The Rain Without Me

did i tell you, that this rains i wont be there

the wind mirror will flash clouds

and feet will be soiled

i hear your city is breezy already

and the birds are home

have i written a letter so blank ever

to the rains of a far off place

to the droplets on the wind mirror

on the count of the absent days

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Dear Nemesis

Dear Nemesis, Please read this letter at a time when you feel that I am gone. I might have not died but gone in much a real sense. I might have changed, I might have no longer been the same person who used to look into your eyes with an anger, that was more intimate than love could ever be. I am not gone at all, that's why I am here in this letter. My actions do not align with my core anymore. They never did. That, I have been upsetting you for the longest of times, is why I address you as nemesis today. The language of love, kindness and empathy is unknown to me. I speak in anger, complain, despair, jealousy and defeat. I am inept in speaking the right music. More than love, I have deeply felt the fear of losing you. I am so much in fear of the fixed patterns of losses in my path, that I opted out before you did. My handicap would never see the light of change. I would upset you till the point of being strangers. I sincerely apologise for such poverty. My idea of life was n...

Embrace

When a poet turns to face the realisation, that, words are always inadequate in carrying the weight of articulation, there is a surprising feel of both emptiness and liberty in his heart. The liberty comes to untie nerves, or to relieve heat off the formats and patterns. The freedom comes to let in everything that we are here for. The content comes of having gone the full circle from finding love in poetry to see it as an art to touch the divine and finally to understand its insignificance. The emptiness comes of not knowing the revelation all the way. The emptiness comes of not knowing that nothing was actually articulated in spite having written hundreds of poems. The reader was reading but the yearning his own nerves, aches of his own heart and whispers of his own unsaid. The reader was never reading the poet's poem. Writing, composing or the very effort of articulation in any form may be comparable to drinking or any other form of tranquilization, because these art...

काल-खंड

इस काल-खंड के अंत में, जब ऐनक पहने जायेंगे, घड़ी देखी जायेगी, कलम उठाएं जायेंगे, धोती, सड़कें, खेत, भूख, सबकुछ नापे जायेंगे, सबसे लम्बे नाप तब पश्चाताप के आएंगे, इस काल-खंड के अंत में, जब देवों को परखा जायेगा, कोई अपने प्राण के लिए प्रतिष्ठा नहीं गवायेगा, नहीं लगेगा डर किसी को काल की समाधि से, डर कभी उस चौखट पर दिया नहीं जलाएगा, जब ज्ञात होगा युग भी क्षणभंगुर ही होतें हैं, क्षण भर के शौर्य में सदियों के सम्बन्ध खोते हैं, इस काल-खंड के अंत में, जब देवों को परखा जायेगा, सब शुन्य से प्रारम्भ होगा, कुछ वापस न आएगा, इस काल-खंड के प्रारम्भ में, जब कपड़े बदलें जायेंगे, पराकाष्ठा के चार नये बड़े नाम छपवाएंगे, बर्तन, चूल्हा, चोका, रूचि नए घर जायेंगे, सबसे गहरे छाप तब पश्चाताप के आएंगे अर्पिता २० अप्रैल २०२६ मुंबई

Storyteller of mud and grass

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