ALTERNATIVE...

Draping the truth to adorn a lie,
A smile to easily utter a sigh,

Loneliness be woven within the fabric,
Love bleeds fast the color of a dye,

Unit conversion, best understood,
When a step away you see distance multiply,

Desires and longing and yearning arrive at,
A presumed past that pricks every try,

Crouching and crawling in the shadowy corners,
With words that subsume the urge to cry,

How long shall we sit and stare up above,
Lets hang “Mirage”, earth over the sky.

Artificial.

Tow along,
Unfinished the task, for yet its day,
Its not yet dark, the light will stay,
The cosmos awake, the dusk away,
Just a passing shadow, its month of May,
No snow, no storm to bar your way,
The fall shall never fall from today.

binaries

I lay listening to my world mourn,
Celebrations flamboyant while the sun shone.

Dark my color, darkness my name,
From Dreary hopes have I overgrown,

My silence makes each listen and lament
Every pain I hear cry out and moan.

For you the varied noises shall purge,
Let dawn be queen, let me be a drone.

Surrendering to a mild dementia,
You seek for me unknowing, unknown.

Your eyes tight shut in my presence
I simmer “Mirage” within, forlorn.

UFF...

उफ़… कितना शोर है यहाँ, सन्नाटे की आवाज़ में,
बेसब्र दौड़ती मंजिलें, पनाह की तलाश में.

इसे आँख का सुरमा कहिये, ये खौफ जो है आँख में,
ये अँधेरा ही तो है छुपा जो रौशनी के लिबास में.

कुछ खो गया था रात दिन जिसे ढूँढा हमने ख्वाब में,
कुछ आरजू में गिन लिया कुछ चाहत के हिसाब में,

जो कल गया वो आज था, जो आज कल के साथ है,
गुजारिश गुलिस्तान की है जो खिल उठे इस ख़ाक में.




An attempt at the translation...(bad though)


Clamour encompassed in silence here,
Destinations are seeking refuge here,

Call my fear the kohl of my eyes,
Night comes draped in light here,

I searched my dreams for things I lost,
Few put in longings, few in desires here,

Yesterday what went was today, my now is lost in yesterday,
I hope for Eden to revive itself, from this debris lying here.

VANITY...

Lo behold! Let’s go and vend,
Threads that took me eons to rend.

I must, share myself with the world,
On and off it has been my friend.

The skin takes time before falling off,
Every incision, someone comes to mend.

Yet somehow, the scars stand apart,
An archive of each, curve and bend.

The journey to purgation still unfinished,
The destination a delusion a dead dead end.

Scribbling on sheet, surfeited tales,
And these vain verses “Mirage” shall rend.

OPIUM...

Burnt earth bereft of sky,
Eagles swoop to stay behind,
Vultures rule the mangled heaps,
Caskets unveiled by shadows blind.

Owls sing in the praise of hawks,
Bats blinking in endless gaze,
Unknown noise screams within,
As night descends to skulk on preys,

And we all stay silent.

benumbed

Satin slashed, swell and sway,
Shredded, sweltering on the way.

Mangled bodies burning the furnace,
Minds indulging in mindless play.

The state solves the jigsaw puzzle,
My city back, beautiful and gay.

The idol of god is lit of course,
In the graveyards all night and day.

Let’s paint our faces to hide the tears,
Fears are for weak as they say.

“Mirage” you too, shall chatter and babble,
To hold the terrible silence at bay.

Kandhamal...

Let’s write our destinies on the leaf of desire,
Let’s bring back the dead from the burning pyre.

Why smear some ash, some vermillion on the face,
Why act like mercenary puppets on hire.

Let’s not think for thinking makes it hard to remember,
Let’s forget for once that we created the fire.

Why blow over cinders and feed them with straw,
Why not let it be subsumed in its own mire.

Let’s pour some libations for the spirits, who watch,
Let’s not knowingly get into the gyre.

Why pretend to sleep while dying tonight,
Why fall “Mirage” and pretend to go higher.

Post script: This post/gazal is an appeal to the people of Kandhamal(a small district in Orissa) and Kashmir, where they are killing each other in the name of religion, in the name of God. Do we have a right to take away something that we cannot give to others? It is honour killing. Which honur? Whose honour? The pseudo secularism in India has not failed to bring shame to humanity for so long now. the bloodshed in the name of religion has to be stopped. There is only one religion, the religion of LOVE. How difficult is that to follow?

Secondly, this genre of English Gazal has been inspired by Agha Shahid Ali's innovative use of the Gazal Genre into English.

BEING HUMAN!

I burst the blisters that cling to my flesh,
To dye the blood, with my frozen hands;
My cracked heels, thawing toes, perform,
A strange barter, between me and sands.

Together we grow, Together we suffer,
Finding our way, through times untold;
Moving past mirages, searching for oasis,
That exists, for we believe, will unfold.

I wouldn’t reach, the desired place,
I was desert, Desert was me;
I still fought on, shifting landscapes,
Churning constantly the cosmic sea.

I knew, the oasis was within me, yet,
Centuries of time to seek and strain;
Becoming the oasis, drop by drop,
Let go the desert, grain by grain.

The eternal moment on the vortex stands,
As the epochs ripple along with lands;
Yet I know, I will transform,
Renouncing the oasis, revealing the sands.

SILENCES

They slowly creep into my home,
Settling behind the shadows high,
In the forsaken corners,
And solitary spaces,
Sighing sundered,
Scarred.
Stoic.

DREAMS.

They stay suspended in reality,
Hanging down from the lush gardens,
Of green words with ripened fruits,
They grow on huge trees, ages old,
Long, thick, off shoots of language,
With heaving tentacles that,
Penetrate back into the earth,
Be one with the soil,
In the embrace of the roots,
To rise up all over again,
Undaunted yet again,
With new flowers,
Fragrance, Which rises and grows within,
Till all the senses are intoxicated.
To gather the world and ignite life.

ILLEGITIMATE SANITY...

She sat in the corner of the room,
Gnawing at her words,
Licking at the piece of paper,
Where lay her meaningless rants
Carefully swallowing every crumb
Of her vomit on the page;
Her bare truth, her naked instincts;
An acid that brew her soul as ate her body

Acid that could not be sustained anywhere,
Acid that was not to be borne anywhere,
Acid that was to be, to be.
Acid that she had to be.

She had to scald and seethe
Into acid find retreat, before
She be welcomed back again
To this world, for the sane.

Parallels.

While living the lines,
In mind, through mind;
I wander far away,
Slowly I draw this,
Magical power of apparition,
Fused with multiple identities,
I cry, smile and breathe
The air that whips the images,
While the feelings bleed,
Tears purgate my aimless efforts,
Of creating a line;
Or being created as a line;
Celebrating the protagonist.

I close the pages,
I come back,
And go on about my endless chores,
Struggling for life;
Struggling against life;
Apparitions suddenly coming to life;
In faces I meet on way to work,
Lines that ooze lives in my ears,
Over the endless phone calls;
When I close my eyes and sit back,
To let the mind untangle a bit,
A question whirls around,
Who is not a protagonist?

the third world

comma full stop exclamation question mark
visible blank spaces invisible dark places
the alphabet collapses the lines don’t meet
the word blurs on the wet canvas sheet
the lines break off and fall apart
the song is stopped as soon as it starts
they write and sing and they know it not
the Muse is dead the melody lost
no prayers or lamentations heard
no one waits anymore for Noah’s bird

The fear!

It crawls, beneath the skin,
Loosening, lumps of flesh,
Burrowing deeper,
And deeper, And deeper,
Conquering every inch of belief,
My body becomes a battlefield,
In need of victory and,
A desire for defeat,
The last shreds of me,
Begin to feel the siege.
A part of me is left behind.
The Devastated destitute self,
Unyielding, unmoving,
That sits and broods and longs,
But fights not back to reclaim,
Submitted I stand,
Against myself.

तेरी सुबह मेरी रात !

एक बूँद धूप की,
एक बूँद छाँव की,
रात की हांडी में,
सुबह की गरमाई की,
खुशबु .

एक टुकडा आकाश का,
एक टुकडा ज़मीन का,
रात के तंदूर में,
सुबह के कोयले का,
ताप .

एक टुकडा चाँद का,
एक बूँद तकदीर की,
रात के सितार में,
सुबह के संगीत की,
मिठास.

एक हिस्सा बादल का,
एक हिस्सा शरीर का,
रात के प्याले में,
सुबह की झील का,
स्वाद.

एक आंच ख्वाइश की,
एक आंच आज़माइश की,
रात क सांचे में,
सुबह के भगवान् सा,
इंसान.

The self!

In the dark sunlit woods abound;
Burning in the furnace;
The souls seen lighting up the Altar.

Rummaging through the barren springs, found;
Smoothened out shriveled flowers;
The souls being offered at the Altar.

The air thick with incense mounds;
Heaps of breaths dipped in essence;
The souls busy, scenting the Altar.

From the echoes of the lost sound,
Notes played in perfect cacophony,
The souls quietly sing to the Altar.

I stand alone, the world beyond,
With no soul and no altar,
With no questions and no answers,
A moment embracing ETERNITY.

The inevitable loss!

On stones, and caves
In clouds in waves,
On the walls, on trees,
In raindrops, in breeze,
On seals and clay plates,
In stars and fates,
On sheaves and barks,
On fabric, in art.
They wrote and wrote,
And stored and stored,
And saved and saved,
From dangers untold.

On paper in ink,
In photos, in print,
Histories, biographies,
Fantasy and mysteries,
Volumes and volumes,
Of ideas and feelings,
From floor till the ceiling,
The anxiety to preserve,
Against amnesia reserve,
The demented thoughts.
Those exist not.

Of man's first disobedience!

Boiling, blistering, simmering, sweltering
They scald the insides of my body.
No muscle, no bone,
Squirming, surrendering,
Imbibing more and more,
Seeking still more,
Watching the desires,
Turning into needs,
I
A sculpture, a piece of rock,
Burning inside,
On Infinite pyres of thoughts.
From times unknown,
Every now and then,
Through the dark crevices,
Spurts and slithers,
My sins,
My words.

In between...

The heaven and hell
Lying sprawled upon,
The garden of paradise,

Brooding over,
The creation of Byzantine,
Imprinting what Michael said,
Or did he,
Really?

The fantastic prophecy,
Zion, blooming,
Over the ruins of Delphi.

It is so and I believe,
Creating this universe,
Within, and the precarious balance…
The earth supported,
On two horns of the Bull.

In between...

I believe...
So do you…

?

The holy trinity.

With tatters on, he walks,
Sifting the garbage,
That was discarded yesterday,
Joining the broken bricks,
Collecting the wasted wishes,
Gathering the muddy mortar,
Stuffing in the mildewed dreams,
There’s no ground beneath the feet,
Some rubble from the blast,
The three stand as one,
The future present in past.

A story.

Lost in the labyrinths,
It moved in and out,
Of myriad maddening mazes,
Wide eyed skeletons staring,
Fusing with the thoughts,
Mingling with fresh earth,
The water from the tides,
Travel to the veins to pulsate,
The stale air swirls,
Sighs and sticks,
To the zombied mortar,
The charcoal churns,
The mortar is coloured,
It stays and moves,
And moves and stays,
And block by block,
Of beings dissolve,
And guide the zombies,
To many other mazes,
Bringing along the other forms,
Dissolving, precipitating,
And when they rest,
Blithe at a point in history,
The new story is conjured,
And the epic continues…

happy holi...

kuch rango ke saath, kuch rango ke beech,

machalti is zindagi , ke machalte hue geet,

mubarak ho aapko, apno ke saath.

If I may, just lay back for a minute to see, the words dancing, colours singing, moments silently whispering new stories, perhaps I would not sit and curse the wind that whips my hair like someone thrashing straw, or I wont call names to that fly that sticks around me even when I am through with my bread jam, perhaps I will not miss him but feel him right beside, perhaps I wont think that there is still too much to be done before this moment can be celebrated, perhaps the epiphany would forever last.
Only if I could feel happy watching the butterfly fluttering around and don’t feel the need to write theories about the wind and velocity, perhaps when I feel things more than I thought about them, I would certainly enjoy what is not than repenting about what is.
Perhaps only if, like so many great people, one day I wake up to realize that I have grown up enough to know what is good or what is bad for me, perhaps if I am able to decide what is it that I want to do, which again lasts only for the moment, coz I am caught unawares by the very next moment that comes around and throws me flat on my face and I realize that it is a new moment. People call me fickle, am I?

I won’t go on to say that I am committed to no-commitment, I want to simply share that this is how I feel. I won’t get into the question of whether it's right or wrong, 'coz it doesn’t really matter any more, the sharing with these words helps me realize one of the various selves that I have.

I don’t believe in changing myself 'coz I am never here nor there, am always in between, always changing, like the water that starts as a trickle from the mountain top covered with snow and flows on to become a gurgling brook, then a river finally reaching the sea, an other world, a new life and I hope to be the trickle that does meet the sea, becomes one with the sea and still stays that first drop of the melted snow at the peak bringing about a complete change in the weather, in time, in existence. Perhaps, I will be.