Saturday 30 April 2011

ഞാനാരാണ്

ഞാനാരാണ് എന്നോരുത്തരമില്ലാ 
ചോദ്യത്തിന്നുത്തരം തേടിയലഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍.
ഒടുക്കം ഉത്തരം കിട്ടിയപ്പോള്‍,
ഹാ! കഷ്ടം, മൃത്യുവും എന്നടുത്ത് 
എത്തിയിരിക്കുന്നിതാ.....

Friday 29 April 2011

കൂറകള്‍ക്ക് ഒരു കത്ത്

മനുഷ്യന്‍ എന്ന നികൃഷ്ട ജീവി ഇവിടെ പിറവിയെടുക്കുന്നതിനു വര്‍ഷങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് മുന്‍പേ ഇവിടെ സ്ഥിരതാമാസമാക്കിയ എന്‍റെ കൂറ സഖാക്കളേ, നിങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് ഈ വിനീതന്‍റെ അഭിവാദ്യങ്ങള്‍.
25 കോടി വര്‍ഷങ്ങളായി യാതൊരുവിധ മാറ്റങ്ങളും കൂടാതെ ഈ ഭൂമിയില്‍ ജീവിച്ചു പോരുന്ന നിങ്ങളെ പറ്റി "അത്ഭുതാവഹം" എന്നല്ലാതെ എന്താണ് ഞാന്‍ പറയേണ്ടത്?

ഒരു തരത്തില്‍ പറഞ്ഞാല്‍ നിങ്ങളുടെ ജീവിതം എന്തുകൊണ്ടും മനുഷ്യരെക്കാള്‍ ശ്രേയസ്ക്കാരമാണ്. നിങ്ങളുടെ ആവശ്യങ്ങള്‍ പരിമിതമാണ്. മനുഷ്യന്‍റെ അന്തമില്ലാത്ത ആവശ്യങ്ങള്‍ (അല്ല, അനാവശ്യങ്ങള്‍) ആണല്ലോ സാമ്പതികശാസ്ത്രം എന്ന ശാസ്ത്രശാഖക്ക് തന്നെ അടിത്തറ പാകിയത്‌.

ഇപ്പോളിതാ, മനുഷ്യന്‍റെ ആര്‍ത്തി കൂട്ടാന്‍ എല്ലാ കൊല്ലവും വരുന്ന "അക്ഷയ തൃതീയ" വീണ്ടും വരുന്നു. ആ ഒരു ദിവസത്തേക്ക് വേണ്ടിയുള്ള ജ്വല്ലറിക്കാരുടെയും മറ്റും ഒരുക്കം ഒന്ന് കാണേണ്ടത് തന്നെയാണ്.

കുറച്ചു ദിവസം മുന്‍പ്‌ ഒരു ആള്‍ദൈവം കൂടി ഈ ഭൂമിയില്‍ നിന്ന് കുറഞ്ഞു. മലയാളം ചാനലുകള്‍ അതിനെ ഒരു ഉത്സവം ആക്കുകയും ചെയ്തു.
"ഇന്നയാള്‍ മരിച്ചു" എന്ന് പറയുന്നതിന് പകരം "അദ്ദേഹം ദേഹവിയോഗം ചെയ്തു", "കാലഗതി പ്രാപിച്ചു", "ഇഹലോകവാസം വെടിഞ്ഞു", "സമാധിയടഞ്ഞു" എന്നിങ്ങനെ ഓരോ പ്രയോഗങ്ങളും.

ഇതെല്ലാം കാണുമ്പോള്‍ പ്രിയപ്പെട്ട കൂറ സഖാക്കളേ, ഞാനും നിങ്ങളെ പോലെ ഒരു കൂറയായിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍ എന്ന് ആശിച്ചു പോകുന്നു.
എല്ലാ വിധ ഭാവുകങ്ങളോടും കൂടി,
ഒരു പാവം വിനീതന്‍.

"I'm" angry at "me"

Yesterday, 'I' scolded 'myself':
"Why are you like this?
Can't you see the others, you elf,
Why are you like this?

"You've always been so damn rude,
Why is your mindset so much crude?

"You never do think how others may feel.
No wonder when you come, they turn on their heel.

"So much pain your words have caused
To others. A lot of limits you've crossed.

"You are such a moron. Never do you stop to think.
Whatever you feel like, you say it in a wink.

"And then repent later, 'Oh 'I' feel so sorry'
What's the use, its just a baseless worry.

"For the damage has been done, its deep and lasting.
It can't be undone. Not even by fasting.

"So please please have some sense.
So that you don't damage your future tense.

"Think before you speak from now on,
And think of your past, no its not yet gone.

"Learn when to shut your hatch,
And try not to excel in a shouting match"

'I' hope 'I' heed 'me' and that 'I' follow 'my' advice,
That I learn to shut 'my' mouth and be a bit more wise.

Thursday 28 April 2011

मेरा छाता

खींच रहा था वो मेरा छाता|
जैसे यह मेरा नहीं उसका छाता|

दो सौ रुपये देकर खरीदा था में इसे,
तो फिर ऐसे कैसे जाने देता इसे?

ज़ोर मैंने भी लगाया.
ज़ोर उसने भी लगाया|

बहुत सारे खिंचावों के बाद,
फट गया मेरा छाता, हो गया बर्बाद|

उस छाते का काला कपडा ,
उडान ले रहा था, फैलाकर पंख फटफटा|

खाली डंडा ही मेरे हाथ में बचा था|
देखकर उसे मन में मेरा दुःख मचा था|

अब क्या मुंह दिखाऊ माँ जी को?
कैसे कहूं "फट गया छाता" पिताजी को?

मेरे दिल में हो रहा था हलचल|
ऊपर आसमान में भी शुरू हुआ एक हलचल|

हाथों से ढक लिया अपने सिर को|
भागा घर की तरह देती गालियाँ हवा को|

वह हवा, जो इसी तरह बहुतों की छाता में जाएगा|
खैर छोड़ो, अब जो होगा देखा जाएगा|

Mind

Mind, its like a butterfly
Rarely does it settle.
And always keeps on the fly.

Unlike a butterfly bound by limits,
Mind is something
Which conquers even the highest summit.

And yet, at times the mind
Can be so desolated
That it may be the saddest thing you find.

It can whoop aloud with elation
But then seconds later,
It can go deep down with depression.

The path it takes is unique to each one.
It can be straight or curved
Guessing which, is possible by none.


Mind, its like a butterfly
Rarely does it settle.
And always keeps on the fly.

Unforgettable

When I see a beautiful flower,
Her smile flashes before my eyes.
When the wind near my ear do whisper,
I feel her presence calm and nice.

When I see the Moon's shining glow,
I see her face full and bright.
When rivers in-front of me flow,
I remember her hair, dark as night.

When I feel upon me the shower of rain,
I feel her hands upon my hands.
Whenever I find myself in pain,
Her memories sooth all my wounds.

Chances of another meeting later,
Has been to zero, reduced.
But still it makes me better,
Her memories, freshly reproduced.

Wednesday 27 April 2011

Walls


What purpose do these walls serve?
They stand everywhere, even on roadside curves.

They dissect the earth into many fragments,
They limit our minds to selfish segments.

All places are now ‘mine’, ‘his’ or ‘yours’.
No place is no longer ‘ours’.

As time passes, these walls heighten,
Along with which our minds too tighten.

No longer can we think of the plight of others,
As thinking for one’s self had become such a bother.

India is divided by the biggest of them all,
“Namaste” and “Aadab” are on two sides of this wall.

“Change is the only constant”: Marx said decades before,
Its time we change, build walls no more.

Rub out the boundaries, take down the walls,
Lets live together, for each and for all.

Who Am I?


Who am I?
Among the billions of humans
Who am I?
Among all the diversity of life
Who am I?
On this big round geoid called earth
Who am I?
Of all the known and unknown in this universe
Who am I?

A mere speckle, just a face.
Insignificant in this mighty haze.
A six feet body, a phone number.
In the race called humans, a mere humble member.

An Evening in a Metro


Once I went to a metro city.
My heart at once was filled with pity.

I had heard: “You’ll find only the rich there.”
But I could only find the needy everywhere.

Some void of money, some yearn for love,
Some wanted friendship, and all in need of time.

The visions of the metro touched my heart,
It’s still hung in there, in some old lonely part.

In the Metro:
All around its breakneck speed,
Everyone wants to be the top seed.
And empathy is crushed, like an old broken bead.

Roads are everywhere like the burrow of a mole.
Like long black snakes rising above all.
But no place left for a nice evening stroll.

Everyone has got their wrist watches.
Some even hang them on their sashes.
But no time remain even for birthday bashes.

I could see a throng of people around,
Going by their routine round and round.
But a happy satisfied face was nowhere to be found.

All around its hot and dusty,
As if a morning fog has turned a bit dusty.
The air I breathed wasn’t fresh but musty.

Is this the haven I’ve heard so much about?
For which the people leave even their abode?

If this is the metro, I have an advice reserved,
This ain’t heaven but hell. Come here only if you’re cursed.

Shaayaris

प्यार तो बहुत मिलते हें जनाब, पर
सच्ची मोहब्बत बहुत कम |
पत्थर तो मिलते हें हर कही, पर
हीरे उनमे बहुत कम||


प्यार इतना मत करना के  दिल में रह न सके,
दूर इतना मत रहना के हम सह न सके,
करते हम भी हे आपसे उतना ही प्यार..
जितना तुम भी आज तक हमसे कर न सके... 


दो मीठी बातों से नहीं होता प्यार,
हर फूल नहीं बनता गले का हार||


समंदर की लहरे, अपने सरों पे छाग के ताज सजाये,
इठलाती हुई, साहिलों की तरफ बढती हें|
साहिलों पर चट्टानें हें,
लहरे चक्माचुर हो जाते हें|
अक्सर सपने भी सच्चाईयों से टकराके यु ही टूटते हें|
मगर दिल वो कमबख्त हें, जो फिर से उम्मीद करता हें|
की शायद कभी,
शायद कही............


इंतज़ार शायद मोहब्बत का नसीब हें|
लेकिन जब मोहब्बत इंतज़ार करती हें,
तो समय थम जाता हें,
ज़माने रुक जाती हें|
मोहब्बत जिद्दी हें|
आखरी सास, आख धड़कन, आखरी पल तक
इंतज़ार कर सकती हें|
और कभी कभी, उसके बाद भी..............

Growing Down


All of us grow on on and on.
Won’t it be fun to try and grow down?

Think how cool and pretty would it be,
If one fine morning we are back in class three.

Be free of tension grief and sorrow,
And chase a rabbit out of its burrow.

To watch a butterfly glide, flapping its wings,
And be unmindful of all material things.

To be a youngster, active hearty and hale,
And for just one day, not to worry of mail.

To enjoy the rain, all of its drops,
And spend a day without weeps and mops.

Stop for a minute in this wanton race,
Pause and have a look, at your own face.

You’ll see someone unknown to you
The face of almost all but seen by few.

That is the face common to all desperate,
Those who want their status to merely escalate.

Hang on for a moment, think where you are,
Is this what you wanted? Or have you gone too far?

So move on, but keep this in mind,
You live only once, a rebirth never will you find.

Happy Birthday Yashin


O, you are my sweetest friend,
In all my troubles, a hand you’ve lend.

O Yashin, I love you so much,
‘Coz in my heart, you did touch.

All it takes is your one smile,
To close the gap, be it a mile.

We’ve been together for years eleven,
Together from the age of one less seven.

You’re so cute, you’re so handsome.
You cause no problems, neither are you troublesome.

I wish you my dear, a happy seventeen,
Just two more years, and you’re out of your teen

I wish you have a wholesome life,
And may you get a choicest wife.

Hope we remain friends for ever,
I love you always, forget me never.

Happy birthday Yashin, my friend,
Wanna be with you, until my end.

Michael Jackson – A Tribute


The beginning was humble.
The end was poignant.

He was just one among five,
In his family troop “The Jackson Five”.

His debut single was a simple one.
“I want you back” which was a number one.

In his group, he played the best part,
Which caused his troop to top the charts.

He starred a role in “Wizard of Oz”
Where he met impresario Quincy Jones.

He gave out his first solo “Off the wall”
With which, his faces came up on the walls.

Then came “Thriller” the elegant,
Which transformed him to a true legend.

None of its likes ever came,
And he rose into Pop’s Hall of Fame.

On “Thriller’s” wake came more hits,
Much of runaway hits like “Beat it”.

“Bad” came out as the third,
And “Dangerous” was worldwide heard.

“HIStory” was his story.
“Invincible” ends his story.

Dance was in his blood and bone,
His moonwalk, entirely his own.

He loved his time on stage,
Separated from which, he felt like in a cage.

Truly a legend, truly the “King of Pop”,
His glory was pristine, which nothing could mope.

You do not listen to him merely,
But you experience him merrily.

Controversies were his friends.
Which made him appear a fiend.

He loved children and childhood,
For his, was void of anything good.

Stage was his home, mike was his sword.
Music was his life, and dance, his soul.

He was not a person, but a personality
He donated in person, to charity.

The Thriller is gone but the Trill will remain.
My dear MJ, In our hearts you will remain. 

My Thoughts-When They are Streamlined


I’m Vysakh
And this blog is my poetry. [Or at least, that’s what I would like to call it.]
These are the poems which I felt are worth posting in a blog.
Do read these poems, for they have originated from my heart. Do spend some time in here. After all, the “Close” button is just a click away right?
I’ll never call myself a poet. These are my thoughts, which I have tried to streamline.
My motivation to begin this blog was my friend Anjali, whom I met over Facebook, and with whom I share my birthday. Thank you Anjali, for being my motivator. This blog would not have taken shape without your requests.
I hope you like it and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the time you have spared.
Do let me know that you’ve visited my blog. Leave at least one criticism.
Again, I hope you like the stupidities I’ve scribbled.