307. Anchored in silence

I was deaf

I am lost now
that I hear

306. Response - I

a. Mandy Petit

his name is Mandy Petit
and now he leaves me restless and curious
wondering
what flavour his words would turn out tomorrow
while I warm my hands on his steaming bowl of poetry
wondering
if his strongly dyed metaphors will bleed color
all over my thoughts
leaving me to scrub them
in the cold Seattle rain
yet again

b.

( ...
Has my culture or my gender or my
*insert any category here* 
not suffered enough for your sense of justice to feel appeased?

Or would prefer to see my physical scarring?
Would you prefer I prostrate myself upon your judgement
and sever my own head with the axe you grind?

Does my sex and skin colour
or my faith and heritage 
automatically disqualify me from having the slightest ounce of integrity?

...

Sit with me. Talk to me. Don't give up on me.
If we are going to make this thing work,
we both need grace.

by John Englezos)

what if
I have been reduced
to a label
too often
for too long
I no longer believe
that there can be any
another currency for conversation
but these labels

what if
I have wanted ways out too
but all roads so far
have led me back
to the same place

what if
I did not want
an ax to grind
to begin with
and it does
not belong to me

what if
the pain is too sharp
the wait, too long
to be graceful

walk me out
of here
I don't want to
give up you

--

Sometimes answers do not make sense without questions
Unfair that questions are good by themselves; but answers not so much. :)

305. 8 years 5 kilos 30 rupees

eight years and five kilos of
words and ink narrating all
my fortune and misfortune
and mother unknowingly
sold my diaries as trash
for thirty. well, at least she
got a good price for my past

--

Rehashing an old thought

304. Travelling

I don't want to go places
I just want to go home

the last time
I stepped away from home
to see places
I returned
to an unfamiliar neighbourhood

everything seemed the same
but nothing felt like home
and I didn't belong anymore

so now I keep still
and wait for home to return

people call me stupid
they say
one does not need to be to belong
I tell them
they are stupid
one does not need to see to believe

so I just listen to stories
and look at pictures on the net
to know how exotic
all these faraway places are

I don't need to go places
I just need to go home
or may be keep still
till home comes back to me

303. They say

Today's is a guest post. I asked my husband to write me a poem, and this is what he does.

He can’t multi-task,
They say.
With blinders on,
The world around him
Is gone.

He’s very focused,
They say.
One at a time,
Concentration is
Sublime.

He is so intense,
They say.
Watching a screen,
Doesn’t notice a
Loud scene.

He does just one thing,
They say.
Ignoring all,
Follows paths and goes
Awol.

He can’t multi-task,
They say.
With blinders on,
The world around him
Is gone.


So they say.
Yes, they say.
But they’re wrong.


He can do two chores,
I say.
One work gets care,
All the while pulling
His hair.

302. Monday

I was asked
how has your Monday been?

I said
unremarkable

I was asked
why

I turned to Monday
and looked at her questioningly

she was trying hard to be silent
and to not be noticed

ugh
she exclaimed
I hoped
you wouldn't notice
that I am here

I wanted to be less hated
for a change

I was trying so hard 
to be unremarkable

because when people notice me
and they remark
they only make horrible remarks
they call me manic
hideous
depressing
all because I follow the lazy lout Sunday

I hate Sunday
because he makes the world hate me

I felt sorry
for Monday

I have an idea
I said

Monday looked at me
curious and unconvinced

why don't we move 
to another country
I said
I hear there are a few 
where the weekends are different
they come on Fridays and Saturdays

so guess what
the people there 
hate Sundays

Monday rolled her eyes

yeah right
I doubt you would survive there
she retorted
you know 
I would rather I be hated
than you be dead
right?

she winked at me

she drives me crazy
but I think I like Monday
with her penchant for drama and dry humor

she is not all that bad

301. Introductions

I used to feel hurt
now I don't
now I understand

nobody likes pain
nobody wants to go through pain
nobody should have to live with pain
so we invented
life jackets to protect us from drowning
air bags to help us in car accidents
bulletproof vests to protect us from guns
and lies to save us from the stares, the remarks, the smirks and the disapproval
white lies, dark lies, half lies - all kinds of lies

I wonder why introductions were invented at all
and when they were,
were they invented to explain the presence of people in places
forced confessions like they are now
or did they come to be this way
through the perverse curiosity of people
needing to know more than they need to know

when we meet people
some days I am his husband
and I love it

some days I am a friend
some days I am his flatmate
some days I am someone he barely knows through a common friend
and I am fine with all that too

but some days it hurts like a bitch
when I am just a name followed  by a pause
a pause that neither admits nor denies anything
a pause which is crowded with emotion
guilt, frustration, apprehension, sadness
and it hurts
because
I know
the pause hurts him more than it hurts me
when he looks at me briefly
smiles sadly
and quickly looks away

this is now a well-rehearsed ritual
hiding the most precious things we have
from the sight and opinion of others
like we do not hang our pictures
on walls
but hide them
in private albums
lest people know
we are two men
hopelessly and irredeemably in love

white lies
to save us from pain!?

I used to feel hurt by them
now I don't
now I understand

--
Not completely my story (thankfully!) 

300. Talk to me

talk to me, love

I see cracks
in the walls of our hearts
let us patch them up
with conversation

I have seen too many hearts
fall apart
when silence came
and lived in the young cracks
like moisture

the monsoons
came and left
but the silence
the insidious silence
slowly ate the insides away
long after the outbursts and downpours had stopped

and harsh words and crumbly pain
started falling out like loose plaster
through the cracks
and before they knew it
their hearts
their homes
fell apart around them

so before it is too late
talk to me, love
talk to me

299. The poet

you have a real story there
your pain is so real
it needs to be told
it needs to reach the world
you need to be out there
she was told

she stepped out
of her closet
and
wept her heart out in words
through mascara smears
and ink smudges

hmmm
I know I asked you
to keep it real
but your pain is
too dark
too drab
too depressing
too dressed down

could you give us
something with
more color,
less candor;
more curves,
less creases?

you know what I always advise
women
they should always
leave something
to the imagination

so work
on your emotional grammar
and dress it up a little

see if you could give us
something
more current
more 'now'
less in-the-face
you know what I mean
she was told

she walked out
and walked back
into her closet

she was better off
a private tragedy
than a public comedy
in contemporary syntax

298. चलो चलें

चलो चलें
चलो चलें
अपने रुकने का कोई फ़ायदा नहीं

चलो चलें
चलो चलें
उनके लौटने का कोई कायदा नहीं



उलट-पलटके रख दिया
जो भी हमें जहाँ मिला
उथल-पुथल भटक गया
जो राह में जहाँ मिला

दिल जलाके दिन ढला
चलो चलें
चलो चलें



बुज़ुर्ग सी कहानियों का
ज़िक्र करते हैं हम
यूँ सुर्ख सी निशानियों पे
फक़्र करते हैं हम

बता ज़रा यूँ क्यूँ भला
चलो चलें
चलो चलें



यादों में इक जहाँ है
जिसमे अब कोई जगह नहीं
यादों में जो जहाँ है
उसकी अब कोई वजह नहीं

फ़िज़ूल है ये सिलसिला
चलो चलें
चलो चलें

297. Anticipation

she waits
on her deck
for the sun to set

and as he comes
closer to the hills
smearing the sky
orange
behind him

she plucks him

puts him
in the coin slot

and waits
in anticipation

maybe
the sun 
this evening
would be enough
to finally buy herself
a ticket
to a different tomorrow

296. Anonymous

take away my words

veil all familiar faces

erase all my history

label my desires trivial

strip me of reasons to move

deem me incongruous

and soon
i will become
anonymous

295. The prophecy

those who skin all the lands
for their vain and vacant reasons
will soon strip all the skies
off all the songs and seasons

for all that they toil for
they will deservedly earn
soon all their worlds will burn
soon all their worlds will burn

those who hail the victors
those who smear the dead
won't last here for long
will soon end near the dead
so mind you - you will survive
so long as you fear the dead

for the dead alone know
all that there is to learn
that all your worlds will burn
that all your worlds will burn

look twice and then some more
before you turn a believer
the truth - she is, but, an old myth
don't trust her at all; just leave her
fools who claim to know it all
their minds play tricks and conjure her
the wise stay wise in distrust
fools alone, ever, are surer

surer still to bring us down
before it will be our turn
and all our worlds will burn
and all our worlds will burn

--
like someone wise once said
better be paranoid than dead

294. कहाँ लाए हो पिया

कहाँ लाए हो
पिया

अलग सारे
शहर मुहल्ले

कहाँ लाए हो
पिया

कैसे गुज़ारे
पहर निठल्ले

कहाँ लाए हो
पिया

लाए हो
पिया
कहाँ लाए हो
पिया

--

देखी नहीं थी
पहले कभी यूँ

सर उठाए रंग शाखे
रह गयी दंग आँखें

गहने कई
पहना गयी
आके बहारें
ज़ेवर इनके गल्ले

कहाँ लाए हो
पिया

--

हल्की सी आँखें
भारी सी यादें

बेवजह तंग आँखें
उलझी पतंग आँखें

उड़ न सकें
मुड न सकें
तू ही बता रे
ठहरें या निकल लें

कहाँ लाए हो
पिया

--

A song talking about the marvel and the discomfort, right after moving. :)
PS: Spring is beautiful.

293. ये शहर अपना

कोहरे का पहरा
रोशनी का मेला
ये शहर अपना

लहरों पे ठहरा
चाशनी का टीला
ये शहर अपना

--

फींके थे जब हम
इश्क़ करके जी लिए

सूखे थे जब हम
अश्क़ भरके पी लिए


दिलों का काफिला
दिलजलों का ज़िला
ये शहर अपना

लहजा मासूम सा
कैफ़ियत का किला
ये शहर अपना

--

भीड़ में भी बरकतें
तलाशते थे हम भी

होश खोके हसरतें
उतारते थे तुम भी


रंग-ओ-बू पहना
अनोखा मिला
ये शहर अपना

लेके सफ़र मैला
छोड़के चला
ये शहर अपना

--

Leaving home - Mumbai.

292. Power struggles

each morning

i 

wake up

anointed the referee

in battles for power

between the voice and the channel

between the message and the messenger

between the event and the witness

between the curator and the artist

between the narrative and the audience

between the serial offender and the easily offended

between habit and adventure

and 

each morning

i

refuse to pronounce

which is of higher meaning

who the victor is

and 

each morning

i

lose 

the battle

i do not participate in

--

PS: truth changes with the audience. Worrisome, unfair but ... errmmm... true. :)

291. Matching pain from parallel universes

I smiled,
anxious and guilty:

I...

I want a son

in our place
daughters are born enslaved

just born to see traditions and tragedies

slaves
they live too long and too painfully

I can't die
leaving my daughter behind
to live 
like that

--

She smiled back,
embarrassed and sad:

well, I...

I want a daughter

in our country
sons are born enlisted

just born to see wars and wounds

soldiers
they live too little and too painfully

I can't live 
watching my son 
die before me 
like that

--

290. The truth about flying

why do they
lead us down
the same old story lanes -
myths of molten wax wings,
prophecies of malfunctioning parachutes -
peddling false fear of new beginnings
at the end of the street?

& we just take their word
and hide our flying dreams
lest they
give us up
turn us in
let us down
put us out

what if they told us the truth instead?

would we still
follow them?

or would we
find ourselves
new godmen
and seek comfort in old fears?

what if 
they spoke the truth?

--

why do we barter
white lies over drinks
talk about a thousand things
that do not exist
but still insist
on dousing days in their wake?

why do we lie
to ourselves
and the world?

why do we mock
the hopes of others -

hopes like the ones
we all nurse
but are too embarrassed to admit?

why do we
deem it better
to stay hopeless than be hopeful?

what if we spoke the truth instead?

would we still
belong together?

would we still
be scared of ourselves?

what if 
we spoke the truth?

--

why do I look away
when you talk of
soaring through origami clouds?

why do I hide
my vanquished skies
inside a bureau of vacant stares -

lest you notice that
I am but the same
I am just different
I am but alive
I am just dying
I am tethered to the ground
but I still love flying?

what if I told you the truth instead?

would you still
let me in?

can I still
keep my paper wings?

what if 
I spoke the truth?

maybe then
the sky wouldn't be so barren!

-----
I found this in my archives of unfinished poems. Old and incomplete.
Scouting through my books. May be there will a few more that I can salvage. :)

In a fun coincidence,  I saw the movie 'Joy' today - the story about flying when one is told one cannot. :)

289. याद करना

मुझको जब याद करना
बस बेसबब याद करना
तरसते दिन याद करना
बरसते शब याद करना

सुर तोलते थे कभी, पर खोलते थे कभी;
सारे बेताब तलब, मेरे लब याद करना

ताने तराने फसाने, आने जाने के बहाने;
कितनी जानें थी तुम वो सब याद करना

सिर्फ आवाज़ ओढ़के तेरी लेटा रहता था मैं
ज़र्द-ओ-सर्द रातें कभी, बेअदब याद करना

इशारों निगाहों की क़ैफ़-असर ज़बाँ तुम,
सुनो जब-जब जहाँ,
मुझको तब याद करना

मुझको जब याद करना
बस बेसबब याद करना

288. मसीहा

आज देखके आया हूँ उसे

वो मेरा मसीहा
जिसकी आवाज़ सुन-सुनके
ज़िंदगी बनाई है
जिसकी आवाज़ चुन-चुनके
ज़िंदगी बिताई है

बड़ा मासूम सा
है वो
बड़ा मज़ाकिया है

वो खुद ही पे
हँसने की हुनर उसकी

जब वो लफ़्ज़ों में
दुनिया दिखाता है
तो ऐसे लगता है जैसे
जान फूँक दी
बेजान से नज़र में

वो बात बात पे
ताज्जुब होना
कैसे उसकी आमद से
पिघलके बरस जाते हैं सभी
छलकके बिखर जाते हैं

वो शुक्रिया अदा करना
क्या खुदा भी कभी
बंदे का शुक्र गुज़ार हो सकता है
भला

आज देखके आया हूँ उसे
जैसे और ज़िंदा हो गया हूँ
जैसे मरके जन्नत नसीब हो गयी हो मुझे

जब कहता हूँ लोगों से
तो पूछते हैं
कोई autograph लिया के नहीं

सोचता हूँ
अगर रोशन रूह को दिखा पाता अपना
तो दिखती autograph उनकी

पर क्या
किसीने भला
रूह देखी है कभी

---
Gulzar | 24th January 2016 | Jaipur Lit Fest