Tuesday, February 21, 2012

150. Impressions on the sand.


I have reasons to be sad
Reasons that are known only to this restless heart of mine
You can call them good or bad
But they would always be understood by one I call divine



The uphill struggle of mighty vision
One that my tender childhood thought to be true
Dreams that I saw as a kid
Those that within me always grew



A stream of mountain
And roof on a hilltop
Playful evenings
To which there would never be a stop



The pink fountain
Behind the garden of fragrance smell
Where flowers blossomed
Even on steams and shells



A beautiful stranger
With hairs like the darkest night
And wisdom to define and explain everything
That stood as far as we had the sight



The love in its innocent form
Rebelling the world with a sheer storm
The moonlight on a river bed
The smiles won and tears shed



A heaven right on the door of hell
Sublimely casting its mesmerizing spell
And thoughts that were rain drops
Battling against their full stops



The realities that never struck
As rose petals we continued to pluck
Jealous we left the world astray
In whispers of love and freedom of pray



************


Ho yakin na meri baaton ka
Toh mere khoon k katre ko chuna
Aakhiri boond tak usmein
Dard ki nishaani hogi



Silvaton mein waqt ki
Khwaab k who bikhre manzar
Unmein bhi kahin tuti huyi
Sapnon ki rawaani hogi



Ek raat hai ye anjaani si
Mere bhi sar par, tere bhi sar par
Kahin bhad rahi hai
Kahin ghat rahi hai

*****


PS - There have been a lot of things happening on my end. The ones that have left me disturbed, damaged and bothered to an extent that I find myself completely changed by the tide of what recent days had offered me. I would not like to get into details of it, and somehow that has stopped me from expressing myself in every direction, blogging being one of them. If any of my old readers manage to reach this post, I expect them to leave a comment so that I know I was being heard by those I considered mine.




PPS - The last four lines, is a dedication to a diary that I found at my old home while looking up for something else. The diary that was so meaningful, so beautifully written that I cannot imagine anything documented in the same way as far as I recall. It was half a century old almost, belonging to year 1974 and beautifully jotted down in the handwriting of my father. The last four lines rest same in his one of the prose there.





8 comments:

Shelly said...

Your words speak my feelings ... You have the gift of expressing what you feel so well! Please keep writing.

ViDiShA said...

ur xpressions nvr fail to touch my heart...

PULKIT said...

Hey Shelly welcome to my blog, as far as I remember, this is ur first comment on it. I am glad that U liked the post, keep visiting :)
regards
P

PULKIT said...

Vidi, I knew u would comment :')
Thanks for reading me again, Its a blessing to have u on the page.

God bless
P

The Aspirant said...

Hey bro
i'm on blogger after a long tym bt still managed to find ur post...
last 4 lines r really awsum
nd i'm really waiting for the next part of "When mirror lies", i know last tym u told me there won't be more from that but i still wait may b u reconsider things ...

cheers :)

Dorothi said...

And thoughts that were rain drops
Battling against their full stops.

Loved it!!

Sunakshi said...

The words belong to your soul.Excellently written. :)

Salil said...

And I was, I am, probably will always be!