The obsession of sisyphus

 In repetition I find 

my release. like

Sisyphus who paused 

for a while to ponder: 

did he think 

it was all futile?

or did he notice 

that each moment 

in being repeated

was always new? 

जिंदगी की जद्दो जहद में

 

अक्सर जिंदगी की जद्दो जहद 

में वास्ता दरवाज़ों से होता 

एक दरवाज़े से प्रवेश 

एक से निकास 

एक आने से पहुंचने 

के बीच सिमटी जिंदगी 

जो स्थिर है 

जो गौण है 

वह उसका हिस्सा नहीं 

जैसे यह बालकनी 

मैं आदत में एकांत लिखता हूँ

 

मैं आदत में एकांत 

लिखता हूँ , लिखते 

एकांत खत्म हो 

जाता है , जो बचता 

है एकांत जैसा उसे 

मैं वैसा ही छोड़ देता 

हूँ. 

जो बचा है 

वही हमारी सीमा 

है , जिसमे गिरने का 

खतरा हमेशा बना 

रहता है. मैं गिरने 

से पहले लिखता हूँ 

की कुछ बच जाऊं 

किसी शेष की तरह 

नहीं , किसी फुटनोट 

की तरह.   

गिरना मेरा अंत नहीं 

पर वो है जहाँ से 

यह कविता शुरू होती है, 

शायद मैं भी. 

Sometimes

Sometimes the day begins 

slow, in a murmur , it is 

Easy to ease out of the bed

Turn your head , absorb the 

Wind as it eases in. 

Sometimes the morning has a wisp 

Of a rumour that hangs 

Uneasily over the reluctant 

Day yet to come 

The heaviness of the day past 

Is yet to pass. The promise of the 

Future yet to realise. 

My mind plays tricks on me. 

I want to open the book 

And learn what slowness means 

What it means to embrace what 

Is? 

I need to find my answers before the

Tea turns cold. Something changes 

Between the sips of tea that 

Determines what the day would be . 

There is more to beginnings than 

Getting up. There is more to rising 

Than realising the ground is where 

It was the last night. 

I submit to the sky

A sudden flash

of lightening pierces

the veil of a summer

night. A storm teases

the trees. Some street

lamps wink and fall 

asleep in the womb 

of darkness. Earth 

sheds its burning skin

for a day and the parched

soil swirls around madly

in the hairs of the passerby.

An uneven tiredness 

subsides and I submit 

to the sky.

(May 23, 2016)

Old Skin

Old skin, possibility is
a dotted line. Learn to 
write your name. But
erase it soon lest your
traces be heavy. Open
future is an undeciphered
script, the uncertain has
its trappings. (Sometimes)
it is beautiful.

(24 May 2016)

............................................

Old skin, clouds are a
guest to the summer
night. Flashes of lightening
an interlude to their
love. You a drifting 
passerby. Collect the
fragments in their pauses.
This instant is alive with
the possible.

(23 May 2016)

...............................................

Old skin, murmurs of an
instant are not rumours.
There are clouds passing
nearby. Finality dissolves
(sometimes) when you
stop parting shadows.
Wonder!

(23 May 2016)

Slow

All seen is a waiting for 

the yet seen. 

Slow!

The veil is fragile. A 

drop dissolves, 

the dew

splits. 

A tiny crack is all you have

 anticipations galore. 

Slow!