The Irrelavant Man

The gears turn in unison,
the cogs move the wheel.
The hours pass by and the days go on,
said the Clockmaker.
The hands of this clock will sway;
but mine, they can't ,
these fractures in time are for me to heal.

The strings resonated,
the melodies became ripe;
The fruits of the lovely song,
were as sweet as honey.
Shouted the Musician;
Can your bits of steel and cogs and wheels,
bring these rhythms to life?

The Baker down the street, thought to himself;
The oven glows and the bread turns to gold,
these dreams they cook, the tales they stew;
Let's serve this art cold,
and ask the men to chew.

The unassuming man,
searching for benevolence, passed by the road;
But Alas! was not seen nor heard,
in these tall claims of relevance.

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The Citizenship Amendment Bill: The demon that it never was

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A tale of two fires

Some folk once sat around a table, To share a meal and sing and fable. ‘Twas sturdy but would shake and rumble When they did pause and stealthily mumble, For it was afraid of losing its guardians, Just as the fire feared of losing its radiance. The parting flame wildly wobbled a bit, When one man exclaimed in a wilder fit, We have lost our hearth, tell tales sans heart, Some gifted a gaze, others granted a glance. He then closed his eyes and fell to his chair, Tables shook and men still mumbled – But he could not yield nor could he care, Far away he saw another fire, slightly warmer. It had its own audience, just slightly quieter. He listened to their tales, unchained but entwined, In the lulling melody of crackling timbre behind. Tales of men and women, of gods and of beasts, Their wants and wisdom, conquests and defeats. Half a man, and half a bull, an old man exclaimed, In one hand his rosary, with the other he aimed, First at the heavens and then at the dun...

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?

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