शब्द

कुछ मित्रों की फरमाइश थी ,कि मैं हिंदी में भी कुछ लिखूं।

तो ये कोई कविता नहीं, बल्कि एक कोशिश...आपबीती कह लीजिए !☺️
लेखन के क्षेत्र  में नए होने की वजह से जो अनुभव किया है या जो और रुकावटें आई हैं, बस उन्ही को बयां कर रही हूँ।

मैं जब अकेली होती हूँ,
मन के किसी कोने से निकल आते हैं,
दबे पांव...शब्द!
कुछ छोटे,कुछ बड़े,
कुछ सीधे, कुछ पड़े,
कुछ नए,कुछ पुराने,
कुछ जाने,कुछ अनजाने,
कुछ शराफत से पंक्ति में बैठ जाते हैं,
कुछ शरारत से इधर उधर भागते हैं,
पकड़ती हूँ,पर फिसल जाते हैं,
कुछ मुँह चिढ़ा कर निकल जाते हैं,
ढूढ़ती हूँ ,पुचकारती हूँ,
कभी उनके पर्याय से काम चलाती हूँ,
कुछ इतराते हैं खास जगह बनाने को,
मचलते हैं पन्नों पर सजाने को,
कभी फूलों की रंगत पाने को,
कभी पक्षी बन चहचहाने को,
कभी अक्षर अक्षर बिखरे रहते,
अटपटे से पसरे रहते,
कभी आपस में गलबहियां डाल,
गीत बन के निखरे रहते,
कभी भावनाओं से बुहारती हूँ,
कभी आंसूओं से पखारती हूँ,
कभी इतना कोलाहल करते हैं,
कि चुप कराना मुश्किल,
कभी ऐसे चुप,
कि बोलवाना मुश्किल।
ये मेरे दोस्त हैं, मेरे हमनवा,
जो आते हैं, कहीं मन के कोने से,
जब मैं अकेली होती हूँ।

The tree and I

The charade is played out every World Environment Day (June 5th),in countless organisations. A photo op, with senior officials holding a wilted sapling ,putting some soil sparingly and finally drenching it with newly bought shiny plastic watercan. The sapling doesn't survive beyond a week.

Another snapshot is that of the hundreds of trees uprooted after a fierce storm recently.
That torments me.

A humble request...plant a tree ,any tree, this season and look after it.

The Tree and I

The slender stem stood confident,
My steps were shaky and diffident,
I wobbled to stay upright,
Though we were of same height.
The tree and I.

Branches arranged in orderly whorls,
I pranced with a mop of curls,
Delicate leaves in perfect symmetry,
My chubby hands touched with glee.
The tree grew a bit.

Summers passed ,and time flew,
Boughs got denser before I knew,
My red shoes changed to black,
Heavy books filled my shoulder sack.
The tree grew taller.

Parrots, mynahs ,and cuckoo,
Their chorus rang all day through,
Yellow florets mesmerized me,
Inviting hordes of buzzing bees.
The tree grew sturdier.

Sun filtered through verdant lattice,
Grass beneath grew in patches,
Back to the trunk, and book in hand,
I sailed into utopian land.
The tree flourished.

Then, wise men armed with skills,
Came to put away dust and ills,
They built around, a concrete noose,
Biting, stifling, not at all loose.
The tree was stunned.

Leaf by leaf the pain dripped ,
Baring brown and foliage stripped,
My suitcases packed, I went away,
To join ,what life held in fray.
The tree wept.

Naked, but valiant it stood guard,
Its arm stretching heavenward,
Braving storms and squalls,
One night ,it took a fall.
The tree died.

Some silver has sneaked into my hair,
I look out of the window in despair,
The luxuriant green I so adored,
My majestic tree is no more.
I grieve, I mourn.

Memory Lane

As we age, the urge to reconnect with the past becomes stronger. Some images are still clearly etched, while most are not. Eyes go misty and a lump forms in the throat as we reminisce of the days gone by with our friends and family. A photograph ,a card, a notebook, a box of knick knacks, a dress buried in the wardrobe, an equipment lying in disuse ...any of these can be a trigger to take a trip down the Memory Lane. I am currently visiting my hometown Patna...need I say more ?!☺️

Memory Lane

I didn't find it on Google Maps ,
The broad street , or was it narrow?
Was it straight or meandering?
Lined with homes with open doors,
Winds zinged through uncurtained windows.
Dusty images of people long ago ,

 Smiling eyes, questioning eyes, quarrelling eyes ,

Basking in lemony winter sun,
All enveloped in warm cotton wool. Laughing voices ,shrieking voices, carefree voices ,
Sailing across cool terraces,
All muted in layers  of felt .
A patch of green, a thatch of blue,
A batch of fragrant white,
All colours watered and pale.
I wipe my glasses ,
I strain my ears,
Trying to catch a glimpse,
Trying to snatch a note,
Of my receding past,
When I turn the corner
of my Memory Lane!!

Life

Some days are worse than others.Things don't go as planned, and you are left feeling dissatisfied, helpless , and restless . This poem is an outcome of that agitation. Some of us would be able to relate to it.

Life !

Why don't you let me catch my breath?
Why don't you let me pause a while?
Why don't you allow mirth and jest?
Why don't you let me smile?!

The ball keeps forever rolling,
Forwards, backwards, sideways,
Feet keep shuffling, muscles straining,
Endless juggling ,endless replays.

The proverbial carrot keeps sliding,
Ahead of outstretched hand,
Shove and push make me cringe,
The jostle won't let me stand.

Orange and russet merge in a swirl,
The sunset is one big blur,
Birds and butterflies are just blotches,
Rainbow's pot of gold, a lure.

Multiple chapters, most unfinished,
Loose open pages flutter,
Images forming and dissolving,
Sqeezing out of the clutter.

As forehead's furrows deepen,
Past one's prime, the penny drops,
Whether you race or amble,
The tasks will never stop !!

I will finally catch my breath,
When there are none left !!

अल्बाट्रोस

दिनांक 1 मई, 2022 को पोस्ट किए मेरे ब्लॉग Albatross ,में कुछ अधूरा रह गया था। मैं अपनी बात, भाषा के बंधन के कारण सबको पूरी तरह से नहीं  पहुंचा पाई थी।

इस कार्य को मेरे मित्र, कवि, साहित्यकार और अनुभवी ब्लॉगर श्री विश्वमोहन ने मेरी कविता का अनुवाद कर के पूरा किया है। उनका अनुवाद सिर्फ भाषा तक ही सीमित नहीं है, बल्कि उन्होंने मेरी कविता के मूल भावों को भी पूरी तरह से आत्मसात एवं समाहित कर लिया है।

उनको मेरा आभार और धन्यवाद।

अल्बाट्रोस पक्षी के बारे में कुछ जानकारी - यह एक बहुत बड़ा समुद्री पक्षी है जिसके पंख बहुत लंबे और शक्तिशाली होते हैं। ज़्यादातर दक्षिणी महासागर में पाया जाता है। स्वभाव से एकपत्निक होता है और आजीवन अपने ही जोड़े के साथ सहवास करता है।
आपकी जानकारी के लिए यह भी बताना अपेक्षित होगा, कि मैंने इस कविता के तीसरे अनुच्छेद में अंग्रेज़ी के प्रसिद्ध रोमांटिक (छायावादी/स्वच्छंदतावादी) कवि Samuel Taylor Coleridge की प्रसिद्ध कविता The Rime of the Ancient Mariner का संदर्भ लिया है।

छेदूं सागर की छाती को,
फिसलूं उसके वक्षस्थल पर।
डूबूं - उतरु जलराशि के,
छहरु हर लहर उत्तल पर।
पर नैनों में सजे हैं सपने,
दूर दिव्य -से देश में होता।
अल्बाट्रोस, मैं अलबेला - सा!
अपने अकेलेपन में खोता।

लंबे, सुंदर, उजले डैने,
अंतरिक्ष को भरते हैं।
नील गगन में श्वेतवर्णी ये,
झिलमिल झिलमिल करते हैं।
ऊपर मस्तुल को फेरूं मैं,
नीचे फेन जलपोत को धोता।
अल्बाट्रोस, मैं अलबेला - सा!
अपने अकेलेपन में खोता।

मैं न जानूं, पर पर मेरे,
सौभाग्य सदा संग चलता है।
नाविक के तीर कमानों में,
हिंसा का हलाहल पलता है।
काल चक्र की वक्र गुफा से,
गुंजित मैं निर्भीक उद्घोष हूं।
इस मेले में चले अकेला,
मैं निस्पृह-सा अल्बाट्रोस हूं।

अंबर के नीले अंबर की,
शाश्वत शांति की छाया।
पुनीत प्रतिश्रुति प्रतिबद्ध,
प्रारब्ध पालन मैं घर आया।
अपहृत आंखों की स्याही में
अस्फुट-सा मैं अपरितोष हूं।
इस मेले में चले अकेला,
मैं  निस्पृह - सा अल्बाट्रोस हूं।

Amaltas

This time of the year when the mercury is soaring and the earth bakes brown, you come across a very pleasant sight in most Indian cities - the flowering amaltas trees. Despite the blazing sun, the bright yellow flowers come as a respite, reflecting the indomitable spirit of Mother Nature. I clicked the pictures below on my way to work.

At the cost of ire of purists, I have chosen to use the name amaltas over laburnum. Few names have a very lyrical and poetic ring to it, like  gulmohar, maulashree, kachnaar...and amaltas! I thought it was a shame not to use it in the Indian scenario.

Amaltas

The gown is glittering gold,

Spangled with shiny yellow pearls,

Held in strings and streamers,

Ribbons and festoons.

Showers of topaz and citrine,

Cascading to the scalloped hemline.

Gilded eardrops drooping heavy,

Turning crystal chandeliers crimson.

Bits of sunshine woven in the veil,

As dripping silken rows,

Darting light as winds whistle.

Radiant amber beads ,

Swaying and sashaying.

Woodsy fragrance gently wafting.

Delicate bells almost tinkling,

As she tiptoes onto the stage,

Blinding spectators with brilliance,

To hear the proclamation,

"Winner of  Nature's Beauty Pageant,

Amaltas !!"

Mother

A female dons many hats all her life, but the role of a mother is pivotal. I have telescoped the major milestones of a mother's life into a short poem on the occasion of Mother's Day.
This is an ode to my mother, who made me what I am.

When the scalpel sliced ,

Through the umbilical cord,
And the warm liquid oozed,
She knew not whose blood shed,
She hurt.

When elbows scraped,
And knees grazed,
The skin raw through the bruise,
She knew not whose plasma seeped,
She hurt.

Heavy books and late night toil,
Assignment deadlines met,
Eyes to the blue screen glued,
She knew not whose sweat poured,
She hurt.

Finally striding into the world,
A fine confident specimen,
Apron strings cut loose,
She knew whose tears rolled,
She smiled !

The Albatross

 After much deliberation, cajoling and coaxing by friends,I decided to accord some respect to my writing. Decided to clothe my random thoughts, scribbled on a piece of paper or jotted on a writing pad(yes, I still have access to paper and pad!!☺️)in a more formal ,visible and durable attire.

So, I debut with a poem written recently, which appeared on the horizon of my thoughts out of nowhere, like a dazzling albatross!

Gliding above the sea
Rising and sinking
Swooping and soaring
Dreaming of faraway lands across,
I am the lonely albatross.

Long white wings float
Shimmering in blue skies
Circling  masts and sails
Of ships riding the froth,
I am the lonely albatross.


I know not that I bring good cheer
To the humble sailor dear
I fear no Ancient Mariner
With heavy bow and cross,
I am the lonely albatross.

Would love to lose to the azure
And feel the icy calm
But homeward bound by solemn vow
Inky eyes hide the loss,
I am the lonely albatross.