुए भावुक,

तो आमिर के पुतले को मन में पूजे.

'आल इज वेल' का नारा लगाते,

और ये क़िस्सा हम सुनाते! १२ ||

Written for Hindi Creative Writing GC, all filmy topics, had to use 5 out of 10 given Bollywood's favourite one-liners(in quotes).

ഓർമ്മകൾ

വാടും പൂവിതളിൽ ഓർമ്മകൾ വിരിയുന്നു,

പുരാതന വസ്തുകളെപ്പോലെ ,

എൻറെ ഓരോ ചെറിയ ഓർമ്മകൾ,

ഓരോന്നായി സന്ധ്യാകാല നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളെപ്പോലെ തെളിയുന്നു.

ഒരു പൂക്കൂട,

അവളുടെ സ്പന്ദിക്കും കൈകൾ,

ഈറൻ വിരലുകൾ,

മൃദുസ്പർശനമൊരോർമ്മ.

പൂക്കൂടയിൽ നിന്ന് താഴെ വീണ ഒറ്റപ്പൂവ്,

ഇന്നെൻ പുസ്തകത്തിൻ പെയ്ജുകൾക്കിടയിൽ,

മണം ഒരോർമ്മ, നിറം വെറും ഓർമ്മ.

പിരിഞ്ഞകാലം ഇടനെഞ്ജിൽ ക്ഷമയില്ലായ്മയൊരോർമ്മ,

മധുരനൊംബരത്തിൻ അസ്തിത്വമൊരോർമ്മ,

ശംഖിൻ ഉൾപ്പാട്ട്, ഒട്ടിപ്പിടിച്ച മണൽ,

ആദ്യ ചുംബനം, എല്ലാം ഓർമ്മകൾ മാത്രം,

പുലർച്ച സൂര്യനെപ്പോലെ ഉദിക്കും ഓർമ്മകളേ!

എൻറെ വഴികാട്ടി!

വാടിയ റോസാപ്പൂവിൻ മുള്ള്, ഒരു തുള്ളി രക്തം,

എൻറെ പ്രയാണത്തിൻ എഴുത്തുതൂവൽ മഷി!

=>

Memories

On a withering petal, Memories blossom,

Like ancient forgotten artifacts,

Every single memory of mine,

Appears like stars in the evening sky,

A bouquet,

Her quivery hands, Perspiring fingers,

Her tender touch, Now a memory,

A solitary flower from the bouquet,

Now between the pages of my book,

The fragrance a memory, The hue a mere memory,

My impatient heart, The pangs of separation,

A memory, the existence of the sweetest pain,

The sound of captured waves in a shell, My sandy feet,

My first kiss, All mere memories,

Memories like the morning rays of the Sun!

My incredulous guide!

A thorn from the dead rose, A drop of blood,

The quill and ink on my parchment life!

Remnants(A half-remembered dream)

Drenched in sweat, In vain I try,

To repaint the majestic splendour,

Contumacious recollections creep and I,

This phantasmagoria, I render,

It meant to me, I know not what,

Maybe as much as my Muse's breath,

That clouds my biased looking-glass,

Into my subversive, inward, dimlit room,

Or a dusty, long-lost artifact, that

Avoids an avoidable corner, In class,

Avoids my gaze, In stealth,

Maybe a significant tear in gloom,

Or the Chrysanthemums in full bloom,

In a Japanese wedding-night,

Or on the grave of a valorous British knight!

'Ghalib', I had christened him,

He had fought with me till the very end,

Or I'd like to believe, the dim,

Grey eyes, The mast that had held me aloft,

And like the knight I'd like to pretend,

I was amidst the heavyset thickets, The soft,

Rustling of the verdant Peepul leaves,

Then the freezing Tundra, Merciless as ever,

Brought out in me my primal wants,

Amidst the shrieks of forgettable taunts,

Again, as my heart still believes,

New realms in her, I discovered!

Mere words for her, never would suffice,

What just a casual glimpse could be,

Fathom the depth, That moment precise,

Of the abyss, My passionate mind,

Invaders lame or third-eye blind,

Seized my momentary lapse, To flee,

But I fought, 'Ghalib' the victorious one,

With a gallop, My magnificent steed,

To decapitate the infidel, To make him bleed,

I believe I killed the wretched one!

A crack I saw, Like platonic shifts,

The Pangea, that once enraptured me,

Fragments I beheld, Now scattered in seas,

Confused as Frost with alternate paths,

Unlike him, indecisive, My wrath,

Rained down on my fictitious, bewildered self,

As I sought her peaks, My ever loyal fleets,

Scrambled up and down like little elves!

And now the vespertine zephyr it blows,

A salty sting my probable wounds,

A swansong or an anthem glares,

From the conches, As I bellow,

The words that now don't ring and sound,

Mere vignettes, Of a hazy dream,

And the eyes of my reflection stares,

At a blank, irrevocable thought-stream!

And as soon as it had begun,

In white flashes, It disappeared,

I remember footsteps, I still work the rhythm,

When I walk alone, Or sprint or run,

And the vessel I so diligently steered,

The vassals, And my lighter moments with them,

Sometimes I paint the majestic walls,

And let the dull drapery cover it all!

Now, read the last paragraph, and then begin from the beginning, a cyclical poem, written for the Creative Writing GC.

पंछी

आज़ाद पंछी!

ईर्ष्या से तुझे निगाहें भर देखता हूँ,

तेरी स्वच्छंद उड़ान,

मेरी अभिलाषा,

क्या मैं इसे कभी महसूस कर पाऊंगा?

हवाओं को ओढ़ते हुए बादलों की नरम छाँव में,

अपने मे ही राजा और रंक समाए,

धरती और आसमान मुलाहिज़ा कर,

क्या मैं अपनी शेष ज़िंदगी गुज़ार पाऊंगा?

डालियों से डालियों पर,

मुल्कों से मुल्कों में,

दिलों से दिलों तक,

क्या मैं ऐसे दृष्टिकोण के क़ाबिल कभी बन पाऊंगा?

अपने दर्मियान फ़ासलों के बावजूद,

इस आत्मा की गुज़ारिश सुनो,

अपनी उड़ान में लहराती उम्मीद से,

हमें निरंतर प्रेरित करते रहो,

उड़ते रहो!

I am.......

I am,

But a mere spectator,

Not omniscient, maybe not impartial,

I see at night, mounds of corpses,

Tendons in the beaks of scavenging vultures,

Who salvage from the wreck,

To keep themselves afloat,

'They're blameless',

My heart lub-dubs,

Survival is the ultimate goal,

And they'll perish soon,

To be eventually free,

Of all the sins of force of habit,

If I were the keeper of the keys,

Of the elusive golden gates,

I wouldn't ponder a moment to let them in,

But once again the mounds of corpses flash,

And leaves me to speculate and possibly punish,

But I am,

A mere minuscule mortal,

What right have I to mock the sky?

The fireworks that succeed a triumphant venture,

Possibly the lesser of the evils,

The devil's alternative, plausibly,

But how may I rest in peace at night?

When stabs at me pangs of guilt,

The unguarded mounds need someone,

Maybe a keeper,

Or probably a nurse to wipe off a lonely tear,

Concern on a now numbed, motionless cheek,

And now I see a couple parties in the horizon,

I think they're here to help me clean,

To wash to the sea the frothy mess,

Their guilt,

Oozes from the remnants of innocent souls,

Destitute bodies hand in hand,

But they prove me wrong,

A bewildered me,

I gape at the in situ crematorium,

A herd of necrophiliacs throw themselves,

Into the unassuming mounds,

The backdrop changed to a modern day colosseum,

In colourful vignettes,

Partly phantasmagoric,

The nation, the hailing spectators,

The placards and the vuvuzelas,

Out of the central Roman theme,

I float down to the still numb bodies in the mounds,

Even the parties emotionless in their motions,

Amazed again,

I grasp the real,

Mere glorified whores,

Mere attention seekers,

Shameful brutes to make me cringe,

I float in my nightmare to a nearby lake,

With the crimson not yet caressed its cheek,

I throw in flat, round pebbles that glide,

On the otherwise still surface,

Ducks and drakes,

The little game called,

I wake up confused but glad,

With a gash on the finger I cut on a pebble,

That left the pond slightly redder.

An Ode(To the Unknown)

This shady coconut grove,

Offers a revelation of sorts,

A safety net, this protective alcove,

Coalesce on parchment, inky blots,

Of pride, Of pity, Of admiration,

An inimitable, improbable cocktail,

Begins a new kind of titillation,

On this vast ocean sets sail,

Not a yacht, but a sturdy boat,

Of doubt, of seething, persisting pain,

I imagine a sneer, a colossal gloat,

Personified, the hope in the waters slain,

Where indeed does the Sun rise?

Is the scintillation just a ball of gas?

These questions in my mind arise,

The illusions of immortal beings crash,

To upset my being, a loud crack,

Brings out of a trance, my weary mind,

With the lethargy of an infinite mass black,

I return to this spasmodic bind.

Spilt Milk

Spilt milk,

The epitome of all that's lost,

From my grasp unwittingly,

Fell a pail,

On the unforgiving floor,

Leaves me shattered and blank,

Comes in,

From the kitchen door a cat,

Laps up the milk and the pervading gloom.

ख़ौफ़

जाने क्या तराना ये दिल मेरा,

अपनाने मे तुला है,

नाज़ुक डोर से लटकती उम्मीद,

मे ख़ौफ़ घुला है |

जैसे पानी मे खून की एकलौती बूंद,

से झलकती लाल,

टपकती मुझसे आँसू आज,

ये दुखभरी माहौल,

मे न मैं जी पाऊँ,

न जान दे पाऊँ ||

Sonnet #1

I have a way with words,

Is the belief in which I exist,

None the ways explain the chirping birds,

Or the fluttering butterflies that persist,

In my gut, the pit of my navel,

To haunt every personal thought of thee,

Rings like a bell, like a metal ladle,

In a metal vessel rotating free,

My head, the more stable reference frame,

And the cacophony, my ripply thought stream,

You, the pebbles, the one to blame,

The smooth round ones with a wicked gleam,

Clouds the eye, constricts the flow,

To the vast sea,still steady, but slow.

Fear

The greatest fear a man could fathom,

Is becoming the being he ridicules,

He wishes not to put a binding jinx,

And in him to let his fear manifest,

Back then hideous, a warty toad,

The mind sculpted, Its free will,

Like a wild, majestic stallion white,

Unreined now and lumped with earth.

The Mynah

Prostrate, A single mynah bird,

Harbinger of doom of yore,

I ponder what harm could possibly befall,

A stark naked, unintentional loner.

Human Race

A leotard of stretched tensile emotions,

Clothes the voluptuous form of gruesome whims,

A grotesque remnant sickly blob,

Crawls on the smoothened curves of conscience,

Does a back-flip into the pool of fear,

Leaving a trail of scattered sticky green,

That evolves to the familiar facade,

Of our very own human race.

The Note

I throw a crisp, hundred rupee note,

Right out the french window bright,

It wafts in the air like a paper boat,

On a makeshift muddy stream, A Sprite,

Caresses the bill with an unformed hand,

As it floats downward to kiss the sand!

Timeless, Our father's noble visage,

Shines bright like a star in the northern sky,

Crumply lines and blots successfully deface,

A barrage, of poisoned arrows whoosh by,

The one in the sky now caked with dirt,

With grime and slime, A generous flirt!

I look out of the french window bright,

With not a hint of regret that pricks,

A callous heart unmoved by blight,

Or pain or tears or a miserable trick,

Hope that a drop of honest sweat,

Would glisten and brighten the visage,

The old man in death.

The Pebble

A round pebble against the turbulent flow,

Eroded the sharpness the forest stream,

Nudges the edges like a hand so slow,

Firm in daring, To not effervesce and gleam!

The Ballad of Pine - III

'One day', She said,

'I'll be all yours,'

And wrests out of my fist,

A lonely existence,

Promises forever the shady grove,

Of her long tresses,

Leaves an awkward grin,

A momentous momentary digression,

My feet feel the ground,

Quite as hard,

As I left it a sadder moment ago,

Like my arrogant abstinence,

From all the endearing warmth,

Except the flaming mid day Sun,

That drinks from me my sanity,

With a hollow reed,

Painted on with cowardice,

Finished with flourishing drapes of fear,

Reminiscent of a cheesy glucose ad!

Ties that Bind

Enthralled, without a hint of doubt,

Not wealth, not fame, nor political clout,

Relieved, from the clingy ties that bind,

Now crumpled sheets of scribbled lines!

प्रिय सज्जन!

कटु कंठ प्रिय सज्जन!

न कायर न डरपोक ये कठोर मन,

हम न डरेंगे इस बार,

सीना तानकर सरहद पार,

करेंगे लेकिन न मानेंगे हार,

मन मे है ख्वाब सजाए,

ख्वाबों मे फूलों न समाए,

बहाकर दर्द का दरिया तेज़,

उस पर उम्मीद की नय्या भेज,

माझी मेरी अपनी ईमान,

नेक दिल की धड़कन समान,

चलेंगे ख़ौफ़ की नदिया पार,

तुच्छ हमें ये तेज़ धार,

इरादे नेक तो दिल अभीत,

होठों पर खुशी के मधुर गीत,

और मौत मेरी मीठी जीत!