Wednesday, 16 November 2016

Sadia's Writings -1

~ डूबाने को आसुओं की कमी थी
और ठहर जाती... ऐसी ज़मीं थी...
लू-नुमा, गर्म दुपहरी, मैं भी चलती रही
बेहिसाब सराब--सहरा निगलती रही...
सासें अब धदकती दरिया--अंगार हैं
मैं शब--रोज़ बस इनमें जलती रही
मैं चलती रही, मैं चलती रही, 
मैं चलती रही... ~

~ उनकी खुदसरी का वो आलम रहा,
जब-तब नामोश होती थी वफाऐं... ~

~ जुगनू, रूह, इश्क़, चाँद, तारे...
सतरंगी रेत पे उगते सब्ज़ नज़ारे,
बादलों के काफिले संग सफर करते,
ऊँचे-ऊँचे, ये फलक-नुमा शाद मकां...
परिंदों की नीली अंगड़ाईयों से,
टपकती मीलों की गहराईयाँ,
सच्चे अफसाने... ख्यालों में घढे,
सूत से लम्बे, 
लैला-मजनू के किस्से-कहानियाँ,
और सब्र मेरा... बस तुम तलक... ~

~ तराशी हैं इश्क़ ने ही,
ये ख़ामोशियाँ तेरी मेरी... ~

~ कर के बातें, रूठी मनाती हूँ,
रैन सारी, खुद को जगाती हूँ। ~

~ हुस्न--गुन्चा--आरज़ू है,
तबियत का मचलते रहना...
गुन्चा - a bud ~

~ जाना है हमें, और कोई रोकता भी नहीं है;
फ़िर ये मरहला कि कोई टोकता भी नहीं है। ~
~ मश्ग़ला--दिल के ये वही निहां मोती हैं,
जिनके जानिब रातें अब तमाम होती हैं।
मश्ग़ला--दिल - Pursuit of heart
निहां - Hidden/Secret ~

~ यहाँ गर्मी बहुत है...
मेरे आंगन की मिट्टी,
सूख सी गई है।
एक पेड़ है पर,
कुछ हरा सा,
और उसके आस पास,
मिट्टी के सीने को चाक कर,
घांस उगी है।
जो उमस की कोख में,
ओस ढूंढ़ती है,
रोज़ फज्र से ज़ुहर तलक...
तुम्हारी बहुत याद आती है,
पर बताऊं कैसे तुम्हे?
रोज़ाना एक चिट्ठी लिखती हूँ,
मौसम का हाल ब्यान करती,
और तुम्हारा दरयाफ्त करती...
वो भी भीग जाती है।
पेड़ की टेहनियाँ,
घांस को खेलता देख,
रोती बहुत हैं...
और मेरा लिखा सब,
मिट्टी पी जाती है।
प्यास भी क्या चीज़ है... है ना? ~

~ कुछ रोज़ से, एेसी कैफियत से दो चार हूँ,
उजड़ती दुकानों का एक ख़ाली बाज़ार हूँ। ~
~ बाद मरने के मेरे, दुनिया में एक काम ये करना,
ग़म-ख़्वारों में अपना नाम, सरे-फेहरिस्त भरना।
ग़म-ख़्वारों - Sympathizers 
सरे-फेहरिस्त - Top of the list ~

~ एक ज़िद्दी शायर का गोया वो फरेब था,
जीया दानिस्ता, और फ़िर मौत आई...
दानिस्ता - Intentionally/ Purposely
*** A poet does not live, and then lives ad infinitum. ~

~ इस ज़ौक़--हस्ती का उरूज, ज़ौक़--फना है,
दरमियाँ उसके मेरे... अब बस इश्क़--अना हैै।
*ज़ौक़ - Taste / Take pleasure ~

~ I had moon
soused in my eyes
and then it fell... unto soft, dusky sky... ~

~ Riding on my back,
This sunlit mural dawn,
Beckons the hay fields and mossy banks,
To sow soft seeds of,
Buds, blossoms, leaves,
Birds, birches, lichens, bygones,
Logs, peat bogs, polychrome swarms,
A dust-laden home and some paved lores —
Underneath the Buddha Eyes.
And there,
I am roused from a perennial sleep... ~

~ Should my dazed muse ever see an end,
Or burn me till eternities?
Much as some ferried immortal sun
Venturing to the uncharted realms,
The lands of unexplored— unknown
Terrains, those wouldn’t surrender
To the finely honed eyes of any man—
Be it Christopher Columbus,
Voyager of an unfamiliar orb
Or Jacques Cousteau,
Explorer of oceans and the seas
Imagination conjuring on his call
Born of the Goddess of mystery—
Nox— the darkness of midnight sky
Apollo— Romans enthralled
Or the mightiest Zeus, the king of Gods,
Who could never decipher that seared all,
Again and again until bouts regained
And the sun gobbled up the old world
Hail! O’ Almighty, bend to my fall
I prostrate before thee, once more
Save my breaths from getting charred
For I’m being engulfed by my soul! ~

~ Void
They say, I ain’t be trusted
And, my roots are rusted
For my soul fails to carry
The seed of deepest merry
When purest of love twines
And those evils do whine
Secrets of the dark nights
Embracing the king of lights
And those countless wonders
I often do deeply ponder
Why have I been deprived?
Of which life has thrived
Are my shoulders stooped?
Can’t they ever be recouped?
Or does my back really hunch?
And my enclosure isn’t staunch
Lynched as by my sorry fate
To a hollowness, till date
Sagging breast, broken breaths
Shall I ever behold the death?
Oh Sire, death can’t be my tomb
For I’m a dead, barren womb! ~

~ There are some things I cannot talk about;
The rest I do not want to talk about...

And then I let myself slip into the fallacies of love and life,
To render myself perennially noiseless. ~

~ A feral fire cannot be tamed—
But to be burned with,
As if in genuflection.

And has it not been quite implausible,
To douse a fire as such,
With gallons of dispassion,
And inspired quietude? ~

~ I witness a yellow dust...
Motes of sand and wind,
Alighting on your eyelids—
Haply from some desert;

A muffled, faraway one... ~   

~ Periphery,
Of the reality,
Is deluded,
By the dream,
Bewitching my sleep!
I witness the haze,
Sitting astride on the,
Wall— trespassed,
By the dream pervasive,
Engaging my yesterday!
Went to and fro,
In a flawless rhyme,
With the deluging symphony,
I heard every night!
Is the awakened today,
Failing to pry open...
And let escape,
As a dream should, but alas!~

~ A chunk of you,
That burnt today,
Into a glowworm,
Did not lighten the trail,
Of a single passerby.

And I say, 'Alas!'

But before you could stop charring furthermore,
A hedgehog squealed, with ruddy prickles galore,
'You are here much to my delight!
How lone and quiet has been this night...'

And thereon you know,
You have spent yourself alright.
You have spent yourself alright... ~

~ That rubicund night,
It wasn't the skies,
But the frozen raven of her eyes,
That clawed the callow, who cowered by the bedside.

And the white mauled flesh—
Lying limp of the fresh thresh,
Foreboded the fallen, a fellow of rapine, of the welkin's grind.

That ravenous night,
It wasn't just the skies... ~

~ She collects daily,
Shiny rattling cobblestones—
From all solemn graves! ~

~ I might wipe my slate clean,
And never write...
For this nothingness chokes less than the
Unheard voice. ~

~ Like a danseuse, caught in some skein,
And her goose-feet moving just so fine,
She danced away those icicles of night,
Fashioned by the lorn saudade of thine;
Tumbleweeds thus a nimbus too bright,
Of faraway tryst, and one falling fey kite! ~

~ The longevity of remorse
... and a wait that follows... ~

~ I am not Rose,
But a Dandelion now;
And embroiled in this silent, subliminal metamorphosis—
Tut!... I let wither something of mine... ~

~ Just a few lints,
Stuck in the curls,
And the swirls,
Of my gauzy being;
A fleece of memories was knit together--
Last winter;

And a gossamer sleep,
I sleep in it... alone. ~

~ I wish,
I had more to give you--
A mite more than this silence,
That you left me with... ~

~ In abeyance,
Is my existence;
And so I shall exist,
Even when you don't.
Centuries after centuries,
Your prowling kith and kin,
May go marauding therefore,
The skin, of my ravished
And still, I shall exist. ~

~ Trust,

It is not you that I slight,
But the palpable moment,
When a gnome in my mind,
Concocts stealthily,
To turn all this into a dry moat,
Which is hard to cross,
And even inescapable,
If given a chance.

Has never been that easy,
As it may seem from the other side.

I always end up with a broken bone or two...
Alas! Alas! ~

~ Like a drop,
I am most serene,
When I fall...

And then I am a deep puddle,
Of angst and hope. ~

~ To see you repose in my arms forever—
I made my world look like a willow hoop,
And wove a loose, fine red web around,
With twigs, sinews, beads and feathers.

I became your Dreamcatcher—

And you my dream that is still asleep. ~

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