गरीब...

कुछ ऊंची ऊंची
कुछ तनहा तनहा
कुछ तनहा सी ऊंचाइयों से देख रहा हूँ
हर पल करवट लेती नीचे की जिन्दगी को,
कुछ सहमी सहमी
कुछ फना फना
वहाँ की रोशन गरीबी
और उस गरीबी में साँस लेते
ऊंचे ऊंचे सपनों को टूटते बिखरते हुए
देख रहा हूँ ।
जुलाई के मौसम में छत से बिखरती हुई
बारिश की बूँदें
और उन बूंदों से गीली होती हुई
बिस्तर की सुस्त सिलवटें ,
मेज़ पर रखे अख़बार के पास
पापा का बंद चश्मा
और कुर्सी के पास रखी उनकी
फटी हुई चप्पल पर लगी हुई
मोची की कील ,
ठंडी रसोई में पापा के लिए चाय
बनाती माँ
और माँ की खनकती हुई चार चूडियों को
ज़मीन पर बिखरे हुए
देख रहा हूँ ।
अलमारी में बंद मिठाई का कनिस्टर
और माँ की सादी से बंधी
अलमारी की चाबी को
चुराती हुई बहिन,
हर दिन दीवारों से उतरता हुआ कच्चा रंग
और उस रंग से भरी हुई
दरारों को हरपल गहरा होते हुए
देख रहा हूँ ।
दादी के चेहरे की झुर्रियां
और उन झुर्रियों के पीछे छुपा
सालों का अकेलापन,
वोह पीतल के गिलास पर
लिखा घर का नाम,
और पतलून की फटी हुई
पोक्केट से फिसलती हुई
दुकान की चाबी,
इस गरीबी में साँस लेती कई जिंदगियां
और उन जिंदगियों की छोटी छोटी खुशियों को
धीरे धीरे दफन होता
देख रहा हूँ ।
चलना शुरू किया तो कब कदम दौड़ लगाने
लग गए पता ही न चला ।
कुछ मुश्किल लम्हों की देहलीज़ पर करके कब
हँसना भूल गए पता ही ना चला।
आज पहली बार ज़िन्दगी की ऊंचाई में
अपनी गरीबी को महसूस किया है मैंने ।
आज दोस्तों से भरी हुई इस शाम में
अपने अकेले होने का एहसास किया है मैंने ।
पर सब कुछ बिखरा हुआ सा
धुंधला सा महसूस हो रहा है,
और शायद कहीं न कहीं
इस सब बिखरे हुए में अपने
आप को खोज रहा हूँ मैं...

questions???

Recently some questions have begun to molest me sometimes. I ponder for hours together but then find myself in a serious dilemma. They not only question me as a person but they question my moral integrity, they question my responsibility as a human. I don’t know why but I find myself speechless whenever they knock on my door. I fail to answer them fluently, confidently. I fail to answer them from my heart. I always get entangled in the war of right or wrong. When I look around I don’t find the answer difficult but when I apply the same to myself the situation becomes tense and incomprehensible.

Given a situation if I happen to be at a position where I have a free access to money making business which in moral sense is seriously unethical and illegal, would I still resort to bank up all the money I can within a given time span of my tenure as a responsible officer?

Given a situation if I happen to get a chance when I can avenge
A person who hurt me a lot and vanish his existence from the world would I resort to stab him in the chest and go scot-free?

Given a situation if I happen to succeed myself to a higher level in terms of status and luxuries by deceiving the only friend I have, would I still resort to stake my conscience to satisfy my mortal existence?

Would I or would I not?
Should I or should I not?

I fail to answer.
I fail to comprehend.
But I find myself stained…

Words…

Words too hate me sometimes
I think many a times,
Silently they manage to slither
Away in corner,
And hide there
For hours together,
Peep through the
Holes too small,
And stealthily whisper about
My despair.
Far stretched in the memory
When the distant shadows
Begin to hurt like arrows,
And the white of the paper
Shines its emptiness with glory,
The hands tremble and
Drops the pen in fear,
Spills the ink on ground
And spoils the linen with tears.
The words watch the show
And rejoice the victory
With grace,
Even begin to retreat
To the foreign land with a
Promise not to return to the base.
Cautiously they walk away
In darkness,
Deciding not to leave
The footprints behind,
And warily eat away the hustle
That breaks the softness so kind.
They have gone too far
And hidden somewhere in the
Lonely woods,
So begins the endless search
For the friends of the lonesome nights
And the desperate moods.
In time,
The mind would wither
Away the blazing sense
And the heart would tear apart
The emotions so tense.
The murky night longs for the
Golden bowl,
Like a shriveling body quivers for the
Lost soul.
The hope lingers that the
Time would come
Coz’
The poem still needs an end,
Coz’
The poem still needs an end…

Space around my coffin…

Sleeping in my coffin
I hear them cry
With their hearts out,
When the words of adulation
Begin to flow
I prefer to turn around
And die for a moment again,
They load my coffin
With the dead flowers
And pray for my safe journey
Through heavens
And the worlds beyond.
I am lying there for
Years and days
Waiting for someone
To set me free,
But death seems to be a tricky
Affair, not as easy as it
Seemed to be.
She comes and sobs and
Lies to me
As she used to do when
I was around.
I lived a life of false pride
And had a similar end.
The soul lingers to
Escape the fake world
Space around my coffin
Still waits for the one
With a true heart,
The soul would wither away
Without the truth.
Because it has been a long time
Since my demise,
So now
the dead man wants to die,
For once and for all…

An autobiography

Part 1

A monster by nature,
A speck by size,
An insect by birth,
Seemed to be crawling
On and on,
Till I killed it for once
And for all,
Got relieved for a while,
But then it started again
This continued for hours
Together,
When I finally decided to
Give up.

Part2

I transformed myself into
An insect…

Part 3

Now we crawl together
In unison…