कौतुक

हिरणी की आँखों में व्यथा अपार। मधुमक्खी के छज्जे से टपकता शहद छज्जों के छोर से लटकती; बूँद अपने बोझ से बनती बिगड़ती। बनती बिगड़ती लहरें टकराती सागर किनारे चट्टानों से कुछ बिखर जाती कुछ, कुछ कसमसा कर सिमट जाती और लौट आती घर भरने गगरिया सिंधु हृदय की। मृग नयनी तुम सुन्दर सुन्दरतम बहती नयनों से अश्रुधारा!

And then it rained, slightly though a brief alarm for the thunderstorm coming, and they fled the white, grey and somewhere in between the pigeons. A fluter in the sky rain vertical pigeons horizontal apparent friction. people in the sky hovering by. And then some remained where they were unguarded unperturbed almost fearless As if there were lines under their claws of varying sizes and numbers I wonder.

Eat-drink-sleep plan, fail or succeed In a run to cure  a need for need.  Fuel and refuel  multiple times  make schedules  draw the lines.  For a body so precious  and a soul more ambitious  a machine  with high cost maintenance  striving for sustenance.  With form but no function  an apparatus for consumption  perilous, fragile purposeless, futile. 

Goodbye, Day. With many hopes I rose From slumber Hung over with dreams Strange stories and numbers Looking up to the sun I prepared for the run Plans, schedules and to do lists A-plenty The thinnest finger of the clock Pointing me guilty Time flew I never knew Oh procrastination The mother of laziness! Hope she left me for good So I could do what I should But the day ran fast Giving little chance. The list half done And half yet to do Some dreams lived And others on the waiting list A turtle on the beach Myself, I move Neither sea-wards Nor backwards Yet I move Moving… The day passes by And just then I say goodbye.

  Image by Ashok Meena I promise two words like a mountain  resting on a sea.  Or is it an iceberg? Sunken amidst  precarious waters. The tip, an attempt  to undo itself.  Promising is like standing  on a slippery terrace  with heels on.  I have promised  to be faithful to be honest to be careful  to be better only because I can't.  When in despair lost in war with oneself  destined to wane I hold on to a tiny string; Belief.  I choose to give myself  a second chance  to fail and thus  I promise. 

A 1000 mangoes Atop a large Mango tree One of the finest orchards The rarest Alphonsos. As the tree flowers The farmer rejoices Another great crop Of fine Alphonsos And then he Somehow disappears As if rejoicing Was the last obligation. The tree stands eager to get rid of the fruits Their burden now bogging it down. The farm opens to the pluckers And how they grab the juicy fruits! But always, Some on the top are left untouched Waiting for a brave plucker To set an eye on it Saving itself from rotting. But how many a mangoes rot! Rotting is inevitable. On the trees, In the godowns In the seller’s basket Also at times In a lazy customer’s fridge Difficult is the delight For a mango to attain Of feeding a mouth Its juice and pulp in all its purity A purposeful life A mango’s nirvana! Meanwhile, the farmer Busies himself for yet another crop Oblivious to the mango’s fate For the prices have been se