A Thing called Hope

Those times of chaos, when, your mind's berated.
That wilderness grows, overpowering,
You venture about, lost, misdirected,
Deeper in the woods;
Deeper! Steeper!

But beware, the deeper you go,
more the light fades
and the gloom transcends,
from that foreboding moderate,
to the despondent melancholy.
The fire foes out,
the ashes remain, smouldering.

But fear not, O' brave heart,
the ashes will smolder,
Forget, and on.
Cease them, you know them.
These are the thoughts,
that floats you on;
on those waters deep, where
you get smothered.
Or in those woods where,
the silence is stifling
and this predator looms about
in the shadows, and,
you hear the beating,
the grafting rhythm of your heart.

But listen, O' valiant soul,
there may be no light,
to guide you back to
your isle of joy, of happiness,
and away from these woods of loathing
from these waters of depression, of sadness.

But there always is,
that path you traversed,
and there will always be
A thing called Hope.

आज़ाद

कहते हैं कि भारतवर्ष में आज़ादी की आजकल नई घटा है छायी,
जब अपने ही वीर सपूतों की निंदा करने की कुछ लोगों ने है स्वतंत्रता पायी।
अपने ही हाथों जिनसे मातृभूमि का गला घोंटा जाता है,
उन लोगों को आजकल देश में आज़ाद कहा जाता है।

रहते हैं जो उच्च दबाव में, तूफानों में, वीरानों में, शून्य ताप से भी कम वाले उजियाले-अंधियारों में,
रहते हैं जो कई मास दूर माता के प्रेम पिता के आलिंगन से, किलकारियां लेते अपने बच्चों के भी बचपन से,
रहते हैं वे ताकि इस देश का शीश न झुकने पाए,
ताकि कोई भटका हुआ मानव किसी रोज़ अपने साथ शांति को ही न उड़ा जाये।

अरे तुम क्या जानो आज़ादी क्या होती है!

आज़ादी का अर्थ भी जानो,
यह लो मैं बताता हूं,
भूलो इसको मत तुम अब,
तुमको प्रतिबिम्ब दिखलाता हूँ।

जानो यह संग्राम ज़रा,
समझो, अपने शब्दों को पहचानो।
आज़ादी नहीं विदेशों की,
यह भारत के अंतरतम से आई थी,
जाओ पढ़ो इतिहास ज़रा,
पढ़ो, समझ कर यह जानो,
मिली यह जब वीर मतवालों ने,
गुलामी के खिलाफ भारी धूम मचाई थी।

तब नहीं कहते थे वे उन हालात पर,
"भारत तेरे टुकड़े होंगे" चीखकर हर बात पर।
जान हथेली पर लिए खेलते थे मौत से,
चढ़ जाते थे सूली देशभक्त हंसते हुए एक जोश से।
क्या उन क्रांतिकारियों के बलिदानों को तुम भूल गए?
क्या भगत , चंद्रशेखर, बोस और सुखदेव पीछे कहीं छूट गए?

आज़ादी एकतरफा नहीं, नहीं सिर्फ यह रईसों की,
आज़ादी गरीबों की, आज़ादी वीर सपूतों की,
आज़ादी विचार बड़ा, आज़ादी आने वाली पुश्तों की,
आज़ादी माताओं की, आज़ादी हमारी बहनों की,
आज़ादी भेदभाव रहित, आज़ादी स्वाभिमानी पुरुषों की,
आज़ादी जन-जन की , पराये और अपनों की।

मगर आज़ादी यह नहीं कि लोभ में देश को अपशब्द कहते जाओ,
आज़ादी यह नहीं कि समाज में राष्ट्र-विरुद्ध दुर्व्यवहार फैलाओ।
या फिर सुरक्षा को दुश्मनों के हाथ बेचते जाओ।

इसलिए तिहार जेल के कैदी आज़ाद नहीं कहलाते हैं,
क्योंकि आज़ादी के साथ मूल कर्तव्य भी आते हैं।

और आतंकियों का समर्थन करने वालों, तुम भी आज़ाद नहीं कहलाओगे।

I am

I am a rusty car in your backyard,

Which has lost its touch at novelty.

But still it possess the mighty touch,

Of the godforsaken time's cruelty.

 

I am the barren old tree,

With one leaf just hanging still.

On the wild land of rocky slope,

Which has never known of care and till.

 

I am that empty reservoir,

Which hosted a spree of quenching thirst.

To the whole city or small village of beasts or man,

Without dividing who comes third or first.

 

I am those empty caverns filled,

The dwelling past of some mighty beasts.

That upheld now an empty fear,

Nothing the most but to the least.

 

I am those airy castles grand,

Which saw the grandest feasts and wars as well.

But now host some frequent crowd of logs,

Who has lost their souls and the heart it dwell.

 

Can you discern who am I, see?

For only then can you revive me.

I am rare now in those empty logs,

I am true now only to those who wrought,

I can be built up above the highest top,

I am that feeling that's too hot for the cold lot.

 

Guess who I am, where I stand,

Can you discern where or what I am?

Okay, if no, then you read on,

I am that makes you survive and live,

When you jump off the highest top,

When you slide down the steepest slope,

I am within you, your joy and hope.

Smile

When the sun is up,

And the cool wind blow,

She wakes up in that morning, slow.

Her fair eyes search for light,

For she is in a cell alone, her oldest plight.

Wrongly accused of what she would never do inspite.



She speaks in her voice,

A hoary one,

To the best person she knows,

Second to none.



“Good morning”, she utters thus,

The walls, the earth unmoved,

The gods yet nonplussed.

She expects the world to revolt,

To understand and feel her sorrow,

Yet it remains just the same,

The present and the morrow.



She sits down on the cot and weep,

Full of wounds in her heart so deep.

Then, she feels a touch so soft,

Softer than the floor of her loft.

She turned behind with murderous eyes,

Where stood a dove,

After a perilous flight.

She casts aside all,

The jewels she withheld,

In that forever prison,

Of fear and solitude she held.

Her palm engulfs the dove so warm,

A life beating in her hands,

Sweet, serene, blissful and calm.



She feels a surge of hope and joy,

A will to jump to the moon and fly.

She brings it to the windowsill,

And feels the glow, of the morning sun.

Kindling in her that long lost thrill.



The dove soars high,

Higher, up in the sky,

And farther it went,

Farther than a mile,

Leaving behind a maiden,

With a smile.