Thursday, 9 November 2017

Simply Haiku

There are some poets, while reading them, you get this overpowering feeling of inadequacy. 

Why can't I write like them? And therein lies the mystery and the mastery, of course. Every writer is unique in his/her writing. However, it is that indefinable element that decides the connect between a particular writer and his/her readers. The choice of words? The expressions? The thoughts behind the words? The subject?  I am hard put to place my finger on the factor which triggers that magnetic pull...that  extent of power to influence...and inspire. Yet, there it is. The awe! A tad tempered with envy which perhaps eggs you on on the path of persistent creativity...prods you...impels introspection...nudges you to grow within and without......analyse....assess.....and EVOLVE!!! 

Michael McClintock is one such poet whose haiku has that hypnotic effect on me.

Again, it's difficult to pinpoint what exactly it is which intrigues and enthralls me so much about his poems. Once I tried to review  a book by Ruskin Bond, again one of my favourites. I failed miserably. And I know why I did. It was because of his simplicity of expression, his flow of every day language, his commonplace thoughts which automatically become the reader's own. Critiquing him is as difficult as critiquing your own self! Because it is you yourself who comes out of the pages of his books...

The same magic is again on with Michael McClintock....He is so close to your heart that you feel it will pop out if you fiddle with it too long and hard. Funny! Isn't it?


    


With the grey smoggy days of the Capital this haiku is so apt....so essentially us - the city bred, sufferers in unison looking up to a day of knowing...not knowing... the sun may come up eventually...it may not....who knows whether the mesh of pollutants will make way for sunshine or not? 


Doesn't this tanka poem transport you to a different world of half lights and silhouettes ?



Yes, you can see those eon of ancient wisdom peeping through those crisscross tell-tale lines of memories reminisced on this planet earth...


And this one with an infinite proposition of expansiveness of heart, mind and soul...........a very famous one at that!!


And who has not gone through this ordeal of turbulence and the stillness of quietude thereafter....? That there is still life after all that havoc...........! Grand!!



Oh! I love this one and I know and feel the fragrance right here sitting now....




Its been so long that I have undertaken a train journey....nostalgia! And that's what haiku are supposed to be ....hold your hands down memory lane...... the wispiness compressed in a three liner.



The second line of the ku is optimism and hope personified....this is the ultimate border-line ku between image and thoughts evoked by the image.....





Again a tanka poem which pokes you to evaluate your own weaknesses, limitations, narrow confines of aptitude and attributes.


Last but not the least, the most intriguing haiku which made me ponder long ...very long....the mystique beauty of those three lines invoking images not tampered or tinged or cropped by human audacity...simply what is and not what one perceives it to be....

Finally, ladies and gentlemen, its Michael McClintock for you...all the way across the seven seas ...who sees what you have seen and wondered about all along and speaks a language you have babbled in.............priceless in its brevity and unique in its simplicity... that nano chip of wisdom strewn across which has immortalized mankind with its agelessness..His haiku images are all over Google...Grab them....relish them.....cherish them....









Sunday, 8 October 2017

Voyage




Mellow morning…

A blue bed spread hung
Outside my window
Without much ado
The cushions of clouds
A patchwork of snow
The gold silk thread
Interspersed in the weaving
I know its His doing
                           
Afternoons are long
At times sun is strong
At others shadows draw
Silhouettes deep and long
The balmy breeze whispers
A hummable tune
I hum along
Its His catchy song

Dusk  a rush of colours
An intense stroke here
A languid touch there
Deepening in moments
As evening strolls in
The echoes gather words
A few hurriedly spoken
A few uncommoly blurred

Nights are placid
My boudoire opens
To a sequined sky
Whiff of jasmine
 Gleaming panes afar
Of strangers and householders
Solitude is a Gift
So precious from You
My due

Dawn is stealthy
Feathery wisp
A knock so soft
Like the moving lips
To a rosary of chants

No! More like the hymn
Of the Carmelite nuns
Dousing the soul
In symphony rare
Or like a bouquet
Parceled by an
Unknown Courier

Pleasant surprise
May be for some
But I have a hunch
You had come!


Shared with Poet's United



Sunday, 30 July 2017

Chameleone

From Google



I am not black
Like the darkening arcades of night
Menacing......foreboding
Neither in me is
The vastness of the blue
The sunshine of yellow
Blinds my vision
The lushness of green
Is not me either
White is too primitive
So is grey sinister
And the vermilion red
A Bohemian splurge
Nor attractive, becoming neither
Untouched by the hues
I am devoid of a palette
See me change colour
As the seasons change

Sunday, 26 March 2017

ज्वाला



जलती आग
शिकस्तों पे चोट
मेरी बिंदिया 

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

खुली खिड़की

खिड़की खोलते ही
इक मुट्ठी  आसमां  का झलक
जिसका नीलापन कुछ फीका सा पढ़ गया है
सुफ़ैद  रुई से कुछ बादल
ठहरते नहीं.... बह जाने की ताकीद में
दूर दूर तक नज़र न आते
ऐसे एक-दो पंख फड़फड़ाते हुए पंछी
मीलो-मील उड़ान भरने की कोशिश में
एक टहनी  हरा दुपट्टा ओढ़े
सुनहरे चूड़ियों के गोलाइयाँ  खानकातीं
आँखें चौन्धियाते हुए रोशनी के  झुरमुठ
उस पे झोंका एक परदेसी सा अजनबी दहलीज़ों के खुशबू लिए
और एक बचपन खोया सा

कभी कभी सोचती हूँ
क्या सबकी खिंड़कीयाँ खुलते हैं
आसमान के सतह पर?
वह सब्ज़ीवाला जो चढ़ती धुप में
आवाज़ें लगाता है दरवाज़े पर
"सब्ज़ी  लेलो........ !"
वह पागल जो ट्रैफिक सिग्नल पर
सर खुजाता है और ज़ोर-ज़ोर से हँसता है
अपने ही अनकही चुटकुलों पर
और नहीं तो वह रिक्शावाला
जो देखते ही नमस्ते करता है
कोई बता रहा था हाल ही में
उसने अपनी  बहन की शादी कराई है
मार्किट से चौड़े ब्याज पे  क़र्ज़ें  लेकर

क्या इनके भी खिड़कियाँ खुलते है
आसमान के सतह पर ?
या इक झलक आसमान की
तलाश में कट जाती है पूरी ज़िन्दगी ?
सूखे सपनों को पसीनों में  फिसल जाते देख
अरे ! इनके बंजर घरों में खिड़कियाँ हैं भी या नहीं ?
या बसर करते होंगे ईंट पत्थरों के ढेर पर
और राख होते देखते होंगे सुलगते रोटियों को
पूछिये तो इनसे खिड़कियाँ देखी  है कभी?
जिसके साये में हम बैठ लिखते है
सच्ची-झूठी मनगढंत कहानियाँ...... ?

पता नहीं

शायद ......

उनकी खिड़कियाँ ??????????????????????








Thursday, 29 September 2016

Shoes And Soul

Shoes on the rack
I wish to make amends
By changing size
She holds me back 
With whip in hand
Poised to strike
The lashings whine
I try in vain
To stifle the cries

Shoes on the rack
Tell me why
I can't tread beyond
The limits drawn
By that number on the sole
Are  my feet to be defined?




Shared with Poets'United 

Sunday, 18 September 2016

Mother And Child

I have nurtured hatred
unendingly so................
bags full of trash
valueless to the world
priceless to me
as all other worthless thoughts
churned and cherished
within the fragile membranes
                  of a puerile mind
now appear to have lost their shine
in the blinding glitter
of mushrooming malls

I have parented dreams
wailing in the womb
of silenced nights
throttled sobs
and muffled cries

I have sung lullabies
to sooth them to sleep
and woken them up
at the wrong time
fed them what
money could not buy
nourished them well
so that they  not die
an untimely death
schooled them to believe
they have been immortalized

Yes, I have mothered dreams
but never a child...