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Sunday 31 May 2009

Against hope


The raindrop on my brow
Lost itself on my touch
Like a lover smitten
Melts-in sans wait much

Woes of living away so far
Were not to upset my spirit
If these forlorn tears
Didn't look raindrops a bit

No news from winds so thick
Nothing from the skies
Wonder if I breathe still
The life in her sighs

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When the light fades


I build myself again, again to go,
Leaving some gentle moments behind,
When the demons of solitude let me smile;
They desert me often, often they’re kind.

I find my answers, I breathe them in,
And keep them there before they hurt;
When the man in me erupts to rule,
I become a child, a child curt.

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Who am I?


Not a believer inside the mosque 
Nor a pagan disciple of false rites
Not the pure amongst the impure
Neither Moses, nor the Pharoh
Not in the holy Vedas
Nor in opium, neither in wine
Not in the drunkard`s craze
Niether awake, nor in a sleeping daze
In happiness nor in sorrow
Neither clean, nor a filthy mire
Not from water, nor from earth
Neither fire, nor from air, is my birth
Not an Arab, nor Lahori
Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri
Hindu, Turk, nor Peshawari
Nor do I live in Nadaun
Secrets of religion, I have not known
From Adam and Eve, I am not born
I am not the name I assume
Not in stillness, nor on the move
I am the first, I am the last
None other, have I ever known
I am the wisest of them all
Bulleh! do I stand alone?
-Baba Bulleh Shah




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Saturday 10 January 2009

Who decides?

Only now, on the other end of their happiness, I seek to depart from the old ways; in doing so leave some disturbance behind, writhing and moving ever so eerily to empty out a defined space only to see another hopeful get sucked in.

There isn't much I read in such judgements. All my life, with every thought, I have seen them take their own course. Easy, isn't it, to analyse everything right down to the last detail. Conscious decisions, all taken by the same brain, lead you. So, what's new you may ask? The way life unfolds leaves but little tags behind. And no judgement, made howsoever efficiently, follows the trails. In hindsight, and such a pleasure hindsight is, it all makes sense - to go back and think, to look far and think, to not think but feel - it all leads to just one question. Would it have been such anyway?

A mosquito came and sat on my arm and lay there a long time. I wondered if I should take the life out of it and perhaps waited for a reason to do so, it being a mosquito, strangely, didn't seem fair, but no pain came at all. A rare moment of deviation could have let it be there but it stayed and lived. But, again, in hindsight I think I chose the better option.

From all the faces in the crowd I picked one. I wouldn't know if it was the best for a long time. As it turned out, it wasn't even close.    



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