Random Remorse

ख़त तो कोई लिखा ही न था तुमने कभी
फिर से तेरी यादों को सिरहाने कर लिया हमने

धुँआ

इतनाही सफर मुनासिब था शायद मेरी उम्र की सरहदोंतक

तेरे खयालोंकी हक़ीक़त से लेकर पयामोंकी हसरतोंतक ...

स्पंदन - मध्यंतर

सावर … आता नाहीये तिथे
काय झालं असेल तिचं ?कुणी घाव घालून उखडून टाकली असेल का?
एखाद्या वादळा समोर हतबल झाली असेल…  तुफानाच्या तुफानपणावर जीव ओवाळून टाकला असेल तिने…

पण मग मला काय त्याचं ?
इतक्या वर्षांनंतर ती तिथे असावी तरी का?
मुळात मीच तर  नव्हतो इथे… मलाच यायचं नव्हतं ना … मग??

तरीही …
मी असेन - नसेन  पण ती सावर तिथे नाही हे कसं मान्य करावं?
 आता तो आत्ममग्न डौल नाही
नाही तो रक्ताला आव्हान देणारा रंग,  एकटेपणाचा नजरबंद करणारा साज.


पण ती सावर खरंच नाहीये का?
म्हणजे ती तिथे नाही म्हणून कुठेही नाही असं नक्कीच नाहीये
ती आहे
माझ्या मनात … माझ्या गाण्यात … कदाचित
किंवा नक्कीच !
बहुतेक, ही माझ्या मनातली सावर जास्त खरी असेल



किंवा आत्ता माझ्यामधून ती सावरच बोलतेय … असंही असेल कदाचित !

असेल ना?

सांध्यमग्न!

सांध्यमग्न!

The Rhythm

The first encounter with him took place when I was rather young, though I had heard his name since childhood. It simply didn’t excite me except for a kind of rhythm in his name and the mistake I made while spelling it out.
Kahlil Gibran. The first time I met him, I was too callow to allow him commove me. Nevertheless, I kept on reading him irrespective of fact whether I understood or not (as was my wont, to just eat words and drink rhythm).
It ended as abruptly as it started. And there was a pause. A long pause.
And he came again in my life. Years afterwards. No, he didn’t come; he actually stormed into my life. I was left just to see where he carries me away, and where he drops. Till date, my predicament continues.
Neither does he require nor do I have any adjectives for him.

Excerpt from "The Prophet"

And she hailed him, saying:
Prophet of God, in quest of the uttermost, long
have you searched the distances for your ship.
And now your ship has come,
and you must needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and
the dwelling-place of your grater desires; and our love would not bind you nor
our needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us
and give us of your truth.
And we will give it unto out children, and they
unto their children, and it shall not perish.
In your aloneness you have
watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping
and the laughter of our sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and
tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and
death.

And he answered:
People of Orphalese, of what can I speak
save of that which is even now moving within your souls?
Then said Almitra,
speak to us of Love.
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and
there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:
When love
beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when
his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions
may would you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice
may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the
garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even
as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to
your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So
shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the
earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you
to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you
to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you
to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred
feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets
of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s
heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and
love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and
apss out of love’s threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall
laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your
tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from
itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is
sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, “God, is in
my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can
direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your
course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love
and must needs have desires, let theses be your desires:
To melt and be like
a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too
much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love,
And to
bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give
thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate
love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to
sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon you
lips.