Words stuck on my pencil.

If only I could 

draw you.

If only I could

draw you out.

If only I could

draw you out of yourself.

 

The days which make you.

Somedays you will be sitting on a rock alone with brimming eyes and a choked throat. Somedays you'll be singing out to the world your song of joy. 

Somedays you'll dance love songs in the rain. Somedays you'll keep walking in the sun till you don't feel your own pain.

Some days will be tough and you'll be brought down to your knees. And somedays you'll be bestowed with so much success that you'll almost cry out of happiness.

Somedays your coffee will taste like bliss. Somedays your favourite mug will slip out of your hands and break into pieces.

 Somedays they will hate you and call you names. And  somedays someone will put a hand on your heart and tell you how much you are loved. 

And all those days will make you, who you are.

If only you could see.

I was never made in a day.

 I was made of the soil I grew up in, the water I absorbed, the air I took in, and the sky I dreamt to touch some day. 

I am made up of the scars on my trunk, the leaves I shed each autumn and the twigs which broke off me as I grew. 

I am made up of the songs of birds who dwell in my trunk, squirrels who hop around me and kids who have carved their names on my chest with chalk and stone. 

I am made of so much love and so much pain. 

If only you could see me like that. 

The different realities.

I used to think till now that home was never a place, but a time. 

It only took a daily cycle of sending  thousands of stranded migrant labourers back to their districts and states, that I realized,

Home was also a place.

मै अक्सर सोचा करती थी कि घर कोई जगह या चारदीवारी नहीं होती। वो तो एक समय होता है। लेकिन इन दिनों सुबह से शाम तक हज़ारों प्रवासी मजदूरों को उनके जिलों और प्रदेशों में भेजते हुए महसूस होता है, की शायद मैं गलत थी। घर एक जगह भी होता है। वो जगह जहां तक पहुंचने के लिए आप हर फासला तय कर सकते हो।

Truth of a Silhouette.

How strange and how beautiful that the light which makes you see the bird with all it's beauty, also makes it but a dark dot to you. 

कितनी अजीब और खूबसूरत बात है कि जो रोशनी हममें इस पंछी की खूबसूरती दिखाती है, वहीं एक वक़्त उस खूबसूरत पंछी को मात्र एक काला बिंदु बना देती है।

The difference between what we see.

कोई चांद की खूसूरती को देख पाता है। और कोई पत्तियों को संजोए लहराती टहनी की खूबसूरती देख लेता है। और कोई ये देख पाता है कि कभी चांद उस टहनी को खूबसूरत बनाता है, तो कभी वो टहनी चांद को। 

आंखों की पुतली से मन तक पहुंचते पहुंचते रोशनी बदलती नहीं। पर कुछ तो है जो बदल जाता है। एक तस्वीर के कितने मतलब हो सकतें हैं। 

मतलब तो मन से है। आंखे तो केवल देखती हैं।

#super_flower_moon #moonlight #moon_photography #nightphotography #mypointandshoot #solitarywalks #conversationswithmoon

The abandoned favourite toy.

Some days you just want to grieve. In a pillow or with some pine trees amidst the Himalayas or in two arms. But some days all you have is a surrounding of grief and fear and hunger of multitudes around you. The more you do for them, it's still less. 

And that grief of yours becomes a broken abandoned favourite toy. You try to grow up leaving it behind.

मेरा दोस्त पलाश।

मेरे बागीचे में खड़ा ये पलाश का पेड़

हर रोज़ 

मुझे देखा करता है।

दिन में सूरज की सारी लाली समेटे

दोपहर की चाय में घुलकर

मेरा दोस्त 

मुझसे फाइलों पर

झगड़ता है

और शाम को

तोतों की कलरव से

मेरे घर के खालीपन को

भर दिया करता है

और ऑफिस से लौटे मुझ अधूरे को

हर रोज़

पूरा 

कर दिया करता है

Who am I?

She falls

asleep

quietly

into the ocean

- the raindrop -

In her journey

- into gravity -

she retraces herself back

- against gravity -

falling backwards

to the cloud

to the ocean

to the river

to the mountain

- altitude -

- salt -

- silt -

- snow -

all over again

she touched all

saw all

smelled all

heard all.

who am I?

she asks herself

as she falls

quietly

into her
ocean.