Destiny

Is destiny my sorrow…
Or the reason of the deathly gallows!
Could it be my rejoice…
Else, my true respite!

What is destiny?
Who maketh it?

Thou is my choice.
My armour. My shield.
I am its creator.
In me lies its destruction.
I crumble it.
I resurrect it.

A spell of dark nights,
Stands a white stallion upright.
Paving the dim twilight,
I cross the dense woods.
Reigning a ride of pride,
I mount for my destiny.

Landing on happy surfaces,
My eyes greet ‘Monsieur Monk.’
Hands out two omens,
He demands; make a choice.

Son…choose black, choose white,
Carve thou best luck,
And climb the fate ladder.

O great monk, I replied…
Black is the robe of my scar.
White is my lucky star.
While I adorn the black,
I rise in the glowing white.
I maketh my own ‘Destiny.’
Destiny ain’t a choice to life.
Destiny is my way of life.

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Dil kyon rota hai – Tears!

Dil kyon rota hai…
Bebas tu kyon hota hai,
Saala apna hi koi khota hai,
Aansoo tu kyon peeta hai.

Anjaano ka mela hai,
Akela tu kyon sota hai,
Aahat teri sune na koi,
Dard tu kyon sehta hai.

Bheed ki awaaz sunn,
Hawa se khoj na paoon,
Tujh tak kaise pahuchu,
Bheetar se tu kyon bolta hai.

Khaamoshi se baitha hai,
Mehsoos kaise karu,
Dhadkan yunh ruk gayi aise,
Waada tu kyon karta hai.

Dil kyon rota hai…
Bebas tu kyon hota hai,
Jhooth aisa bolta hai,
Pal woh ek dhoka hai,
Tanha mann aaj kehta hai,
Zindagi tera saath chota hai,
Dil tu kyon rota hai!

Say a Little Prayer! A compelling read.

 

Om shanti…
Om shanti…
Om.
Chant. Recite. Scream.
Scream Loud.

Hello, anyone in there?
Can you hear me?
Its me. Hellos…

Ever wondered does God hear us? Do our prayers reach him? Since childhood our deep-rooted cultures taught us to pray. Prayers upon the first rise, prayers for the first morsel, prayers before bed. Prayers say it all.

‘Prayers’ – the tiny messengers to God.

From my kidding days to greying today, I’ve mastered my prayers thoroughly. As time grew my mental maths got much weaker but my prayers grew larger and stronger. Unshakable pillars engraved inside me, I guess.

 Truly undisputed. Aren’t they?

What is a Prayer?
It often makes me ponder. On a simplified note I’d rather say its my heartfelt convo with my 3.00 am buddy – God. Also it could be some kinda group talkathon which reels loud mantras and shlokas in bold chants. Is it a propaganda too of the societal rights and the wrongs we follow. Can prayer be ‘The spiritual habitat?’

Can a prayer compel me to look deep within and know the real me?

Prayer with Technology
Today, everything comes at our comfort lap. We need not seek hibernation in Himalayas and meditate with penance for days and months to reach out to God. Google Apps saved us. Our lives are much sorted. Technology helps us bridge the gap. Prayer is more of an User experience (UX) today. With the flexibility in its nature it offers an adaptable interface. One can program it and re-program it much to his/her suitable needs. All it takes is a simple tweet with a send button no matter where you are. The scores pomp a million views with a thousand likes on your desktop. I’m sure it has reached the palmtop of God too and now your prayer ought to be answered in a quickie.

 Are we nurturing a generation of mockery to follow the wisdom of Ai rather than the power of our own heartfelt?

I am stalking God
I follow God everywhere. Why? Because I fear. My fear is gripped tight underneath my heels and takes me places far and near. The dilemma of ‘What ifs’ is a choco-block in my head. Am I inviting some bad episode? Its like a game. One rule missed and the bad omen gets a ‘life’. The fear allows me to trade with God. Commerce is in my DNA. Bargains and exchanges become the primary oaths of my prayer.

 Am I challenging the very being of God and the immortal strength in prayers?

I am an Atheist
I don’t pray. I don’t believe in it. I don’t know its type. The non-prayer is my real type – my true religion. That’s my pattern. Prayer ain’t in captivity but in liberation. Prayer lies in a simple connect with the nature. The painter is an atheist. He hyms a prayer with his abstract. He worships the hues of his palette. His picture paints beautiful dots with God. The writer is an atheist. His pen conveys volumes of meaningful and desired conversations with God. The yogi is an atheist. His meditation is a path of zen to God. The warrior is an atheist. Courage is his release. And the strength to knock life back in its boots is his sole path to God.

To me prayer is what I send as a signal wave in nature and in return mother nature gifts it back to me. Prayer is in chaos and love, both. Its in a gentle smile, a warm hug and a cheeky peck of simple love. It’s a loud unheard voice of my inner silence. It’s the small humdrum of my soulspeak. Prayer is the faith of my will. It’s a discipline that I strictly follow obey its rules by heart. Its in the sublime power to submit to the light of my inner self and come in unison with the outer cosmos. Prayer is to heal me with my rights and wrongs of life. I call it my safety belt – my very own being.

I ring a prayer everyday. Do you?

Kaabil – The Able Mind!

Main aisa kyon hoon?
Main waisa kyon hoon?
Aksar main sochu yoonh…

Raaton ko na soye…
Lootera koi churaiye chain,
Khuli potli… nikli toli,
Shikayat bani badi kahaani.

Kyon na aage badha…
Maksat ne mukam ko choda,
Haar bhi lagi itni nyaari,
Main bana ‘Mr. Sthaayi.’

Maa ki daat chila ke boli,
Teacher ki maar zor se padi,
Pitaji ne phir haari baazi,
Dost ne bhi de di gaali.

Din bane hafte,
Aur hafte beetein saal,
Mann se goonji ek pukar,
Arz kar pyaare… ‘kaabil’ mere bhai.

Phir ek din aaya,
Naya daur laya,
Chal uth mere sher,
Bola… Main hoon kaabil.

Mann ka kona tatol,
Oorja ki kiran ko khol,
Bana apni raah khud,
Aisi soch tu bol.

Tera aks hoon main,
Saamne khada hoon main,
Thoda bheetar jaankh,
Apni manzil ko talash.

Aao nayi umang rache,
Jag ki rekha ko jode,
Khwaab jaga hoonar ka,
Hounsla bana laajawab.

Band moothi ki duniya choti,
Khuli hatheli ka aasmaan niraala,
Alag soch ka banja taara,
Kaabil hai; maa ka laadla.

Main aisa kyon hoon?
Main waisa kyon hoon?
Kore panno pe likhu yoonh…
Main ‘Kaabil.’
Kaabil meri soch.
Soch se rahe pehchaan.
Pehchaan se saara zamaana.
Zamaane se aage main.
Mujhse meri zindagi.
Zindagi se mera wajud.
Wajud se mera kaam.
Kaam se mera naam.

: Perception

Clutched in shackles of bondage,
Peace is my destination.
Running cold shivers to the spine,
Tranquility is nothing but a perception.

I walk the aisle of fire,
Draining the truth in vain.
My gumboots ran cold in chilly snow,
Warmth is nothing but a perception.

Cold blood baths wet my land,
Loathing cries pain the new widow.
Sacrifice inherits delirium,
Revenge is nothing but a perception.

Violence ain’t any solution,
Vengeance is no justice.
The able mind to strum the right chord,
Happiness is then a real perception.

Happiness strings music,
Music plays harmony,
Harmony bridges freedom,
Freedom unveils salvation,
Salvation is then nothing,
My only ‘true perception.’

 

Chhapak – Inspired by the upcoming movie release of the real life acid attack survivor – Laxmi Aggarwal

Ae musafir…
Ruk zara,
Dekh, yahan…
Thoda wahan bhi…

Aankhen band kar,
Mann ki nazar khol,
Paaoge mujhe,
Meri rooh ko.
Mere ehsaas ko.

Main bani aarzoo,
Main rahoon sach,
Pehchaan mujhe…
Main hoon woh,
Main thodi si ‘Chhapak’.

…Na dekh mera rang,
Na dekh mera roop,
Main pyaari Chhapak,
Keval dekh; mera mann.

Nazar na rakh kayar,
Aankhein na juka sharam si,
Main masoom Chhapak,
Dua kar; zamaana rahe paak.

Andhere ka mooh kaala,
Ujaale pe kyon laga taala,
Main timtimati Chhapak,
Sitaaron sa; mera aashiyana.

Dard ki na koi bhasha,
Satya ki na koi zubaan,
Main adbhut Chhapak,
Insaaf bana; jeevan ka saath.

Phir ek daur aaya,
Hua naya janam,
Mita nishaan kalank ka.
Badal ne bahein kholi,
Hawa ne khuli saans li,
Gun gunati main yunhi boli,
Main thodi si ‘Chhapak’.

Zindagi, tu kyon khaamosh hai…

Celebrating National Poetry Month – ‘April’

Aaj mausam tanha hai,
Pal kuch khafa hai,
Thodi si pehchaan toh do.
Zindagi, tu kyon khaamosh hai…
Mohobbat se aaj ishq hai!

Shabdon ne racha mayajaal,
Mann phir bhi na de sukoon,
Aitbaar teri nishaani ka.
Zindagi, tu kyon khaamosh hai…
Sile hoth bole nayi kahaani!

Banjaaro ki basti badi,
Dil-da-badshah ek,
Pyaar di sachi talaash.
Zindagi, tu kyon khaamosh hai…
Intezaar ki dastak bani deewangi!

Dil tu kyon qaidi hai,
Chodd saath bewafa ka,
Sunn pukar khule aasman ki.
Zindagi, tu kyon khaamosh hai…
Apne hi mohalle se tu fanaa hai!

Ae, zindagi poochoon main aaj,
Aakhir tu kyon khaamosh hai…
Bata, kya tera raaz.

Agar, sawal hai tu.
Toh wajah bhi tu.

Agar, nafrat bani tu.
Toh ulfat bhi tu.

Agar, mazhab rahe tu.
Toh matlab bhi tu.

Agar, mera aks tu.
Toh, chaaya bhi tu.

Agar, dard de tu.
Toh, dawa bhi tu.

Agar, tamashaa bana tu.
Toh, haqueeqat bhi sirf tu.

Tu hai junoon.
Tu hi kare jung.

Ae, zindagi tu kyon khaamosh hai…
Aaj, gulha hawa mein tera shahed hai,
Tujhse hi main rahoon,
Mujh mein hi tu rahe.

Ae, zindagi…
Tu kyon khaamosh hai?

Lahu ke do rang.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZ1qdWvNedQ

A tribute to all the Indian Jawans who lost their lives in Kashmir for the motherland on 14/02/19 – Jai Hind!

Koun hai tu…
Pesh karo pehchaan.
Josh bhi ek,
Junoon bhi ek,
Phir bhi kyon lahu ke do rang?

Kahan se aaya tu…
Elaan karo mazhab.
Mandir bhi ek,
Masjid bhi ek,
Phir bhi kyon lahu ke do rang?

Koun hai tera messiah…
Kiska tu padhe kalma.
Aankh se barse shola,
Chaati se phate jwaala,
Phir bhi kyon lahu ke do rang?

Kis maksat se tu aaya…
Kaisa baarood tu laaya.
Mastak ka tilak bhi lal,
Rakt ka lep bhi lal,
Phir bhi kyon lahu ke do rang?

Kaisa maahol tu laya…
Kaala sanaata chaaya.
Na dikhi sooni kalai,
Na suni maa ki fariyaad,
Phir bhi kyon lahu ke do rang?

Kya naam hai tera ‘Aatank?’…
Gaon mein phire, tu banke khouf.
Goli se tu khele holi,
Maut se rahe aankh micholi,
Phir bhi kyon lahu ke do rang?

O re ‘Aatank’…
Sun meri bhi chetaavni.
Na jaanoo teri jaat,
Na dikhe tera bhed,
Paar joh kar di tune sarhad,
Laang doon main bhi seema.

Kasam mere tirange ki,
Ghuss kar tere bill mein,
Kar doon chaathi teri chalni.
Yeh watan hai mera,
Main hoon iska sipahi.
Lal hai mera rang,
Lal hi mera lahu hai.

‘Salute to the Indian Army’.

I am the Rebel

Perched on a dark cliff,
Inside the dense woods,
I meet a petite robin,
Donned in an amber hood.

He dives into the deep sea,
Fears no dead waves,
Shores back to n fro,
Anchoring firm on his rising fins.

He braves the scarlet roads,
Masks a warrior demon,
Combats tall in grim battles,
Conquering scars on gliding bows.

The call of silence awakens him,
The sound of dream beckons him,
He is the untamed.
Born now, he is the ‘Rebel.’

To the conviction,
To the faith,
He paints the abstract.
He is the Rebel.

To the passion,
To the cause,
He rides his belief.
He is the Rebel.

To the origin,
To the pattern,
He ain’t lie morbid.
He is the Rebel.

To the price,
To the reward,
He reigns the hat.
He is the Rebel.

To the force,
To the strength,
He masters his choice,
He is the Rebel.

He is guts.
He is glory.
He is legend.
He is the story.
He is the Rebel.

He is substance.
He is existence.
He is freedom.
He is immortal.
He is inside me.
I am the ‘Rebel.’

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