Skip to main content

Remembrance

Yes I do remember these shadows.

Ten summers have baked away their marks,
long marks they cast on timeless walls.
Ten rains have washed them out,
washed out the the paths they once tread.

Ten autumns blew away the leaves,
leaves that grew under their tepid palms.
Ten winters stretched and tore them apart,
tore them into a heap of anonymity.

Yes, I do remember these shadows,
Long cast and long gone, they bemuse me,
bemuse me with their strange cognizance.
Like trickling drops of rain they do not yield
do not yield and drench me in their darkness.
They chatter in my reticent dreams,
dreams both vague and vivid, warm and bleak.

I remember the times when our paths did cross,
cross, but did soon swerve and veer away.
For shadows are solitary travellers, I grieve,
grieve not, for so soon I lost your sight,
I grieve as I harrow over your footprints.

Yes, I do remember these shadows.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Citizenship Amendment Bill: The demon that it never was

The Citizenship Amendment Bill having occupied a prominent part of the political discourse in India in recent days has deservedly won its acronym, the CAB. Although, it has become one of those pieces of legislation which has been given interpretations beyond its scope and aims. It has become a vent for those who perennially believe that the Indian government has sinister motives at its heart and wants to make India a Hindu Rashtra. There is no denying that there is a section in the ruling dispensation that does want that, but the quintessential question is, as it always is, has the actions of the democratically elected and accountable government reflected those desires? People will agree to disagree on that question. My objection is not to that disagreement but to the overarching misinformation that is going around about the CAB. Usually, I do not attach much importance to the reporting of foreign media outlets on events in India, since they are filled with biases and oversimplificat...

दोपहर की बौनी परछाइयाँ

प्रात: की प्रथम किरण से भेष पाकर, ओज की प्रथम छुअन से प्राण लाकर, जिस परछाई ने मुझमें प्रवेश किया था, एक मध्याह्न की तेज़ धूप ने उसे एक पल में, जला कर भस्म कर दिया था | अब वो लंबी उदार परछाइयाँ तो याद नहीं पड़ती, जो कभी आगे-आगे मार्गदर्शक बन कर चलती थीं, पर वो दोपहर की बौनी परछाइयाँ,  जो मेरा हाथ पकड़ कर साथ चलती थी, बातें किया करती थीं, बहुत याद आती हैं | सायं कल के डूबते सूरज से प्रश्न तो नहीं कर सकता, पर उन बिछुड़ती, दूर चली जाती -  लंबी ओझल होती परछाइयों को, एक अर्सा और ठहरने का आग्रह तो कर ही सकता हूँ | कुछ क्षण अगर वह मुझसे दूर ही सही पर ठहर जाती, तो इस निस्तब्ध अकेली रात्रि का मोल, उसकी आन कुछ कम हो जाती क्या?

Colours of Life

Every shade of colour, every colour of shade; for each moment in life, there is one, just one that is made. O lights of colour, O colours of light; thy memories shall never fade. In you the world reflects, In you I reflect upon the world. With pebbles of time, I fill my bag; Some grey, some white,  some so green yet out of sight. Each moment is an epoch, just as each colour is a shade. Every man is what he fills his bag with, Every truth, every dream, every lie and every myth. But then what is life, if not a rhyme of colours, and a colour in every rhyme.