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Yes its sinking in.. Rank 40, CSE 2015.The UPSC circle- the close and the beginning.

Bagh-e-Bahisht Se Mujhe Hukam-e-Safar Diya Tha Kyun Kaar-e-Jahan Daraz Hai, Ab Mera Intezar Kar                      - Mohammad...

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Diminishing volumes of the rising mountain.

Sometimes, some words become a trigger to more words, thoughts to more thoughts, volitions to more volitions. 
I am thankful to a blog friend, for one such trigger. In a recent beautiful verse, Susan triggered this very poignant question-
http://susanspoetry.blogspot.in/2016/01/ascension.html#comment-form
"What are we to the atom “earth”?  How vast is
the space between particles in our mystery?"
And so are from my ink
more thoughts from thoughts,
more words from words,
more volitions from volitions...

Diminishing volumes of the rising mountain.

We are
the reason the atom spins
a reason produced from its spinning.
We make it
stable or unstable
cold or warm
clearer or hazy.

We are
the particles
of our own mystery
measuring spaces
between-
what was and what is,
what is and what should be.

And like particles we oscillate
between dream and fear
between here and there.

Here
we resolve
the mystery
of the particles
which give us mass.
There
we destroy, disintegrate, diminish
our volume
when we kill, burn, wreck
or just ignore
our present and our past.

Our volume diminishing
and mass multiplying with layers and cloaks,
our density increases.
Hence, our hearts are heavy today with achings.
Are we not turning cold?
But cold air sinks.

Is that why we are sinking?
as a species.

We are becoming 
a diminishing mountain
a drying lake
a barren desert
a psychotic prancer.

We are becoming
the space
between the particles
of our mystery, forgetting
that we were supposed to be
its answer.

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Why I weep.


A fossilized religion weeps
in the pages of 
a scripture, a ritual,
or in the sanctum of a shrine.

“Why is this human
you kill in my name
not divine?”

Both are creations.
The former, yours.
But the human you kill today
was mine.

picture credit- Moai Statues on Easter Island by Matthew Henningsen

Saturday, January 16, 2016

I am silence.

I am silence.
beneath these languages of
this man and that
this state and that
this nation and that
this world and that
and I sing the same song beneath-
I am humanity.

I am the granite

beneath your cave sculpture.
I am the canvas
beneath your mural colour.
I am the idea, not the sculpted Buddha.
I am enlightenment.
I am the devotion, not the idol of Jesus or Krishna
I am non- dualism.

I am the pilgrimage

of the Sufi who dances
the Shamana who compassionately glances
the builder who builds
the individual artist and guilds
who create me
in words, scriptures or monuments.
I am silence
what this world knows and feels
but does not hear or see.
And I am silence,
what this world wants and craves for
but does not let it be.

But does not let it be.


So,
Will you just let me
be?


But I am silence.
I can kill
this man and that
this state and that
this nation and that
this world and that
I can kill-
humanity.


I am silence
that this world has heard and seen
before revolutions and wars.
And I am silence,
that this world let it be
before genocides and their shrieking scars.

So,
Will you just let me
be?

*THESE ARE SOME STANZAS FROM MY SOON TO BE RELEASED BOOK*

picture source https://in.pinterest.com/pin/567805465494381784/

Sunday, January 10, 2016

Resistance.

Who engraved you in stone in its head?

Time spills skeletons of past from its mouth
like a ductile superconductor wire
spills electricity at its absolute zero
sans resistance

Shivering in cold for some warmth and resistance,
I don't want to time travel and change my past.
I want my present to change my past
by changing me.

All the city needs to survive
is change.
photography source https://in.pinterest.com/pin/320107485986097546/

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Because lost is found.

Joy is
to lose yourself to the fog at dawn-
for some moments
letting it take over
and embrace your senses,
blurring everything else
breaking all the fences
and masks you had built
for this world 
all those defenses...
so you can meet 'you'
as the moisture of the air
meets that of your eye.
Joy is
finding yourself in the fog at dawn.
meeting that someone to whom 
you can't lie.

photograph source https://www.pinterest.com/pin/542754192570473637/