Words

तुमको हो मालूम तो बताना, कौन सा रास्ता खुशियों की तरफ जाता हैं! लहरों से जूझते हुए पता नहीं, साहिल कब, कहाँ नज़र आता हैं!! इक कश्ती पे सवार थी, बहुत दूर मंजिल थी मेरी, मजधार में जो साथ टूटा, बेवक्त रोना न जाने किस किस बात पे आता है! तुमको हो मालूम तो बताना, कौन सा रास्ता खुशियों की तरफ जाता हैं! बोझ है मेरे सीने पर कई, रात दिन उस आस में 'नई',  रेत के घरोंदे सा मेरा मन, हर चीस पे ढेह जाता है! तुमको हो मालूम तो बताना, कौन सा रास्ता खुशियों की तरफ जाता हैं! बिन पूछे कोई सवाल, लहरों के संग संग बहूँगी, जिंदा हूँ गर आज भी, तो जिंदा ही रहूंगी, उसके नाम को दफ़न करने के बाद, उसकी यादों से रिश्ता बन जाता है! पर गर तुमको हो मालूम तो बताना, कौन सा रास्ता खुशियों की तरफ जाता हैं! * This poem tries to portray the feelings of a friend who lost her husband in an accident a week back.  He was hit by a car driven by young boys who were heavily drunk.  It was her first birthday after marriage and she is seven mont...

*This article has won second prize in  ‘ I Stood Up’   Blogathon on womensweb.in Have you ever thought what a woman is capable of? Or if you are a woman, what you are capable of? I’m sure, you would have. Life gives us many such moments when we think beyond our daily existence. We shed all inhibitions and step forward to discover our new self. And most of the times, the journey we embark upon is forced by circumstances. Many vouch that the time has changed, society has evolved and men have become more acceptable. I agreed to it; till I started commuting in public transport. Need not say, public transport in our country is overcrowded with commuters and crowded with men who won’t miss a chance to take advantage of a female. In five years of commute, I followed certain rules - where to sit, when and from where to board the bus and not mingle with any passenger. Thankfully, I had no bad experience while commuting, except for one. And my only regret is that ...

Stepping outside the bathroom with wet hair on a day when US East Coast was battling severe heat wave, I walked towards the bedroom window and soaked some fresh air. The tiny drops of water falling from my hair were keeping me   cool   and the confidence of having healthy hair was keeping me   content . I put some iced tea in my glass and a thought crossed my mind, I took few wet strands in my hand and asked them, ‘ Are you   happy   now? ’ Three years back when I was living in my hometown   Ambala , I had gorgeous hair; but after my marriage, things changed...or should I say I stopped caring about them? A newlywed who was busy adjusting to the new city and new life, forgot even her hair was coping with some adjustment. With no care and devotion from my side, they started losing shine and bounce. I blamed it on   Bangalore   and its   monsoon . I started   oiling my hair more often , thinking it would end my woes, but I failed to p...

On moonlit night, I sigh! Of incessant love, you may say. Beholding the hopes high, Our paths would cross one day. Sinking alone in mellow light,  I read his last letter. Wonder, what could I write? What words would be better? Indigo days, sober nights,  Of fallen petals and love. Or shall I not write,  Not make our parting tough. Sitting alone, searching for my broken star. Wish, I wish, time would heal these scars. *Image Source - Here

Ever cascading...Ever lasting, River of desire hopelessly streams. Galloping in day and night, The white stallions of my dreams... Skin deep abyss, Hushes the surface needs. Silently caressing on my bed tonight, The white stallions of my dreams... For many autumns and many springs, Lived in the labyrinth it seems. Walked sideways on alleys with me, The white stallions of my dreams... Bring me my freedom, Rub the zest on all extremes. Mounting high, I shall ride, The white stallions of my dreams... Ever cascading...Ever lasting, River of desire shall now stream. Riding high through all terrain, The white stallions of my dreams... This is one of my poems published in 'Rousing Cadence.'

On her frail shoulders, the threads of Pashmina talk. Of a valley, of heaven, of a moonlit night. Demure, she froze amidst the discordant noise, Charred bodies around her, her flesh and blood died. On moonlit nights, hence she walks barefoot on the snow, Suffering within and out, I can listen, what her silence speaks out loud. Deranged, Demented, She drags her body around, Unaware, Listless, what she has lost can never be found. I call her, whenever she passes by me, I have been piling up sorrows as debris. Come! My child Let me hear your pain, Let me soothe your wounds, Let me jostle your soul, So you shed a tear. I know your pain, I have done all this myself, And I have been there. This poem narrates the sufferings of women who lost their families in Kashmir Valley. *Disclaimer - Title is inspired by  Sonnet 30  of Shakespeare.