The Escape Artist

Carved into the back of the tree in the park,
Is an old sign that says
"Born to be free".
I'm the tree with roots that go farther than the
sense of the writer's irony.

Would you believe that people can be sharpened like a pencil
Created to be consumed and destroy themselves
As they're done living.
Pencils don't consider saving themselves up for a rainy day.

Everyday reality is like a drug to numb the senses
Everyday is determined to make me forget
Everyday is a cage for the mind
And everyday I become an escape artist.

I sit and laugh louder than anyone
As they sit and tell me how it is that I can be more normal
They offer me up prizes and liken them
To the lights at the end of the tunnel. 

Ghav

Dil ka ek kona reh gaya Tha bedaag

Kaanton kankaron se bacha Kar bedhadak chal rahi thi main

Ki kaunsa Naya Dard ya ghav ise choo payega.

Afsos ki iski ijazat nahi hoti jab pyar ho jata hai

Uske roothne mañane se befikr thi main.

Kabhi socha nahi Tha ki in sab baaton se aage kuch hoga

Ki woh nahi hoga.

Fir kya hoga

Usi se puchna hoga ki kya hoga ab mera

Is dil ka, jo Chot khane ki aadat me Tha, use

Bulaa bitha Kar mehman nawazi se do baatein bolkar phuslaya

Fir kaha ab zarurat nahi Hai aapki.

Kyunki tum pyar bohot karte ho.

Sabse karte ho.

Aur sirf mujhse nahi karoge. Mere Banke rahoge.

Haan yahi toh hun main.

Isi Sach ke saath tumne pasand Kiya Tha

Aur ab Haq ye Hai ki bardasht nahi Hota tumhe

Mera Sach. Aur mujhse tumhara Haq. 

Prayer for a tired heart

It’s been only a few days since people have been staying home and already I am receiving distress calls about anxiety and depression peaking. Things are obviously not going well for people who have no social support and also those with strained or abusive relationships. In these times of chaos and panic, friends have been reaching out to give and receive support which is heartening. I have been maintaining silence since 15^th Dec 2019 on social media, incidentally also my birthday, due to several reasons.

However, since it is a time when most people are going to be at home and scrolling their Facebook feed, I thought it is a good time to engage in productive conversation. Mostly it has been an exhausting, exciting and busy time since 2020 began, keeping oneself updated about one public health crisis after the other, communal tensions and counselling needs. And now this virus is the latest challenge which is going to be around for a while it seems. Requesting everyone to please keep yourself informed through confirmed and trusted sources only and avoid spreading misinformation.

Although we are all frustrated, conversation is key in these times and so is slowing down. Only read as much news as you can handle. People at the frontline of this health crisis in the community need support in terms of a sense of normalcy and appreciation. They need a warm word, or a meal together, a moment of light hearted banter, friendship, time to rest, recuperate and take care of themselves and their families.

A word of advice that helped me sustain hope was to take this opportunity to slow down and reflect on immediate spaces around us. Clean out inner garbage as well as outer. Discard hoarded memories, clothes and junk. Help out people in need of food, shelter, clothes or medicine. Do not name, shame or blame people with the virus on social media just because you have time on your hands. And most importantly, as you sit with your near and dear ones – pause and look at their faces- smile, reconnect.

Take that hour long bath if you haven’t in a while. Put aside the temptation of frenzied scrolling of social media feeds. Re – read old letters, look at albums, play music, cook good food. Like really pay attention to what you are doing. Use your sensory organs to touch, feel, smell, taste, listen and see as much as possible by your body to ground yourself in the present. Contribute to creating peace in your environment and homes.

And for those who believe in prayer, do pray. Pray because intentions, thoughts, words, and actions matter. Act in accordance with your prayers. And since it is world poetry day today, I feel like going back to my oldest muse – nature.

“A prayer for the tired heart,” I found,

Scribbled on the bark of a bard-tree behind my house.

I wondered if the words were new or old

As travelers often passed by this road.

I quickly picked up a leaf from there and left

As rain clad earth hummed at my theft

Added it to the motley crowd

Of broken beads, feathers and stones I’d found  

Home ceases to feel like home

When you leave each time alone

Return with a fresh wound, a mask, a poem, a card

Your mirror shows nothing but your façade.

Nostalgia lies sleeping among your books -

As friends, time capsules, coded missives.

Every time you smell the dust, the marks on those pages

A sigh of relief escapes, a character engages.

They seem to question your betrayal

How could your loyalty to them fail?

It took a crisis for you to remember your path

It took the world stopping to make you restart.

After this conversation with my books

I took down a page from the old nook

Took out a bright red pen from my school bag

And jotted a prayer for the old tired heart.

Sree

Fall

If trees could walk, I wonder where they would go to be away from all the people who make their life miserable. On who's lap would they shed a few leafy tears and whom would they laugh along with in merriment. The seasons come and go, nesting and resting a while. I swear you could almost hear them whisper their yearly gossip to the birds. And then to the creepers. And then to the ants who carry them across their nimble backs into the gut of the earth. They take root and bear fruits of love and friendship and warmth. And then we pluck them on this road to nowhere, making ourselves the masters of creatures. Tripping on our way to defeat the other. Laughing all the while at our cleverness. Alas the fallen apple and the last leaf can bear witness to our follies and repeat them next season to the far off trees.

#WednesdayVerses

कल लहू...

कल लहू के सामने लहू जो बह गया
ज़बान से फिसलकर मैं उर्दू जो बन गया
ना मुझे दिलों दिमाग का हिसाब ना उम्र की पहचान
आने वाले कल के सपनों मे झूमता  मैं भीड़ बन गया

माँ की खामोशी को यकीन समझकर
अब्बा की हँसी को मैं दोस्ती समझकर
खुद के ख़यालों की बेबसी को भुलाकर
मैं अवाम की पर्दादारी मे लीडर जो बन गया
कल लहू के सामने मैं लहू जो बन गया.

कहते रहे तुम की इधर के हो या उधर
मेरी शकल मे उन्हें कुछ आया नहीं नज़र
कल तक दुबारा मुड़के देखे नहीं जिधर
मैंने उस मकान से आज रिश्ता बना लिया
कल लहू के सामने लहू बदल गया

मेरे कपड़ों को देखकर तुम्हें क्या पता लग गया?
मेरी कहानी के तुम्हें क्या मुनाफा दिख गया!?
भीड़ मे बस मैं, बस मैं ही नहीं था
मुझसे बेहतर लड़ने वाला और कमज़ोर भी तो था
लेकिन लहू के सामने मैं बस लहू ही रह गया

मेरे वज़ूद की पहेली मे गुम मैं नादान हूं
परेशान अतीत के वतन मैं तेरा इंकलाब हूं
मेरे कल और आज और कल का मैं इत्मीनान हूं
मेरे सड़क के भाई मैं बस एक इत्तेफाक हूं
फर्क़ यही रहा के मैं बेबाक बन गया
नाक मे दम करने वालों की शांति मे खुराफात कर गया
सब की कहानी सुनने वाला कलाकार बन गया
मैं आगाज़ बनना चाहा, आवाज बन गया
कल लहू के सामने लहू बन के बह गया.

Love Laws

I received a prompt in the form of an picture from a friend who does #WednesdayVerses every week. This poem is inspired by Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things.

Love laws

At the face of it love seems benign
Like a bunch of flowers sitting in a corner at home.
But those who love shall know,
That it is a war upon oneself. That there are borders being drawn upon the heart.
There are violations upon the space we occupy.
The torment of staying apart, or not having met at all.

Then there are surrenders. Insecurities. Implosion.
There are base camps in the crook of the elbows
And there are vanquished peaks in the arches of surprised eyebrows.
There are bridges being built across wrists and shoulders.
There is prohibition and emergency and curfew.
Love laws govern the land of the body and of the heart.
Love laws govern who can love whom, for how long and how much.
But what it is not, is a command to be obeyed.
The flowers rise to the occasion.
Perhaps they're a peace offering.
A white flag.

Message in A bottle/Shout into the void/Interstellar travel

Dear Readers (if there are any),

I've been writing since ten years at least and blogging always made me feel I am not alone in the universe. I also realized that there are several million of us now doing the same thing. Just more creatively.

Do you remember when you used to sit down in a group, sometimes just over silly conversations and abundant food, there was no need for ice breakers and formal introductions, no reservations or strings, people would just be thrilled to be alive and with other people.

Now I feel we are epicenters of depression waiting to explode, too scared to show a chink in our armour lest our vulnerability be used against us.

What happened to us?

Why did words become our enemies and why did we become so busy reading between the lines that we forgot which story we picked up to read?

If you have answers or even the same questions, please let me know.
Because I have started to feel like I am at the end of my very long rope.

And maybe my walls have started to crumble.