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On days whenI am too tired ofthings that havegripped me for along timeI look up to YouOn days when Ifall short of breathsand seek peace intender armsI look up to YouOn such days Hopeso much resembles YouI keep taking your naamto mellow my hurt andturn it into soft ballsof cottontill I feel alive once again;sometimes I fail to feelgood even after fifteentrials and ceaseless cries, but my tongue never ceasesto call out Your nameLittle do I realise howmuch You are in mecompletely-else why You are theone whom my heartcries out in timesof immense sufferingDear dear Maa, I keepsubliming into You eachtime I get punctured bythe fabrics of myself-illusionThere will be dayswhen I will fail,there will be nightswhen I will be frailand there will alsobe times when myvictory will prevailBut there won't be a daywhen my heart willcease to call 'Maa'-Maa, You are and willbe above allTruly, there's no onelike YOU- Dedicated to Shree Shree Maa Anandamayee©chitrotpala
Ammi says - It's Love!
ammi bites her lips andswallows the pain downher gut-as i gently rub the ointmenton her fresh woundsmy gaze travels to a bunchof old scars on her arms,that are now a map of war-prone cities and burnt barnsevery time abu comes homedrunk- history repeats itself;i feel a cascade of bricks fallingheavily over my chest, till i feelnumb; and the house that onceused to be h o m e-gets reduced to ashesabu fails to notice the tearstrickling down ammi's cheekseverytime she sees him goingto afreen aunti's house at night;he doesn't even recognise theyellow salwar suit ammi wearstill dateto which he used to say--"mashallah shareen! aapbehad khubsurat lag rahi ho."ammi says,"men find it difficultto express their love: and sodoes your abu"everytime abu slaps her cheeksand it turns red,ammi says- it's love!she says his love is different-just like himi hold a broken shareen huggingthe ground tightly, in tearsand say- it's sickness ammi,not love;abu's love is an old fort in ruins.he doesn't know love and ammidoesn't know him;she keeps staring at the lonelyalleys of our mohalla on somenights, waiting for abu to returnhomeabu does return:but he is not yet h o m e.
16th september, 1970today morning when noorasits for fajr, a cold breezepasses through the cracksof her glass window (soul);it's a message from the wind:its time to let the autumnleaves fall from her bosom-that had remained with herfor a long time like deadcells stuck to one's skinnoora closes her eyesand catches a faint glimpseof nishaad smiling and coming back to her;but before she could caresshis soft cheeks with her palms,and see abdiyat in his eyes,nishaad evanesces fromher mindnow with each dawn, noorafeels nishaad fading awayslowly from the breachesof her broken heartlike a distant shore goingout of sightshe knows her boat isrowing towards sadaqatand the currents are inAllah's favournishaad was an incompletephrase of her life- a shareeqwho could never swim withthe currents of her flowand she could never rowagainst the currents;so one day he had to fadeaway with the shorebefore she could holdhim close to her soulhe withered away likea dried marigoldnoora doesn't wait fornishaad anymore......Urdu words:-'fajr' - islamic prayer done during the dawn'abdiyat' - immortality'sadaqat' - truth'shareeq' - companion©chitrotpala
#arspoetica #wod #poetry
a poem is a prosewritten to the cosmoswhose letters combineto spell catastrophesa poem is two teaspoonsof sugar ma adds to ourchai every day after hermorning prayera poem is my best friendgiving me a tight hugwhen i am too dispersedto gather my broken hearta poem is my grandmamaking her all-timespecial aloo bhajafor lunch on june daysa poem is a love letterwritten by rumi roamingin a vineyard, with hissoul drunken on lovea poem is a pillow thatsoaks my tears everynight and helps me lookstronger during daytimea poem is an old manholding a yellow flowercracked open from asoil prone to faminea poem is a rose i wishto gift to all souls on thisearth for being a warriorof their own kinda poem is an escapewayi use to release my soulat times to let it livemany lives in one lifetime©chitrotpala
Fragile life.Fragile bonds.Synchronicitiesand coincidencesare mere illusions.We know probablynothing, if we haven'tknown our true nature.©chitrotpala
What is that bondthat breaks with theslightest blow of swordThen there's no morethinking on what is toremain or be goneJust like fire cannotburn gold,deep deep bonds cannever perish or turn cold;Just like gold comes outof fire- refined and puredeep deep bonds survive,and know to endureIf it breaks, it's meant to be,If it's not, than it can neverbe- however much youkeep holding to itDon't settle yourself,O mind! in the fear oflosing things- wavy bondsand belongingsTravel far and beyondand you will see-the clouds will disappear,the path will becomeclearerand your heart will getto know- what is deep,what is shallowWhat is meant to go,will leave willinglyWhat is meant to remainwill make through it.©chitrotpala
There's a fire burninginside mewhose flames refuseto diffuse themselvesin darknessDay or night, dawnor twilightthis fire keeps burningunhinderedSometimes the flamesslow down due towordly affairsalmost seem to blowout in despairbut something in itmakes sure thatit keeps burningThe heat from theflames keep memindful and aware,kind and fairOn some nights, whenmy heart shivers andmy bones feel chilly,the flames grow higherMy sufferings seem tomake it even moreconscious and intensifyits desire to burn in prayerThis fire is a gift from myGod- a subtle flame oflove that makes me bowin prayer©chitrotpala
it's 1:40 in the morningi feel Her magnetic pullonce againthe ripples in my mindhave come to halta stillness stationsat my breatha cool breeze flowswithin the grooves ofmy mindmy mind's eye gazesat Her human formand i feel myself divingdeep into Her presencemy inner skin sheds offwhen She holds me withHer gazeand the exhaled air removesall the toxicities from my mindi feel renewed, rechargedand de-stressedand let go of things thatcan't be controlledi handover the cardsto Her handsand let Her take the leadShe knows wellwhat should remain andwhat should not- so i letHer decide the things ican't denya strong scent of jasmineoverpowers my emotionsand vulnerabilities, andthe essence of mybelongings start to dilutewith Her fragrancei sit on my bed still,defeated, surrenderedto Her feetwho am i to laugh or cryor speak the truth or lieit's Her and only Her doingthat right now i am aliveto eulogise Heri am nothing but a littleember from (Her) firei end this poem with awish note - may i keeppenning poems for Hermay i keep penningpoems for Her©chitrotpala
someday i will writea poem on him,describe him in saltymetaphors and sweetnothings-like everything on thisearth- he too is a figmentof autumn and spring;but how shall i sayi am afraid of autumnthan anything.he is as perfect as shakespeare's sonnetsand as imperfect as myfree verses- he isafterall,my dearest beloved.in the most bland poemi have ever written,i try capturing his essence-with my unrhymed mixof words,but that's how he is for me-imperfectly perfect!there's no lying when i sayi love him- because he isbeyond autumn and springthe warmth in his presencecan never be metaphorised-his vibes- a winter sunrise;i wonder how come he nevergives up on a broken stringlike me?how come he never gettired of me?my sweetness and bitternessmakes least difference to him-his love for me has no measureor size- it's said freedom is thetruest form of love and eachtime he breathes freedom intomy soul- i see a river of lovestreaming in his eyes-fresh and ever-flowingjust like him;i see my own reflection inthose mystic eyes, twinklingwith chastityeverytime i collapse intohis arms like a wounded bird-he holds me with love, picksme up just like my mother,tends to my wounds softly-he is the strangest soul i haveever come across after myparents-come what may, he simplyrefuses to give up on me!now i wish to end this poemby telling my readers thatuniverse is a hopelessromantic who falls forstubborn heartsand he is one of themwhen you meet mybelovedyou will know-why i keep fallingfor him againand again©chitrotpala
today i looked insidemy weary heartand found the space darkan empty hall-my voice echoed loudlyeach timei took Your namethe pit of my stomachreverberated withYour vibrationsand throat sounded likean orchestrathe incandescent lampsdecorated in the halllit up one by one as myconsciousness tapped itsfeet into Your timeless tunethe hall was filled withlight and darkness bowedhumbly before Youthe space was shining witha fragrance of jasmineand i realisedYou had arrivedto transform my wearyheart into an altartoday i called You bythe name 'Aum' and Youlit up my soul©chitrotpala