Saturday, 10 August 2019
Tu to pagal nahi ?
Chalo aaj phir ek dastaan likhein
Ek purani dabee umeed nikalein, ek bhooli khoyi yaad tarashein
Ek nas ka lahoo seenche, tumhe kagaz aur kalam banaein
Chalo aaj phir ek dastaan likhein
Phir us naam ki guhaar lein,
Phir us aks ki .... karein
Phir is kismat pe kabhi roye, kabhi hasein,
Phir ek gahri saans main tumhari khushboo samete
Chalo aaj phi ek dastaan likhein
Chalo phir is ass ki ibtada dhoondhein, Chalo uski inteha talaashein
Chalo is kasak ko koi doosra naa dein
Chalo aaj phi ek daastan likhein
Chalo aaj phir wo pehsaani us darakht pe ghisse
Chalo aaj phir us khuda ki mannat karein,
Aur chalo phir gusse main usko nakar, chalo phi main-kade main basar karein
Chalo aaj phi ek dastaan likhein
Saturday, 13 October 2018
I stand precariously at the edge of reason hoping with every
sip of my whiskey to be pushed beyond it. I stammer, I totter, I nearly almost
fall but - I don’t.
Fuck.
This side of the divide I have discipline,
responsibilities, sense, maturity and a million other traits that every gifted,
intelligent human possesses.
The other side, the foggy, dark, tantalizing side I have –
me. I have the nonchalant, devil may care genius. I have the poet, the writer,
the dreamer, the arrogant proud warrior with a sword in one hand, pen in other,
bleeding from a thousand cuts yet smirking at heavens refusing to genuflect let
alone die. I have the lover dipping his quill in his blood and pouring his heart
out on his parchment. I have the knight defying his Lord and I have the monk defying his God.
This side I am sensible. I am a professional. I am mature. I
know what to say and to whom and I know when to keep shut. I know how to play
politics and I know when I am being played. I know when I am the pawn, when the
king and when the king maker. I know what is expected of me and I know how to fulfil
my responsibilities. I know when to pull which string and I know when to give
in. I know my work, I know my business and I know which way the money will
move. I am reasonable. I debate and I do not argue. I disagree yet commit. I
observe the members sitting around the round table and I make a mental note of
their names, their strengths and weaknesses. I devise a strategy to pit them
against each other. I make a plan. I know who hates whom and I know who will be
my common friend against a common enemy and who will be my enemy against a jittered
friend. I wait for the right opening in the discussion and I interject with an
argument laden such with platitude and empty verbiage yet with enough intelligentsia
and business acronyms so as to confuse everyone else and prevent a decision
that isn’t to my liking.
The other side of the fog I stand with my sword dripping crimson
droplets on a crimson ground held oblique in my hand. My hair bellows in the
wind while perspiration and blood bring a sweet irritation to my eyes. Where my
hair bellows in the raging wind and my tongue tastes the familiar metallic
acrid stench in the air. Where I slowly raise my head to the heavens, smile and
blink once to clear my vision. Where I extend one foot gracefully in front while
I bend the other knee slightly to shift my center of gravity and with my taut sinews
I bring my sword parallel to the blood soaked mud keeping the hilt perpendicular
to my arched body. Where I ululate the ultimate cry of war while I enjoy the violent
headwinds whipped by the charging hordes of enemy beasts. Where I enjoy the anticipation
of inevitable bloodbath. And when it arrives then with every formidable step of
mine the earth reverberates and with every arching slice of my greatsword I cut
open hoards of charging infantry of humans and beast alike and smear myself
with blood, guts and intestines. Where I swing and buckle and parry and thrust again
and again as I laugh the hysterical, maniacal laughter of a man possessed of heartache
of love of hate of indifference of saint and devil alike and of a million
different emotions that consumes him burns him and turns his raging blood to a
mountain of lava desperate to explode from the infinite pours on his body.
Where once I win let both my knees touch the ground as I arch my back and raise
my chest upwards while I raise my head to heavens and let my victory cry
reverberate across the heavens. Where I finally raise my blood stained sword
and utter my war cry one more time challenging the Gods to come and face me if
they so dare.
One more sip, one more swig. I totter more. I nearly loose
my balance. My head accidentally dips across the fog and my nostrils pick up the
stench. My heart beat flutters and my muscles tighten.
I shake my head, I bend my knees and regain my balance. I pull
my face back. I shake my head and look at my feet.
I take another swig of my whiskey. I close my eyes. I sip more.
My knees falter. A tempting tantalizing whiff crosses the veil and reaches my olfactory
senses. With a half drunk mind I see her angelic smile, I see her hand
materializing out of thin air across the veil. I see her exquisitely manicured
finger tempting me, suggestively prompting me to take a step, oh just one step
forward. I hear her voice echoing in my conscience, reverberating across my
skin and echoing in my head, pleading me to cross over.
I swig more.
My head hurts. My corporeal essence is tearing. I am transcending
beyond my
metaphysical existence. I am going to do it. I am going to take a step
forward and like a phoenix rising from his ashes I will once again be me. My
knees bend. I look at heavens. There is no bellowing wind, my hair isn’t whipping,
there is no acrid, metallic stench in the air. I fumble. I fall.
I close my eyes. The glass shatters. The whiskey spills.
A familiar, fleeting voice whispers in the recesses of my fading
being – It isn’t over. I am not leaving you yet. You will rise again. You will
cross that veil again. And when you do you shall transcend through this fake realist and then in the truest dimension you will
once again know the strength of your fingers and when you do the Gods will fear
you. Come the day of judgement you will not be judged. You will be avenged. When the eternity arrives, you will make the Creator bleed.
Saturday, 3 February 2018
And the fair maiden screamed “Who cares!” and slammed the
door right in his face. For a moment he stood there, whiplashed from the sheer
force of slammed door, bunch of Marigold tied neatly with a ribbon in his hand,
bottle of wine in the other a perplexed look in his eyes and feeling like a
right idiot for not having a hand free to be able to stop the slamming door.
Not someone to give up he gulped hard put the bottle down, ran a
nervous hand through his nervous hair and raised his fingers towards the door-bell.
Again. What a daredevil. Fool but what a daredevil.
Chimes! The mellifluous chimes. Oh how that mellow door-bell chime wrenched his
insides with trepidation. Will she open? Will she scream again? Will she throw
a glass of water in his face? Will she tell him he is biggest idiot she has
ever come across in her whole life or will she finally let him say his side of
the story for once? Ah the agony of this terribly wait gutted him. Nervously he
fidgeted shifting his weight from one foot to the other cursing himself again
for bringing two things which tied both his hands and for million other things
that went wrong in the past.
Hours seem to have passed since he heard the chimes. He was
just about beginning to give up and ring the bell again even though he knew it
would be throwing fuel to the fire. But then what other option did he have?
This had gone on long enough. He knew she had a reason to be mad, hell he knew
he had a reason to be mad but someone had to “care” enough to at least try
once. Giving up is always an easy option but if the whole world simply just
gave up in face of difficult times, what kind of a place we would be in?
Alas! Finally. He heard the echoing of the footsteps again
behind the closed door. He straightened up, twisted his neck a bit, positioned
the flowers slightly in front of his face (well what better shield to a projectile
of flying water eh?) and waited. The echo came closer and closer. He heard the
latch unlatch, the door know twist and instinctively he took a step back. She
was on the move and coming for him. Careful now he reminded himself. Very careful.
She could be as tempestuous as a storm in a tea pot when she gets going. Keep
breathing, make eye contact and don’t rock the boat too much he reminded
himself. You are not going to get a third chance. This is it. Sink or swim,
make it or break it, you know her, you know how terribly this can go but then
you also know she is worth it so buckle up and say honestly what you came to
say and then so be it.
Lo and behold she opened! She stood there, arms crossed,
feet crossed, one eye brow raised and…..and nothing. She just stood there
looking at him. This was definitely not how he saw it going. But then this is
the mystery of her. Always unpredictable, always mesmerizing, always a hundred
steps ahead of him. He realized he is doing a Ross. He is standing there, not
speaking. He is not speaking. Time is ticking and he is not saying anything.
Nothing. Say something you idiot, anything. She is here, she is listening, she
isn’t yelling (at least not yet). Say something!
Friday, 17 February 2017
Crawl my dear friend. Crawl. Let those chaffed, broken,
bruised, torn fingers dig in the soul of this scorched dilapidated earth and
pull you closer iota by iota. Crawl my dear friend, crawl. Let the eyes shed
the tears of sweat and blood, let the teeth grit and let the soul loosen a war
cry of ……? But crawl my dear friend, crawl.
For there, beyond the edge of purgatory there lies you
nirvana. Your moksha. You crawl to live a life beyond this realm beyond the
manifested dimensions of metaphysical and karmic definitions. You crawl to
leave yourself behind and be with yourself in a whole new entity unforeseen by
all yet elucidated by the few who transcended that barrier. The being exalted
in salvation in paeans in prayers and holy scriptures. You crawl to Him.
So crawl my dear friend, crawl.
Let the limp limbs hang lose behind you. Let the gnawing
beasts dip in from the hell above and rip again and again into this mottled mass
of blood and flesh that surround you. Don’t give up, not just yet. Fear not the
raging fires of hell that erupt underneath you charring your flesh
more. Fear not the cruel winds that pushes you further away from that illusive edge of the cliff. Fear
not the elements, fear not the demons, fear not the hallucinations of life,
sorrow, pain and death conjured by this myth of the universe. Fear nothing,
ignore all.
Crawl my dear friend, crawl.
What is left of me now that I have bled my essence? My
coherence trickles out of my astral conscious as the crimson droplets
trickles out of my physical self.
I can see it happen, I feel it happen. My each sense screams its own end as it comes and yet I am unable to articulate it.
I am done?
Sunday, 18 August 2013
I have never done this in the past but this beautiful Ghazal demands of me that I spread it to whoever might want to listen to it and help translate it.
This is the media file
And here is an absolutely beautiful, apt and perfect translation of this poetry which preserves its essence as it was meant by the original poet
http://amitdas.me/2007/04/13/gul-hui-jaati-hai-faiz
This is the media file
And here is an absolutely beautiful, apt and perfect translation of this poetry which preserves its essence as it was meant by the original poet
http://amitdas.me/2007/04/13/gul-hui-jaati-hai-faiz
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