Category: Poems and Lyrics

The court was assembled
Splendid and majestic
People looked down
Awaiting the arrival of the King
A bugle…hushed silence…pronouncement
And then he walked in
With the edge of his robe
Held by minions behind
He took his seat
At the throne.
This is what he said:
“Last week when
I went hunting
I came across a pond
In a recess in the forest
With clear and placid waters
I looked down
And saw it all
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.”

He looked down at them
Mere mortals
In the presence of the Monarch.
He laughed derisively
Enjoying his power over them
No one could deny
His having found
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
As he laughed
He looked horrible
Uglier than the Evil.
A far cry from
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
But the King won’t know this;
There wasn’t a pond in the palace
And the king won’t go hunting
Until next season
When the pond wouldn’t be placid
And the water would be muddy.

I heard a flutter,
And there it was
On my window sill.
It looked small and frail
But with restless energy
And eyes alert and moving
Smelling danger and
Chance to peck.
What lovely combination
Of colours and shades, I thought
And freedom to move
With abandon.
You can keep people out
And even dogs and cats
But you can’t
Keep birds like that out.

I wanted to hold it,
Caress and
Feel the warmth of its belly
And be protective.
But, as I extended
My hand to do so
It flew and
Landed on the other window
I quickly moved there
And it flew
To the tree
And stared at me
Out of reach.
I envied the freedom it had
To fly the skies
And reach places I can’t.

I can’t, and it can
I was jealous of its colours,
Flight, independence
Anywhere, anytime
Even on the water
Over electric cables
Roof tops and ledges.
I, wanted nothing
But to be like it…
“Just a bird in the sky”.
“Rather be a sparrow than a snail.”
And then….. a gunshot
A violent and helpless flutter
And it fell like a ripe fruit from the tree.
Bruised and bleeding.
My fancy fluttered and died.

Why would anyone
Shoot down a bird
That brings as much joy
As a butterfly fleeting amongst flowers?
Will we ever
Make Darwinian Theory
Stand on its head?
Don’t caresses and whispers
Stand a chance
Against shouts and screams
And barks and roars?
Is Life an unequal race?
Can Beauty protect itself?
Does anyone know?
A Bird is what we want to be;
But, a bird is what we shoot…
Because….we can.

The radio played:
“I am a Paloma Blanca
I am just a bird in the sky
No one can take
My freedom away”
We pretend
But, we detest freedom
Of birds, animals, people
No one can fly
No one can soar
We have enough means
To shoot, kill, bring down
“Get in line,
Do this, do that
Follow…
Or else.”

It arose from the sea,
As vapour,
Still not fully formed as a drop.
There was unbound excitement
At being born, created
A separate entity
Proud to be by itself
Rather than mixed in the salt of the sea.
As it took shape,
Amongst millions others,
It was conscious,
As do all of us
That it would be carried
By forces beyond its control
To far places and people
To lose its identity again when it’d fall.

“Where would fate take me?”
It mused as winds carried it landwards,
“Will I fall on a tree and hang
On to the leaves for dear life?”
“Or will I fall in a pot hole on the road
To be cursed by drivers and walkers alike?”
“Or worse, on a heap of rubbish,
Carrying stench in the air?”

“If I am lucky,
I may fall on the Ganesha idol
In a procession
But then, I shall be quickly
Back into where I was born and arose:
The vastness of the sea.
My friends and I may also fall in the milkman’s pot
And he’d rejoice for increased sale.”

“I have no choice
But, I don’t want to be part of a gutter.
God, I am small and feeble,
Be kind to me,
Let me be valued,
By myself and not
As part of the gang
Together called ‘rain’.”

The cloud that carried him,
Deposited him
On the cheek of a small child,
Naked and hungry,
On a street in Mumbai;
Where it mingled with a single tear
That shot from her eye
On the death of her mother in a bomb attack.

“God”, it said,
Let a hundred drops fall
To wash the sin of
What man has done to man.
But, they should never
Forget that single tear from her eye.
I don’t want to be born again
And again, and again, and again.”

Pic Courtesy: reuters

[lineate]

[/lineate]

[lineate]

[/lineate]

[lineate]

[/lineate]

Pic Courtesy: Totally Cool Pix

[lineate]

[/lineate]

[lineate]

[/lineate]

[lineate]

[/lineate]

[lineate]

[/lineate]

Reproduction of a poem I wrote in May 1999 when Pakistan perpetrated the most heinous infiltration into Kargil, the Indian side of Line of Control (LOC):

जाना है तुमको आज इक फ़र्ज़ निभाने की खातिर,
इस देश की मिटटी का क़र्ज़ चुकाने की खातिर,
उठो ए जवानो सर पे बाँध लो कफ़न,
शहीदों में अपना नाम दर्ज़  कराने की खातिर I

दुश्मन ने इक बार  है  फिर तुम्हे ललकारा,
दोस्ती के नाम पे है फिर तमाचा मारा,
क्या भूल गया वो इक मुसलमान शायर का कहना:
सारे जहाँ से अच्छा है हिन्दोस्तान हमारा I

विजय हो तुम्हारी ये देश की है कामना,
करना वीरता से तुम दुश्मनों का सामना,
उठो ए जवानो सर पे बांध लो कफ़न,
सारा जहाँ करेगा तुम्हारी वीरता की सराहना I

इस देश के लिए मिट जायेंगे मर जायेंगे हम,
इक इंच भी अपनी ज़मीन का होने न देंगे कम,
सुनो नवाज़, सुनो मुशर्रफ, सुनो ए सरताज,
सीने यहाँ फौलाद के और बाज़ुयों में है दम I

अब कभी इस तरफ न डालो नज़रें बुरी,
इक तरफ लाहौर यात्रा, और बगल में हो छुरी,
इस बार छोड़ देंगे अपने पे काबू करके,
अगली बार LOC पार न करने की, शायद न हो मजबूरी I

जय हिन्द हमारा नारा है, हिन्द हमारी शान है,
खून का हर तिप्का हिन्द के लिए कुर्बान है,
तुमने सोये शेर को जगा डाला है मूर्ख,
दुश्मन, अब तू चन्द दिनों का मेहमान है I

Jaana hai tumko aaj ik farz nibhane ki khatir,
Is desh ki mitti ka karz chukaane ki khatir,
Utho ai jawaano sar pe bandh lo kafan,
Shahidon mein apna naam darz karane ki khatir.

Dushman ne ik baar, phir tumhen lalkara,
Dosti ke naam pe hai phir tamacha maara,
Kya bhool gaya vo ik musalmaan kavi ka kehna:
“Saare jahan se achha hindostan hamaara”?

Vijay ho tumhaari ye desh ki hai kaamna,
Karna veerta se tum dushmano ka saamna,
Dekho bach ke paaye na ab yeh ghuspathiye,
Saara jahan karega tumhari veerta ki sarahana.

Is desh ke liye mit jaayenge mar jayenge hum,
Ik inch bhi apni zameen ka hone na denge kum,
Suno Nawaz, suno Musharraf, suno ai Sartaz,
Seene yahan faulad ke aur baazuyon mein hai dum.

Ab kabhi is taraf na daalo nazrein buri,
Ik taraf Lahore Yaatra, aur bagal mein ho chhuri,
Is baar chhod denge apne pe kaabu karke,
Agli baar LOC paar na karne ki, shayad na ho majboori.

Jai Hind hamaara naara hai, Hind hamaari shaan hai,
Khoon ka her tipka Hind ke liye qurbaan hai,
Tumne soye sher ko jaga daala hai moorkh,
Dushman, ab tu chand dino ka mehmaan hai.

 

Sometimes I feel life is blasé
An alluring mirage that I chase.
Sounds of fun and laughter are
Like gunshots
Piercing through my heart.

Sometimes I feel I lost you long ago
You were near and yet so far;
Knowing that I needed you
But imagining that I’d live without you.
“Let me, then, throw another dart.”

The last time, our last time, when we talked,
I found you far, very far.
I wanted this, I wanted that,
I wanted nothing;
And you had nothing to give me, on your part.

I could hear many voices,
I could see many sneering faces,
And you sitting with them,
Laughing and chatting,
Your cunning perfected to an art.

If only….

If only, I could sit with you
And talk to you
And look into your eyes
And find me there.
As the only one in your heart.

If only…

If only, I could die.
And mingle with the breeze
And touch you anywhere, anytime;
And caress you within and without
Without seeing you apart.

If only….

They’d destroy the world,
Leaving just the two of us alive.
If only, God Himself would command
You and I
To be a new world’s start.

God, do me a great favour
Offering to you I will hike,
Let people read the stuff I put up,
And not just press the ‘Like’.

Also, God, this is straight from heart,
With no offences meant,
Why don’t you goad them on sometimes,
To press the button called ‘Comment’?

There are others who don’t even ‘Like’ God,
So, those who do are better;
But, whilst I like their spirit God,
I also want to see their letter.

If we are not careful, God,
We’ll soon reach a time,
When people will press buttons at random,
With no real reason or rhyme.

So, let everyone who likes this post,
Tell us his own valued point;
So that rather than being one-sided,
This effort will be joint.

Who knows, while doing so,
We may actually discover the gold;
That is hidden somewhere in the heart,
But is patiently waiting to be told?

Lets have one day of the week,
When we shall actually share our thought,
And simply not press the button ‘Like’,
And hope to convey all we’ve got.

This post is devoted to a friend of mine who remarked to me that writing poems is as easy as twiddling thumbs and that he could give me a run for money. Here goes:

मनकोटिया जी अपने आप को कहते थे कवी,
एक दिन इसी बात पे झड़प बैठा रवि,
कहने लगा, “शायरी क्या है, कविता क्या है कुछ तो जानते हो,
के तुक्के को ही कविता का रूप मानते हो?”

“यारों पे व्यंग करने के और भी रास्ते हैं,
कई और साधन हास परिहास के वास्ते हैं,
इस लिए कविता पर ही क्यूँ अत्याचार करते हो,
अपना और दोस्तों का समय बर्बाद करते हो”

“कविता लिखने के लिए पेन पेपर सब कुछ है आपके पास,
लेकिन दिमाग में आपके भरी हुई है घास,
ऐसे दिमाग की प्रेरणा को गधे ही भा सकते हैं,
पड़ने के बाद कम से कम पेपर तो खा सकते हैं.”

“लिखना ही है तो मान लो मुझे अपना गुरु,
और मेरे निर्देशन में कविता लिखना करो शुरू,
खीर खाने के बहाने हमें घर पे बुलाया करो,
भाभी के हाथ के माल्पुरे खिलाया करो”

“पिक्चर और डिस्को हमें रोज़ ले जाया करो,
थक जाएँ तो हमारे पैर दबाया करो,
दो तीन महीने में आप कविता सीख जायेंगे,
और रवि को सब कवियों का राजा मान जायेंगे.”