Posted in Pic Credits : Renu, Poetry


In that moment of silence

where one had no presence

to sit like it’s for forever

to breathe


like a stream of a river

that had parted for a fall

to find her space in the pond

to breathe


the leaf from a tree

which wandered with the wind

laid alongside on that cliff

to breathe


with the sigh of her smile

and hundreds of those times

I treasured and reprise

to breathe


looking down I too found

the unsung depth to drown

the valleys open for a flee

to breathe


the observance of the change

a different them and a different me

the loss, the gain and the unknown dream

to breathe


It was cold enough to shiver

with a shawl offered to wear

the warmth of the sun in palms

to breathe

neither slept nor awake

let’s take all those voyage

where we sit in lap of the being

and breathe . . .

Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry

ज़रा गौर से

ज़रा गौर से देखो

ये कैसी गंध चारों और फैली हुई है
गुब्बारों में गुबारों की अजब सी तिश्नगी है

जो शब्दों से भरें हैं बैर और नफरत की हवा से
बहुत भद्दे आवाज़-ऐ-अंजाम से फट रहे हैं

ये मज़हबी खैर-ओ-खयालों की चादर साफ केसे हो
इक न-जाने गैर ज़रुरी जंग सी लीपी पुती है

ये सियासी है यह तो समझते सब ही बंदे हैं
मगर फिर भी जज़्बात सब सस्ते में बिक रहे हैं

क्यों अब तक इतने कमज़ोर भरोसे हमारे हैं
की चंद लोगों के सियासी मकसदों से बिखरे रहते हैं

क्यों अब तक दूसरे को धर्म-जाति के अलावा भी
एक उसकी अपनी शख्सियत के बिनाह पर जान न पाए

जारी हो रहे बयान-ओ-खयाल सोशल मीडिया पर
क्यों इतने गैर जिम्मेदारी से रोज़ाना छप रहे हैं

क्या पक्की इमारतों में बैठे चाय की चुस्कियों में
मशीनी उपकरण से लैस हम समझ नहीं पाते

जो जलते हैं वो घर अब तक भी कच्चे ही पड़े हैं
वहां पर लोग अब भी रोज़ी की अलग जंग में जुटे हैं

जो अबतक भी, इतने भी प्रिवलेज्ड नहीं हैं
की रोटी से पहले यह बे-रुख़ जंग भी समझ पाए

शायद जलती रसोई देख पत्थर उनसे भी चले हो
मगर वो मज़हबी नहीं, वो अपना घर बचा रहे

क्यों सियासी मकसदों को विष बना कर
हम AC की हवा में गुब्बारों को फुला कर
बिन सोचे बालकनी की ऊंचाई से गिराए जा रहे
हमारा तो कोई मकसद भी नहीं है

मनोरंजन के साधन ढूंढते – ढूंढते
कहीं हम भी तो साधन न बनते जा रहे

ज़रा फिर गौर से देखो ।

Posted in Poetry


The one who looks beyond the obvious

Can be genius or insane

The risk of tag would always be there

But the poetry must sustain


Those who strive to cause an equilibrium

Can be quite or a pain

The chance of fall would be on either part

But the poetry must sustain


To learn to read & write the art

Would be pleasure or a vain

Result for sure can never be predicted

But the poetry must sustain


The criticism is earned in a fraction of second

and appreciation comes so late

The audience can be right or in left

But the poetry must sustain


Once I met the sage of the sages

Who was calm like trees of a grave

He taught not to solve the entangled world

For the poetry to sustain


The part of which we may understand

The part of which is faint

Without a cause and a needless pause

The poetry must sustain


The past leaves us in a difficult way

Future always come with an ease

Time has a music with highs and lows

For the poetry to sustain


The glory of a poem

lies in the rhyme, rhythm and phrase

though inglorious if it says,

a meaning shall remain

And the poetry will sustain.

Posted in Neemrana Fort & Palace, Neemrana Village, Poetry

Meet the mornings

To know a place
and walk its pace
meet the mornings

for the days & the nights
can be conjuring
though never’re the mornings

they don’t crave for glory
nor they cry or be sorry
they just offer to begin

a ray of sunshine
sits with us on a coffee
and enjoys our silence

I once went to the country
and found lives pouring in
with the first light of Sun

the men and the women
the kids and the livestock
all greet the morning in the ways unsung

the cities seldom showed me
the colours of dawn
yet they’re calm & calmer to begin the havoc

I won’t call it beautiful
won’t call it awe
I would call it for its simplicity
to listen, breathe and grow

So, whenever I am away
from the days, times & greys
never do i forget, to
Meet the mornings.

Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry

The Caged

all the books i read
have never said
what i felt

the pen and the paper
were soaked in the pain
of regret

yet there was a smile
to disguise
them all

my thoughts were arrested
being undirected
as they want

people were people
should have been simple
they were not

i followed the recipe
cooked it on gasoline
still it was raw

the prison is freedom
decorated dirt-some
we do love

So i decided
to rather be brave
to sit & observe
the ‘Caged’.

Posted in सुखना सरोवर, Life, Oshodhara, Poetry


I am in a cave
it’s not so dark
i see what i feel
it might leave a mark

the ocean is high
I can’t say why
but all i wanna do
is to dive inside

the floor is slippery
i might run into a fall
slow if it is opt for
i might miss it all

musical and lyrical
it is played by its own
silence of the music
is all that is known

love and sorrow
i look at them at awe
and mesmerise

the cave has no roof
it has no base
it’s hollow and deep
with stars to praise

floating and swimming
as long as it cruise
i travel alone
no roots & no shoots

I am in a cave
like a starving bear
who look for some honey
to spread, lick and spare.

When they say
to meditate
i smile at them
and rephrase

from the peak of a mountain
to the shore of a sea
allow me to call it as
an ‘Odyssey’.

Posted in Life, Poetry


“Isn’t life a miscalculated mathematics?” asked the farmer from the roadside farm, as she handed me a freshly grown green tomato. “Effort is to bring all the sums & problems to conclude at Zero; however more the effort is, farther the zero is…” she took a small pause & smiled “….at an altitude beyond calculation

The tomato had no taste yet it gave a small break to my all-day hunger, as i drove into the city.

कद शून्य से ज़्यादा भी नहीं,
क्यों दिखने पर दिखता ही नहीं

क्या इतनी भी न थी इकाई दुकाई,
सतह की परत भी न उतरने पाई

वैसे तो विशाल ही जाना था इसको,
दूर से देवता माना था इसको

फिर भी इसका भरोसा ही नहीं,
कद शून्य से ज़्यादा भी नहीं

अनगिनत किस्से और कथाओं में,
अद्भुत अमानवीय चित्रण है इसका

अनुभूति के आश्वासन पर,
जीवन का छल सरल सा दिखता

पर इसके आर पार जो भी है,
सब मिल कर पूर्ण शून्य भी तो नहीं

कद शून्य से ज़्यादा भी नहीं,
क्यों दिखने पर दिखता ही नहीं

नियमों के प्रतिबध मनुष्य,
ढाक–ढाक चलते फिरते हैं

पर पृष्ठ के हर आखिर कोने पर,
झूठे बिन न आगे बढ़ पाते

अब शून्य तक का सफर ही हो जब,
उसे भी न पा पाएं मिलकर सब

तो काहे का सौंदर्य दर्पण,
क्यों लीला के रंग भरे हम

ऐसा विराट रूप क्यों हो इसका,
जो एक मात्र–कपट के कुछ भी नहीं

आमोद प्रमोद का जंजाल लगे,
भ्रष्टता का भंडार लगे

इसका कोई आधार नहीं,
कद शून्य से ज़्यादा भी नहीं,
क्यों दिखने पर दिखता ही नहीं।।

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

ग़ालिब @ periphery of 2020

Old दिल्ली

हमको मालूम है जन्नत की हकीकत लेकिन,
दिल के खुश रखने को ग़ालिब ये ख़्याल अच्छा है।

Wretched, cursed, damned and haunted
they named 2020 like they never wanted,
The cry forever was high to sigh
May be it was blessed if we carry a smile.

उनके देखे से जो आ जाती है मुंह पर रौनक,
वो समझते हैं कि बीमार का हाल अच्छा है।

The year was mean, we were quarantine
Yet the folks realised, words sat aside,
People need people to talk, drink and mingle
Miseries or in sickness, with companions it’s all fun.

कतरा दरिया में जो मिल जाए तो दरिया हो जाए,
काम अच्छा है वो, जिसका मआल अच्छा है।

No matter we worked all day – noons & nights
At video calls & phone calls we could neither argue nor fight,
‘I’ remained a drop of water while we missed the whole ocean
Without the team we chase no dream and time was on a ‘no run’.

और बाज़ार से ले आए अगर टूट गया,
सागर- ए – जम से मेरा जाम – ए – सिफाल अच्छा है।

All that were ploughed was ruined, if so
You shall never return and let patiently grow,
The year has passed like a scotch from a glass
Consider it a price for a magical surprise.

देखिए पाते हैं उशाक बुतों से क्या फैज़,
इक बिरह्मण ने कहा है कि यह साल (२०२१) अच्छा है

Posted in Covid, Mask, Poetry

The Mask

Met him at the juncture of Yes or No,
He had no face yet his smile had a glow

“How do you do?” he asked me,
And I kept wondering if I can respond to thee

Thin, broad yet lighter, the faceless was so lean,
I whispered if he had a tale of his being

He replied “I am new; I exist for misery”,
They consider me a huge task, I am often called –

‘The Mask’

I wanted to be a hero but they made fun of me,
I intended to protect but they wanted to set free

My existence is a little longer though compromises as it is,
My ask is a patience which I found to be extinct

I don’t wish to stay longer
As the heroes are only for a day
And soon they become devils
To be demolished and sent away!!

Posted in Fear of the unknown, Life, Poetry


It was a fine evening before Diwali, a smoggy one in Delhi offcourse. I was driving back home when i stopped at a red light to witness a strange encounter.

An RJ at FM radio was trying to convince his audience about why we shall still observe social distancing, avoid markets, crowds and celebrate the festival cautiously & in an environment friendly way. Clearly, the scene outside to the Car glasses was the opposite one -“Huge rush in the market and cars honking on the road.”

At the red light before Munirka flyover, a lady in her early 40s came towards my car and knocked over the car window. I slightly rolled down the window, only enough to hear her voice. She handed over her CV to me and requested to share the same with my HR in office. She was going car by car and doing the same. She told me that she used to cook at a restaurant and lost her job during the lock down.

I looked at the paper and found that this restaurant was one of the decent known brands of South Delhi. Her resume said she is educated and available for any kind of job. I took a picture of it, kept the paper at the dashboard and forwarded it to few known one’s before i started my engine & accelerated towards NH-8.

An emotion had rested with me when she looked straight in my eyes and pleaded not for aid but for reference.

That emotion was of a “Fear” of the unknown.

जोड़ कर कितना भी रखें खुद को
टूट जाने का खौफ़ आता है

ज़िन्दगी की धूप में छाव तलाशें तो भी
पतझड़ आने का खौफ़ आता है

इत्मीनान भरा वक्त गुज़ारें कैसे
बीत जाने का खौफ़ आता है

पल भर का जो सुख हाथों में थमा दें अगर
उनके छिन जाने का खौफ़ आता है

सहूलियतों की आदतें ना पड़ने पाए
मुश्किलों के आने का खौफ़ आता है

यूं ही खिड़कियों पर पर्दे नहीं होते
झांके जाने से खौफ़ आता है

मेहफूसियत के एहसास से राब्ता जो हो
महरूम हो जाने का खौफ़ आता है

दिल के पास आने का सिलसिला कैसा
फिर से हार जाने का खौफ़ आता है

मंजिलें कई दूर मालूम होती है
रास्ते भटक जाने का खौफ़ आता है

जोड़ कर कितना भी रखें खुद को
टूट जाने का खौफ़ आता है ।

टूट जाने का खौफ़ आता है ।।