/सिर्फ मर जाना ही मरना नहीं होता/

ख्वाबों के बक्से को ताला मार

जब आँखें मूंद कोई सोता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है

खीज में जी कर ख़ुद को भुलाकर

जब ख़ुदी में छिप कोई खोता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है

आईने में एक चहकता बच्चा देख

जब उम्र के बीज कोई बोता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है

टहनी से गिरा एक पुष्प लाचार सा

जब मुसाफ़िर की बाट कोई जोहता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है

मर्दों की बसाई इस दुनिया में

जब कोने में बिखर कोई रोता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है

नैतिक दबाव में परछाईं भी भूल

जब अस्तित्व का भार कोई ढोता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है

दिल से दिल के शातिर व्यापार में

जब इंसा से पुतला कोई होता है

तब वह थोड़ा मरता है



In the most still moments

The unignited fires

Rise amidst the blues

The tranquil night

With all its grey might

Longs for serendipity

And I,who desire,

Stand on the boulevard

Of untrodden desires

Of the incomplete drafts

Only to bury them

Seal them

And later, transcreate them

Step by step

With deluded dusty stanzas

Wrapped in crawling desires

In a different, incomplete draft

Call it Sadness

What follows next is sadness. Please go away if you are in dire need of positivity or if you like to entertain anything but reality.

If you are looking for your daily dose of prose/poetry with quintessential usage of metaphor,this is where you stop. Abort. What follows next is an allegory. The mere catalogue of unabridged facts is exactly what will follow.

I am sad. I am anxious and I am sad. Not sad as in self-demeaning,self loathing sort of sad. Sad as in jealously sad. As in ‘hopeless envious’ sad. The anti-sadist sad sad.

My feed is full of people celebrating this thing called life; posting happy snaps,posting their beautiful smiling faces. To me,it is satisfying to see and that’s sad because I could never really relate to them. Could never imagine same thing happening to me,like me smiling and moulding as per the peers and that’s sad. My offerings include humour, lyrics and music score. And that’s sad because art and humour is derived from reality.

I see people celebrating love. People irrevocably in love;spreading love vibes. I am sad because I don’t catch their vibes. I am sad at the fact that my ability to feel and acknowledge love in accordance with the popular norm has diminished completely.

Sadly,I don’t even want to be wanted. Call it nihilism.Call it sadness.

The poets of my era are warriors. They fight,they write,they fight again. Consider a vast desert with no seeming end.They are the travellers hoping for the plains and an oasis is their temporary refuge. The poets of my era don’t write,they bleed. They paint their scars with brushes which work via pressure mechanism fueled by nothing but courage.

I read them and that makes me sad. It makes me sad because I hear a call for help amidst all hopelessness. Sadly,they are being congratulated for decorating their misery. Makes me sad that I can’t see what other fellow poets see when they find depth.All I could see or hear was a person sending out a call. The picture they are drawing isn’t beautiful,it is tragic. I feel sad as I am no more a rebel or maybe I was never a poet to begin with.Call me basic. Call this sadness.

I go out and I see people worshipping their human form,looking all flee. Sadly, I am sitting in these chappals while I wait for the metro to arrive at Malviya Nagar.They say meet new people daily,it helps in evolving as a mature human who has absorbed wide range of perceptions. Doesn’t help if you are not willing to look presentable or more importantly ‘talk’ presentable. I am sad because I never really mastered the art of talking the talk. It’s like I am the open book with detailed and honest explanation and the person who leaves is the top notch book reviewer. Some parted ways with negative reviews and some dozed off;leaving the pages unread..unturned.

End realisation: some people shouldn’t even try commuting and you my friend are one of those. Sadly,it came more natural to me than I expected. Look who’s the ultimate pro at deleting his social existence now?

Maybe I am just sad because I can see sadness lurking inside everyone who have forcefully supressed it under their armour of pretentious confidence.How is ignorance curing sadness is beyond me. When did sadness became a thing to boycott as to induce positivity? Isn’t it amusing how they feel sad over a fictional character death in a TV series while they refuse to acknowledge the grave situation other people(live people turning into corpses) are in?

Talk about this courageous Netflix generation!

I am sad at the fact that I might become this nihilist prick who knows nothing but apathy. I fear the process has found its catalyst in the worthlessness in me. The questions have dried up,the thoughts have evaporated and then there is this comforting calm that holds me and eradicates every ounce of zeal while I stay motionless,emotionless.

Yeah,let me just ignore human existence. Worth it.