अदृश्य

अदृश्य हैं ,
सड़क पे चलते हुए बच्चों के नंगे पांव अदृश्य हैं,
वो छाले, वो घाव ,
वो चुभते पत्थर
अदृश्य हैं।

वो पटरियों पे फैली रोटियां ,
वो खून , वो चूड़ियां ,
वो बिखरे चप्पल, वो टूटे सपने, अदृश्य हैं
वो माँ के आँचल में सिमटी ममता
अदृश्य है।

वो संसद मे बनी नीतियां,
वो अरबों के पैकेज ,
गरीबों के आसुं पोछते नेता, अदृश्य हैं |
वो वोट बैंक की ताक़त,
वो इक्कीसवी सदी का भारत,
वो ईश्वर की रहमत,
वो अमीरों की दौलत,
वो राजाओं के तख्त,
अदृश्य है।

चीखती थी कभी जो,
वो जज वो अदालत
अदृश्य है,
इस जग से इंसान की इंसानियत
अदृश्य है।


Translation: I am not good with translations but I’ve tried a bit using google translate. I hope it is making sense.

Invisible

Invisible,
Children walking barefoot on the roads are invisible,
Those blisters, those wounds,
Those stinging stones
Are invisible.

Chapati spread on railway tracks,
That blood, those bangles,
Those slippers, those broken dreams, are invisible
Love within a mother’s lap, invisible.

Those policies made in Parliament,
Those packages worth billions,
Leaders wiping tears of the poor, are invisible.
That vote bank power,
twenty-first century India,
God’s mercy,
The wealth of the rich,
The throne of the kings,
all invisible.

The judges, and courts,
that once used to scream
are invisible,
In this world full of humans,
humanity
is invisible.


I find you…

…in crumpled sticky-notes in old textbooks,

in rusted old lockets hanging by the mirror,

in a promise ring, you forgot all about,

in all my conversations about food,

the nine year plans and broken dreams,

the thukpas at MT, the kormas at Kareems,

in songs Taylor writes about all her ex-lovers,

from everything has changed to the last time,

in the melancholy of a river flowing down,

in the bus stops of unknown small towns,

inside this hollow that was once my heart,

in the words of my poem, in every piece of art

and then,

with a shiver and a long drawn breath

I lose you,

all over again.

*****

MT: Majnu ka tilla, a cool place in Delhi with great food.

Everything has changed, The last time: Songs by Taylor Swift.

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Your eyes follow me around,

in a room full of strangers,

and I can hear your voice

amongst millions of sounds.

Love, they say, brings you warmth,

but I am frozen in time

when your hand brushes past mine.

You unwrap me, in the slightest of gestures,

remove the layers I’ve spent years building upon,

one by one, while I stand still,

lost in your eyes.

Someone I loved, took away my words,

you brought back poems to my life,

and for now,

that is enough.

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P.S. August 20, this blog will turn 7 years old. I know I’ve not been consistent here, but this blog has been a very important part of my life throughout these years. It has been a witness to all my failures, my love, heartbreaks, my growth and I am thankful for it and for all you wonderful people out there who have spent minutes to hours going through my life. Thank you. 🙂

Good girls get married…

Good girls get married.

They go from one house to another,

Coyly smiling with their bright red lips

and mascara stained  eyes,

because only shameless girls

don’t cry during vidaai!

Good girls get married.

They never speak loud and

Always cover up their heads

With a saree,

They apply red bindi, sindoor

And a chain around their neck

To be a sanskari naari.

Good girls get married.

They don’t date random men

they meet on the internet.

They wait for their parents,

to set them up with strangers instead.

Good girls get married.

They remove the tattoos of past lovers

 from their shoulders,

And dye their hands with henna,

they tame their curls and tie them up in a bun,

They keep fasts on Fridays,

Praying for a son.

Good girls don’t swear,

complain or question

old, illogical  traditions,

they follow rules-

neither love nor lust,

without permission.

Good girls don’t laugh out loud,

Or write out poems on their oppression.

Good girls just get married.

Alas, I am not a good girl.

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Image from here.

P.S. Well… Hello People!!!

On The Other Side Of Silence: To Be a Woman

What is it to be a woman
Is it to be weaker
Is it to be stronger
Are we different
Why are some of us mistreated
Why some of us mistreat others
Are we smarter
Are we more sensible
Are we more beautiful
Are we powerful
Are we supposed to be friendlier
Is our dignity superior
Do we need to be taught
Do we need to feel equal
Do we pretend to be equal
Did we learn something from our grandmothers
Were our grandmothers inferior than us
Were our grandmothers more respected than us
Being a female is it good
Being a daughter is it better
Are we problem solvers
Are we problem creators
What is our meaning in this life
Are we to be mothers
Are we to maintain life in this planet
Are we to be wives
Are we to support our family
Are we to be bridges between civilizations
Are we to the peace among tribes
Are we monarchs ruling lands across the seas
Are we spys ready to dies for our country
Are we singers
Are we scientists
Are we children
Are we teenagers
Are we writers
Are we poets
Are we journalists
Are we managers
Are we housekeepers
Are we cooks
Are we thieves
Are we rich
Are we poor
Are we fat
Are we skinny
Are we sick
Are we healthy
Are we crazy
Are we sane
Why are we often guilty
Why are we often cheated
Why do we defend our rights
Are our rights threatened
Who threaten our position
Do we have enemies
Do we have allies
Do we have a voice
Do we really want to be heard
Do we have something to say
Are we sinners
Are we pious
Is it our fault that we’re on Earth
Is it because of us that we’re mortals
Is the woman a symbol of life and death
Is the woman a weapon to be feared
Is the woman not a being needing care
Is the woman so invaluable to be rejected and abused
Is the woman not to be respected and cherished
Is the woman not a creation of God

Now I’m asking…. who am I?

– Novus Lectio

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Sketch By Novus Lectio

Novus Lectio is the author of the books Who Went Out Of Africa, The Theory Of Fate, and Poems and Haikus. She runs two blogs here and here and has recently started a Community Pool for bloggers to promote their blogs and to provide a daily dose of inspiration. You can also follow her on Facebook.

*****

On the Other End of Silence is a new category on my blog that focuses on gender issues where I am inviting posts from everyone who is willing to contribute. If you have something to say, whether personal or fictional, positive or negative, a rant or a suggestion, you can mail me your entries at pseudomonazz@gmail.com(Contact). There are no rejections, no prizes, no rules and no word-limits, just a platform to voice your opinions.

Existential Crisis

Do good things ever happen to good people?

Or has the world turned upside down?

There is no meaning in kindness or love

And everyone is lost in this big bad town.

Everything is paid for in dollars

but there is no value in modesty.

This little girl with big dreams

has died a million times,

and now just wants to be free.

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Change

I wanted to write about change, in seasons or in time,

or how bad days are always followed up by

not-so-bad days, or even good days.

But I am not so sure now,

for there is no sign of spring

this fog never descends and the cold has embraced me.

Winter has fallen in love with me,

and may be I have fallen for it too.

And both of us don’t want this love to change.

Life goes on…

***

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Both the images are of the same tree(Peepal or Sacred Fig) taken eight years apart. The first one was taken in 2009 while the second one last year in 2017. 

 

What Do You Seek…

What do you see,

in the vastness of the universe?

Do you look out for hope, faith

or money?

Or for the fireflies 

lighting their bodies 

in the dark corners of the forest?

Do you believe in magic

or in the chemical called 

Love?

Do you want to get lost

Or to find yourself 

in the face of defeat?

Do you wait,

for the rain to cleanse you

or do you drench yourself,

in the sorrow of your own tears?

What do you seek, 

from the universe,

The pain of discipline,

or the agony of regret?

***

Imperfect Love

We like to walk on lanes,

that are less travelled by,

And roam in unseen,

unheard places.

We like cooking meals together,

I cut onions, and

he wipes my tears.

He leaves the dishes unwashed.

and I forgive him every morning.

We like watching movies,

and laugh at silly scenes together.

He with his crooked teeth,

Me with my scarred cheeks.

We built forts in our dirty room,

and lie in tangled sheets.

We fight for the tiniest of things,

and then make up in a jiffy.

In a world striving for perfection,

We have found an imperfect love.

imperfectlove

*****

Folllow me on Instagram,Facebook,Twitter.

Hope…

And you have lost many wars,
in the past ten years,
you have been bruised,
have wiped countless tears.
You have lost some family,
some well known peers,
you have been hurt,
lost the music to your ears.
But you have always had hope,
hope that the clouds will disappear;
hope of a new world, bright and clear;
hope that success would someday be near;
And for now, that’s what matters my dear.

***

Some days are so hard to get by, that every effort to not be depressed goes in vain. A half hearted effort in poetry gives you some rhyming lines. And you wait for sleep to embrace you in its arms and make you numb enough to feel no pain. hope1