FUNKY PEN

Friendships can wither, Coffee can grown cold. Neither of us can grow younger, neither of us old. Ink can dry up, nibs can break. Messages can become shorter, stories untold. Heart beats can be quietened. Reflex bottled down. Words don't help when memories grow mold. No flight can take you to your dream destination, Life is unfair - we have no hold.

Is humanity becoming more perfect by choice? Or are we becoming slaves to algorithm driven recommendation engines which our own employers are creating. Are relationships an outcome of our true minds or a social by-product to fill the revenue graphs of few chosen corporate companies.  Are we being driven to different revenue streams- like goats to an abattoir? – some of us to a perfect picture of youth, some to a new mid-life re-invention, some to understanding life and its purpose, and yet others to the path of being: super humans. Super humans- without flaws, with perfect relationships, perfect manicured nails, knowledge about each and every “bit and byte” of the universe and Fit bit and i watches to flash diet and fitness regimens. Whatever is your concern/or shortcoming – social media will hypnotize you towards it. Big daddy’s like google are actually reverse engineering our minds, suggesting, cross-validating, providing solutions to questions that never existed, se

Falling down the shaft of regret. Activating memories, stories sublet. One reason to another, one season to the other. One cobweb has faded, another one to embed. Charcoal are my eyes, my lips parched dry. Fury and ferocity, the feelings I bed. Questions like crumbs follow my trail. Forget for a moment, but a new regret. Blizzards of artifacts, clouded facts, some convincing, some hard to get. Clinical perfection, exposed reels, beauty in extremes, ripped seams. Powder is my snow, always clouded, rain and sleet, my vision shrouded. Walk two steps, you become unknown, every night - every tone, a sonnet I have read. Moving on – a mountain approached, Rubik cubes ---twisted prose. Spider logic, frozen words, sheets of questions, remember or forget.

Priya- When nightfall came today; I touched your heart. A tear of delight, I have shed for you tonight. To the vivid happy memories, you have captured my heart ‘right’.  When weathers grew gloomy you were my companion, I miss you now without you, there will be no rain this season.  Expressions – your’s were vivid, your life - my journey finite.  But now the moon has disappeared and taken with you – its light. The sun will rise tomorrow but there will be no you to hold.  An empty lap – I will cradle, my hands in prayer fold. Konika memories rising, no reel to develop now. No crowd, no audiences, no manual to deal with the “how”. A pain to further conceal, mightier than the bees I reap. Relationships so tender, shards the heart will feel. Bestow god’s choicest blessings, as I have a soul to give. Sweetest than the sweat pea’s fragrance, open heaven’s gates for her to live.

रंजिश ए काश्मीर हम ने नहीं कहा मिलना नहीं होगा रंजिश होगी रहेगी , मगर पर्दा होगा आखिरी समय तक अंजाम नहीं मिलता कहीं खोया हुआ नाम नहीं मिलता समय सरपट दौड़ा खड़े रहे हम या फिर बारिश हो रही थी थमे रहे हम बढे नहीं आगे - मगर तुम्हे देखा कब कहीं मुलाकात लिखी थी यही यक़ीन से सोचा पर हक़ीक़त का ज़ुल्म अलग ही था आका बदल दिया मन को , फज़ल है ये भांपा अदालत में खड़े थे मुकदमा लड़ रहे थे भनक भी न थी ख़तम हो गयी कारवाही अपने आप को लाख दी दुहाई पर मिटटी में जो दबा दिया जाता है वह कभी उभर नहीं आता "वफ़ात" की कोई हद नहीं होती जलाज़े का कोई इल्म नहीं आता 

The scarf has been picked up... Black and White, two shades of life, alive and dead, It's adorned with fondness... Rattled, as it left its resting place, from a quiet repose to an airless room. Now regretful, with its utter silence. Resting in a corner, never washed, rife with "red apple orchards" of emotions, preserved like - jam. In essence a remnant of a burning man. Quiet, in only his silence, His delicate relics now rest with us. A frame untouched by time, a mirror cracked by distance, a sharp reaper - enlivened by the new master's touch - whom it will serve from now. The care, the regret, the imminent anger, the cloud burst, the regard, the emotion, They have all travelled in the personal artifacts and now rest heavy in our hand. Sumbal is far, yet - a feather touch away. Memories will wait for another day.

A new year, supposing a new post, Hackneyed - yet but necessary - definitely A pen, a rose, a post, all have the same effect - de-burdening the mind and the body, Whipping up a fresh cream of motion, a surgery elevating inner onion layers of emotions. Bursting for acceptability and yet reserved - with their vulnerability. The mind trusting inner instincts, and yet lying like a python in wait, sharp and reclusive. Revelations, are un touched and rare, raw black diamonds un-mined. Sharp shards await, fluffy white innocence, such is the heart and mind. Pick up a coffee and move, New York like practicality sometimes, Andaman like deep sea reveries sometimes, Some wheels to be changed, some to be accepted rusted, Yet a part of me, I can not leave behind. Untimed, un-met, un-believed. Not funny, not friendly, not kind, life normalised.