Monday, 8 August 2016

Destiny !!

Destiny reigns; silent and ageless in the

Mortuary of passions and thoughts;

An indisputable certainty in the vacuity  

Of an eternal flow of senses—within and without,

For a deadened soul to reprieve and reproach.


Life denies life and death derides death;

Delight and sorrow walk away—hand in hand;

The proximity of the present erases the face

Of the past—the moments, hours and years;

Shrivelled eyes fail to mirror a path unbroken.


Time smudges the image of a decent moon

Painted upon a dark face of young night;

Jacob and Esau battles within her womb

With promises of two distinct futures;

Never knowing which will shine the dawn.


From the vacuity it rises and dies within;

The margin between the fortune and misfortune

Is wiped up in the hollowness of events;

Enduring a greater fall to attain a loftier ascent—

Oblivious of the certainty scripted for the End.


Destiny defines; the present is of sheer suspense

Secreted within the bankruptcy of a dead past,

And the prospects of an unborn future;

As night is stifled between the legacy of a day spent

And the certainty of a fresh dawn.

Saturday, 2 April 2016

Mera kuch saman tumhare paas pada hai

"Mera kuch saman tumhare paas pada hai ..." is one of my favourite poems written by Gulzar....I tried  my best to let it carry the deep emotions and wonderfully woven words while translating it into English....never mind my shortcomings in getting near to the original....

A part of me is still lying around you,
A few moist days of a long-parted monsoon,

And a night wrapped in a sodden veil of fuzzy scribbles;

Let all images of that night fade into vacuity,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


Heard the rustles of leaves….aren’t there?

And those gentle tunes of falling leaves that

Slipped off my ears casting a fleeting kiss once and reappeared.

Somewhere the forsaken twig in the Fall is still trembling;

Let the wailing branch be wished adieu too,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


Sharing beneath a sole dripping umbrella, you and I—

Half-drenched and a bit dry—

And the warmth in me that we shared too;

Those a few wet thoughts, perhaps, still be lying around the bed.

Let it all be set free; let all be just mine,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


The sweet memories of a string of moonlit nights,

And of the beauty spot prettifying your shoulder;

The intoxicating fragrance of soggy paste of henna

And a few freaks of silly play of blame and regret;

And a few weird promises never kept.

Let it all fill me to the deepest down in me,

Let all I left there find me back here as a complete me.


Just grant me the parting acquiescence of the self,

For my lone walk to the grave,

For me to sleep forever….beside you.

Wednesday, 19 November 2014

A journey within.....

Only roses know the best of love
And lips know the saddest lies
So do I of a weird dream
That bleeds but never dies

The temple bears the deeds and sins
And the rainbow bears the rays
So do I of an autumn morn
That shines but never stays

The faces hide the nicest soul
And wings hide a deadly flight
So do I of a fallen leaf
That severs but never loses delight

Only kids listen to unknown tales
And hearts listen to a sigh
So do I to the mourner's dirge
That surrounds but is never nigh

Trees whisper to new-born birds
And dews whisper to aging night
So do I to my own reasons
That revolt but never fight

The winter walks to season's seed
And the spring walks its green
So do I to the Holy Cross
That beckons but never lets me in

Saturday, 1 November 2014

Love is a ticket to eternity !!

The life is an amazing experience. The amazement emerges from not from its uitility or futility; it simply finds itself in love that mesmerises the moments spent by. Love portrays itself in romance or in affection or in reverence or in trust or in understanding or in dreams; but it hides itself beneath images it paints upon the soul. Love is a self-validating ticket to eternity that blesses us with the birth of a soul and carries a license to free ride through the walks of life with a companion to explore one of such images it leaves at the show. It resides in those moments only--shorter or longer--for the ride together. The images changes with the company it keeps one for the ride. The portrait of a mother floats in the sense so long the warmth of her stays around. The journey does not demand the presence of the comapanion to feel the delight of the moments of love. The ticket grants the ride with someone, without someone, with memories of someone or with failing to remember someone and even with the company of a sense of being only--with someone incomprehensible or with nature or the just wholeness of spiritual contentment. The images of the first fits of romance or infatuation spread itself in moments of dilemma, trepidation and emotion for the soul that travels along. The images of confiding the triumphant delight of the first encounter of romance or of tearing apart--of great expectations or deadening despair--with a friend sketch the moments of togetherness with rich colours of confidence and trust in itself. Anything prior to e posterior to does not relate to the same set of imageries. Every image is differently associated to the moment of the journey. These portraits reveal itself within and are buried within. They remain only with the soul that carries the ticket and none can ever behold it beyond the self where they were born. Buried under they may fade away forever or may resurface on walk through the memories. But, whatever be the destiny of each such portraits fruits of love that glorifies the moments of riding together, for sometime, to an eternity never preconceived. It never stops blessing us with the sense of walking together till the senses are gone. It carries the mission of bringing joy within, treasuring the memories within and glorifying the moments of being together in the walk of life. It leads us from nowhere to nowhere ever brightening the sense of living with simple joy in between.

Thursday, 3 April 2014


চাঁদের সাথে গল্প হ'ল না—
ফুলের সাথে মৌমাছিদের আড়ি,
বসন্ত-খাম ভুল ঠিকানায় পাড়ি,
স্বপ্ন মরে চৈত্র-হারা রাতে৷