Tag Archives: Time

Nearly a monthly drama

The day begun
with a tint of suspicion.
The happy yellow light
that flickers is missing.

I’m afraid, this time
it might be the hard disk.
Shit.
The month just begins
and an expenditure
seems ready.

No time, no time
The wall clock slowing
indicates, no time.
Hold it till evening.
There they waiting
more things for batting
more players in the crease
called office
No time.

Maybe after the noon
when busyness is recessing
and worries started dozing
I will be managing time
to rethink
how did I do it last time.

Sorry,friends,sorry.
I am really in a hurry
not having a minute time now
for fixing a date
with this dead computer.
Dream
everything will be fixed
when I return
with brilliant ideas
to poke it with
my master screwdriver.

Sometime I look at the sky above

Sometime I look at the sky above
to find
You aren’t seen mother
None of them are seen
who moves there

all of a sudden
not giving us any clue
why
and not even saying
a goodbye!

What’s the hurry, mother
why calls from above
should always come to them
who has no plan
to leave us apart?

Tell me, mother,tell me about
the greatness of
heaven’s secret plan
or it’s cruelty is just
breaking my heart.

What to do if time changes?

They filled the air with sad melodies
sang all the heart wrenching love songs
throughout the seventies which echoed
up to the mid eighties.

Mohammad Rafi, Mukesh
Kisore Kumar and Manna Dey
all might have ruined his life.

Do you remember those days
when every light post would sing
a sad love song?

How do I blame a growing boy
who in every step would stop
to listen those unforgettable songs?

How do I blame the boy
who would always imagine
living is worthless without love?

Search, search,search
not a job or career, dear
the first thing that would always come
to your mind
was searching a soul mate everywhere.

Romance would fly in the air
and life would mean gone astray
if your name were not written on a heart.
Nothing else would be more important
than dying for someone.

A love marriage would be considered
like achieving moksha to every youth.
You had nothing to achieve after that.

The boy would try to sing every song
as if they were all sung only for him
as if all the lyrics would describe
his cry for his soul mate screaming.

Search, search, search for a success
to get your name marked on a heart.
How do I blame the boy who thought
it was the only priority in life?

Could he really sleep for an hour you think
untill his love was requitted?
Could he ever sleep do you think
if his love was to never be requitted?

But the time did not stop for a while.
the new singers now started singing rocks
or something of that kind like disco songs.
The mid eighties now rolled into nineties.

Romance was now vanishing from the blue.
Summer wind now took control of his life
of his song and imaginations.

He tried to forget who was Mohammad Rafi
who was Mukesh,Kisore Kumar or Manna Dey.
People now got busy viewing T.V
and movies at home in VCPs.

Light post too now forgot to sing melodies.
The world now slowly turning to dance
and teenagers now liked it very much
but he was too beaten to dance
dance, dance.

Silently he bundled his favorite old cassettes
and shifted them in a box to such a place
that they can never be easily found
sung, played or destroyed.

A poet divided by night

In ancient time
they divided a night into four parts
not a poet.
This poet is divided by night.

The second “prahar” is now cusped
by the first.
Who there may dare to enjoy
when everyone wakes?

Forget the calculations of ancient time
when electricity was not invented,
computer and T.V was beyond dream
and internet could very well be treated
as black magic.

Poet is mostly busy doing light-
works like math or science
for his children
or repairing a personal finance system.

Maybe he is attending phone calls
or visitors till it is time to sup.
Where he gets time or scope
to think deeper?

Isn’t it always past twelve
when sleep enters?
Now it’s a debate between poetry and bed
and chance of poetry is fair to win
if poet is near fifty or plus.
Is it too bad?

Guess, a poem is taking shape
in the third prahar of night
as per ancient saying when
only the people with illicit interests
like thieves,murderers or paramours are to wake.

No one has said but I guess
poetry or internet may seem like a paramour too
to someone waiting on bed.

Should a poet necessarily
not be a human sometime?
Should someone waiting on bed be always wrong?

A night young, gets old, too soon.
No night comes when time stops for a while.
Should a poet wake up to the fourth-prahar
to give birth?

So far this ancient saying goes
it’s a time for spiritual thoughts.
Where his muse will now take his pen to?

Isn’t a new day now too close to breaking?
What this poet will do now
who is divided into four by a night?

What happened last night

We do not discuss
what happens in last night.

The worst gets published
in the local newspaper.

The readers tear them apart
in breakfast and they want more.

The policemen rushes
and media for gathering mosses-

tasty pickles for the next morning
but a poet is no local correspondent.

I don’t think poetry lovers do
love breakfast. I know they sleep.

Off the barriers, I wanted to fly
to the stars.But one did not come.

The midnight went to sleep
and sorrows died.Last night.

Else, I could be the one who I was
never before or one I will be never after.

Geet- the song

“Aaja tujhko pukare mere geet re
O mere mitoya……mere meet re”
Seventies.
My age of adolescence.
” Come on, my song calls you
my dear,come on”.
Heart wrenching
famous hindi song in celluloid.
Mala Sinha, my first Love!
Rajendra kumar, my hero
or myself?

“Chand Suraj ki yeh prem kahani
prem jagat main hain sabse nirali”

“The Love story
of the Sun and the moon
Oldest in the world of Love”

“Naam na jane tera ghar na jane
reet na jane sangeet na jane”

” don’t know your name, nor home
neither your customs nor music”

The boy from the remote village
Rajendra kumar, me, cries
for his lost love Mala Sinha.
Everyone cried for the innocent boy
in a dark room, cinema hall.
Everyone thought
it was not fair that each time
a rich girl should break
a poor boy’s heart.
Wet handkerchief
Red eyes
Empty hearts.
Show break.
Me too cried
for my lost love
Nostalgia.

And thereafter
came more heroes
more heroines
to make me cry.

“O sathi re tere bina bhi kya jina
Tere bina bhi kya jina”
“O my soul mate
what’s the use of living without you
what’s the use of living without you”
Now it was not Bacchan, me
the poor boy.
Not Rakhi, my lost love.
A real one,fading.

B R E A K.

She came.On screen
Rekha
and one in my life
not at all Rekha.
Now there was gossips
in Bollywood
and there was gossips
in my life too.
There is no truth
in gossips.
The world knows.
Now I know.

Raj Kapur warned

“Jaane kahaan gaye woh din
kehte the teri raah meein
najaron ko hum bichhayenge”

‘where did those days are gone
when you said that in my path
you will lay down your eyes.’

But I didn’t listen for a while.
Mukesh became my favorite singer.
Those days, I would sing Mukesh a lot.

You have arrived
pretty late you know.
My charming days are almost all gone.
Else, I was the best match for you
unlike those pansies
who can not even sing.

P.S.

“Lyrics of famous Hindi film songs written by legendary Hindi poets are included in this poem and the translations are also gathered from different websites.”I do not claim any credit for these lines as my own.

The wrong decisions

Someday I may feel
writing this poem
was a waste of time
and my decision today
of writing a poem
was a wrong decision.
Presently however
this is right.

Thoroughly examining
my past activities
I have seen
I’ve been very smart
in taking wrong decisions.
But believe me
when I took them
they were all right.

Something I guess
is wrong with my eyes
that wrong appears right
and gladly I take them.
Or maybe something
is wrong with my mind
that it changes
it’s earlier opinion.