Not Lived If Never Lost

We have not lived if never been lost…

Wandering in whispering woods or in wondering thought,

Wrong to question, weird to believe…

Wily wilderness waits, wanton as I live.

The deeper I immerse, loftier I emerge…

Where conscious n unconscious meet n merge,

Swingers are silent and shadows sway n prance…

Living are still, dead and deadwood sing n dance.

Where when who why and what, is it worth n wise to ask…

Winter winds in the willows whistle, whether weather ever will mask,

Wistful wishes weave wonder worlds within and without…

Wait, it’s wound n waste; weary will wilts, whims whimper for a way out.

Photo: @rosenfeld.mandy

Let Them Weave The Tapestry Of Their Dreams

We give them the whole world

But in our measured mould…

Lame, limited and limiting

A bother, a burden, a binding.

Let go, let them break free

And soar in their own sky…

Paint their own rainbow

Live life, embrace it, or defy.

Let them push their limits

Happy thus they are, let them be…

Shackle them not in selfish love

With emotions teary n knotty.

The carpet we spread for them

Is warm and comforting…

But let them weave

the tapestry of their dreams.

Wistful…we wish with us they are forever

Alas! together apart, when distant closer…

Fist’s sand soon slips silently away from fingers

Are times and relationships, in palm, held ever?

 

Pic: Jump: Peter Conlan

What More I Want ?

What more I want

I don’t pursue happiness. Nor do I run after enlightenment. I have tiny times when I am content. That is when joy, like a dancing butterfly, enters and sits lightly on my soul.

I have this bliss when I bend to admire a Parijat*, and the dew on it flies to kiss my eyelashes. I smell it in the wonderful words of an old musty book. It touches me when a child tiptoes from behind and closes my eyes with little palms. It comes to me when the rains falling on the swaying trees wet my feelings. I felt it this morning when the season’s first fog filled my senses.

These sensuous moments make my life and are mine for a lifetime.

What more I want?

*Parijat: A tiny white fragile flower with orange stem

Image: Fog: Austin Schmid; Books: Peter Kratochvil

Waiting to Wait…and Tea इंतज़ार—इंतज़ार का… और चाय

जिंदगी  जब  चाय  की  एक  प्याली से  दूसरी  तक  सिमट आती  है,

छोटी  होती  है, पर बहुत  लम्बी  हो  जाती  है…

अलसाई  चाहतें  चुस्कियों  में  तलाशती  हैं  चुस्तियाँ,

बेबाक  बेफिक्री नहीं, रह  जाती  हैं  सिर्फ  मायूसियां…

चाय  की  बिखरती  भीनी  भाप  में  भीगे  कुछ  सवालात  हैं,

कुछ  कश्मकश, कशिश, कुछ  ख्वाब  ख़यालात  हैं…

चाय  के  ऊफान सी  हैं  उफ  ये  ऊफनती  उल्झनें,

परेशान  हूँ, पीता  हूँ  मैं  उसे  या  वो  पीती  है  मुझे…

चाय  से  सने  सूने  सपनों  में  कोई  शामिल  नहीं  होता,

बेइंतहा  इंतज़ार, और  इंतज़ार  का  इंतज़ार  है  रहता…

Jindagi jab chai ki ek pyali se doosari  tak simat aati hai,

Choti hoti hai, par bahut lambi ho jaati hai…

Alsai chahten chuskiyon me talasti hain chustiyan,

Bebak befikri nahee, rah jaati hain sirf maayusiyan…

Chai ki bikharti bhini bhaap me bhhege kuch sawalat hain,

Kuch kashmakash, kashish, kuch khwab, khayalat hain…

Chai ke ufaan si hai uf ye ufanti uljhanen,

Pareshan hun, Peeta hun main use ya wo peeti hai mujhe…

Chai se sane soone lamhon me koi giraft nahee hota

Beintehaa intezaar, aur Intezaar ka Intezar hai rahta…

pic: clay banks-unsplash