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wordsonwings

What cannot be said, can be penned

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December 2016

एक दर्द है अहसास है एक दर्द मेरे पास है
उम्र गुज़र गयी है इसे हवा देते देते
एक शॉल जो दबके बार बार भड़क जाता है
क्या मैंने इसे अपनी गरज़ के लिए पला है?
क्या मेरा मन इतना उदास है?
है तो मेरे चेहरे पर भी मुस्कान
पर एक अँधेरा आँखों के पास है
कहीं हाथ बढाती हूँ डर कर फिर
अपने आप में ही सिमट जाती हूँ
क्यों कोई मेरा मज़ाक न बना दे
मेरे अपनेपन को खिलवाड़ न बना दे
एक दिन शायद ये किवाड़ कुल जायेगा
ये बंद परिंदा उड़ जायेगा
पर तब तक यहीं है बसेरा
मेरे मन बहला ले अपने आप को ज़रा
इस क़ैद में ही रहना होगा
काबू और सलीके से जीना होगा

कुंतीऔर करण

हर माँ का रहस्य होता है
हर कुंती का एक करण  होता है
कभी वो उसकी पहली संतान होती है
या फिर सबसे होनहार औलाद होती है
माँ का वो बच्चा जो सबसे सच्चा होता है
वही उस कुंती का करण होता है
उस से भीक मांग कर माँ अपने
दूसरे बच्चो का जीवन संवारती है
करण माँ के प्यार का भूखा होता है
और उस ममता के लालच में
अपना कवच भी त्याग देता है
उसके भाइयों को मिले राज्य
ये कुंती की इच्छा होती है
उन के लिए करण हमेशा कुर्बान होता है
माँ ने माँगा तो जान भी देगा
फिर धन क्या परिवार क्या
प्राण त्यागने को जो हो तैयार
वो ही पांडवों का मदतगार होता है
हर माँ के अंदर की कुंती
ये जान कर भिक्षा मांगती है
करण मेरे अर्जुन को बचा ले
ये उसके जनम पर ही तै कर लेती है
 

The Fog

I saw his outline in the fog. He seemed frail and lost. Getting out of my car I bent down and reached out to him. He was shivering in the cold, his body was skeletal and the elbows seemed all bent at an angle.

The sunken eyes were devoid of any emotion, not even pain resided there. He looked much older than his age. His wispy hair matted, uncombed. The tatters barely covered his body and could hardly hold in any warmth.

I had picked up coffee for my ride home to beat the chill. I handed him the coffee. He looked at me but I could not fathom his gaze. His shaking hands held the Styrofoam cup and he fought to keep it steady.

I handed him some biscuits and draped my jacket around him.

On my way home my thoughts kept returning to him and I could barely eat my dinner.  In my cozy bed, I was cold as the thoughts of him on the street battling against the cold winds made me shiver.

Early in the morning I loaded my car with basic utensils, a blanket, an old mattress.

I deliberately took that route (though it was a detour) I wanted to check in on him.

My jacket lay there beside some odd smelly rags. A rotten apple and some coins.

I looked for him and could not find him anywhere.

The cop came and tried to shoo me away, I asked him about the homeless man.

He said he had passed away during the night. He was very casual about it.

The cop asked me if I knew him. I shook my head and turned.

The news had landed like a punch and I was still out of breath.

As I headed back to my car I saw it. It could be easily missed but it was there.

“OU”

 I lifted my jacket and saw the words chalked on the dirty grey pavement.

“Thank You”

And the fog and chill vanished.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/vanish/”>Vanish</a&gt;

Un-chartered Waters

Silent torment silent screams

In the night silent dreams

The cobwebs they thrive in

Eyes that hardly weep

She looks on unwavering

Intents clear but no end in sight

She takes on the challenge

And hopes it will keep

The fires burning in stomach

The hungry embers glowing

Like the falcon eyes and setting sun

Born a curse she sometimes slips

To edges of innocence and pulls back

The un-chartered waters deep and murky

Tempt her to immerse in sinful glory

The dried up streaks of mud

Across a face so aglow with inner light

Abhorrent thoughts of un-chartered mind

Churning, milling flirting enticing

She blinks and moves on

 

 

 

 

De-Construct

Slowly with each straw they inched close to
Building a haven, they had long envisioned
The days of austerity had finally paid off
And the marveled at their creative effort
The walls of trust were strengthened
With mortar of love and sweet labor
The passion was there all these years
And soon filled the nest with little chirpers
The wind it came from the north
But it was in reality south
And usurped the lives, relationships
Scattered, tattered and the bough it broke
Upon which perched a cracked construct
The hole which pierced through
Was young and vibrant and haunting
In a way that he always imagined
And the nest it was empty, dead
A mausoleum of what was once
A world-defying courageous spunk

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/construct/”>Construct</a&gt;

1-broken-nest-columbia-county

Image Credit : http://www.landscapestories.net/issue-05/010-wendy-burton?lang=it

 

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