Posted in Poetic mind

A Dreamers Disease

For so far,
I have been
wandering the wonders
Seeking the solace
Because I am tired of tears,
Running from reality
And yet I know
Its all an imaginary inkling
And it functions fearlessly
when perspective in person
Doesn’t crowd the cloud of my thoughts.
For so long,
I was hanging in there
With a face of faith
Fighting the fate
Surely, these are
Symptoms of sufferings
A Dreamers Disease.
But I am searching the answer
In Screams of silence
And How much more,
Do I have to wait
To know,
What is it ,
A blissful boon
Or a curse to be cured…

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Posted in Poetic mind

Poetic mind

वक्त का दामन थामे सब अपनी ज़िन्दगी में आगे बढ़तॆ चले गए
मानो हाथॊ से लम्हे फ़िसल रहे थे रेत के जैसे
और मैं अपनी मंजिल की डगर में ठहर गई
नये जमाने में पुरानी नग्मो के जैसे
आज फ़िर यारो की बस्ती में घूमी थी मैं
एक बिन बुलाए महमान के जैसे
शब्दो के सहारे खुद को खोज रही हूं
समय के साथ बस यूँही खर्च हो रही हूं
शायद साँझ को ढलते देख रही थी मैं
एक नयी सुबह के जैसे |

Posted in Poetic mind

Poetic mind

ये खुशियो का झूठा दामन छोड़ कर
मैं सिसकियो मे खुद को तलाशती हूं
इंसानॊ के बीच रह्कर
मैं क्यु पत्थरॊ से जवाब मांगती हूं
आइनॆ मे बनी धुंधली तस्वीर की सच्चाई को
मैं आँखो की गहराइयो में खोजती हूं
ये शिकवे किस से बयान करूँ
जब मैं एक शिकायत का नाम हूं
माना मेंने, मैं अपने ही यारो से रूठ गई
पर अब भी उनकी यादो मैं पलकें भिगोया करती हूं
मैं अब अपनी ही ज़िन्दगी के किस्सॊ को पढ़कर
इस जग में सबको हँसाया करती हूं |

Posted in Uncategorized

Just a thought

And we all are
Basically this one story that we keep on reliving with everyone we meet and rehasing it every time.
Or are we different character of same stories for different versions that everyone reads differently!!!
But I guess we all are the same characters of a similar story played differently at different space and time…

What do you think guys?

Posted in Poetic mind

Poetic mind

ये कैसा रिश्ता है मेरा और उसका
न वो मुझे जानता है
न में उसे पेहचानती
फिर क्यों वो बड़ी आसानी से
मेरे जज्बातो को अपने अल्फाज़ो में बयां कर जाता है
बादलो को वो उड़ता हुए ख्वाब बताता है
ओर आंसुओ को मोती बोल कर उन्हें अपनी कविता में सँजोता हैं
काश ये बातें हम साँझा कर पातॆ
पर मिलकर ये ख्वाब शायद बिखर जातॆ
इस्लिये ये सपना ऐसे ही सच्चा है
वो अपनी कविता से सारे राज़ खोलता है
मे उसी कविता में उसके संग मुस्कुराकर हर लम्हे को अपनी यादों में कैद करती हूँ ।।।

Posted in Uncategorized

The Book of lost things :An Excerpt

Stories are different, though: they came alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by torch light beneath a blanket, they had no real existence in our world. They were like seeds in the beak of a bird, waiting to fall to earth, or the notes of a song laid out on a sheet, yearning for an instrument to bring music into being. They lay dormant, hoping for the chance to emerge. Once someone started to read them, they could begin to change. They could take root in the imagination and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read, David’s mother would whisper. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life.

These stories were very old, as old as people, and they had survived because they were very powerful indeed. These were the tales that echoed in the head long after the books that contained them were cast aside. They were both an escape from reality and an alternative reality themselves. They were so old, so strange, that they had found a kind of existence independent of the pages they occupied. The world of the old tales existed parallel to ours, as David’s mother once told him, but sometimes the wall separating the two became so thin and brittle that the two worlds started to blend into each other.

Posted in Dreams

Live

I want to climb a mountain cliff and jump from their and die but when I jump I truly live and that’s when I find another reason to open my parachute…