The Play

 

One day they shall all be forgotten.

Who, What, When, Where will all become trivial.

Same stories will repeat themselves

for the new actors to reveal

and think of themselves as pivotal.

Old actors will watch from a distance

and critique as the new ones make mistakes,

But so did they…

Past comes back in a way.

Yet the audience will applaud

and throw roses for the same play

because that is their part

and to act is actor’s.

In the end it is all just a play.

Deluded Hatred

 

Resident of gospel,

Hatred does rent a room

in every domicile.

Contrary to novel

and one of the strongest emotions,

Is it really vile?

No love can be realised

without Hatred being present.

It does not have to be hostile.

Perhaps a demarcation of personalities,

it safeguards an individual.

Just like every house has boundaries,

It maintains the much needed distance

between the better and the lesser.

 

Maybe Hatred was created to keep you away from someone who would make you miserable. Maybe it is not hostile. Maybe it does not have to be hostile. Maybe it is just a boundary.

-Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

Can I?

 

Often in the evening strolls

a realisation sneaks up

which recalls something really tough.

Should I continue or give up?

The stigma of latter can be rough

but what if I am fed up?

Nothing will ever be enough.

Characterisation has made it hard to give up

even on something which makes me miserable.

So I started to bluff to myself…

The worst kind of gamble.

 

Please don’t berate me for leaving now.

I tried but couldn’t finish somehow.

Only a human, I am.

I wish I had a backspace key now.

Regardless of what they say,

What they say does matter.

Let me find a better way,

Allow me to choose the latter.

I shall come back better,

I shall come back brighter,

I will feel honest and lighter.

Giving up does not make me any less of a fighter.

 

 

If something makes you miserable, there is no shame in giving it up. Giving up to try something new is actually a sign of bravery.

-Nishant, The Poet and the Pen.

Dropped conspiracy

 

I dropped it that day

And it broke.

Hundreds of pieces got scattered,

For me to collect again.

But I remember that my hands didn’t fail

And my fingers opened voluntarily.

Perhaps it was necessary,

A beautiful conspiracy

Which later proved to be a therapy.

 

Sometimes the mistakes that we do are actually done deliberately by our subconscious mind. Later we realise that it was a necessary therapy for us.

Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

Post its on my wall

 

Hits can be derailing

And it takes time to get back.

As we end up trailing

Our paths seem to go black.

It feels like we are failing,

And that we have been giving slack.

Everything becomes overwhelming

That we start wishing if we could go back.

But…

Life isn’t streamlined

But a curve of ups and downs.

That timeline which we predefined

Never covers all the towns.

We never trail,

Neither do we actually fail

But gain lessons which weren’t expected.

So be proud of yourself and stop feeling dejected.

Old strings new tunes

In the deepest corner of my room

6 old strings stood from distant past.

It wasn’t an accident that I discovered

Something which was already there since the start.

Many fond memories ran like a reel

Inside the projector of my heart

And then suddenly I started to feel

As if a sin had been committed on my part.

Old tunes stopped and strings never reverberated

Because I gave up on them,

Fallacy got me distracted.

I gave up on them.

Music was lost after a while

And I had to fill that void with noise.

We never love something which is not our style

6 old strings were my choice.

But now I am back and they are still there

Waiting to be played.

With old strings and new tunes I today declare

Resumption of my parade.

Even in the loudest nights now,

My tunes shall not fade.

We always return to the place we belong. We always find the things which are meant for us. Even though we walk away from them, life gets us back to them and it is at that moment when we realise that it was all meant to be.

Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

Burning Tip

Put it out!

 

 

 

I have been dragged a lot

And beaten.

A part of me got lost

Every time I was shaken.

I was set on fire

Because of some unfulfilled desire.

Life was cut short in the end.

In smoke we mend.

Even though I take lives,

I hold more hands than humans do.

But I ask you to not rely on me,

I am ash and will make you too.

I know I am dishonest

But I am also the one who stays.

Even I don’t like myself to be honest

Find something else and put me in the ashtray.

संतुलन

 

 

बहुत पहले की बात है,
जब में कुछ नहीं था तब
में देखता था राह चलते लोगो को
झूटी हांसी और दुःख में दिखते थे सब.

हस्ता था में उनपे यह सोच के कि
ऐसी भी क्या बात है जो इन्हे
संतुलन करना नहीं आता?
जवाब बड़े होने के बाद मिला.

वह संतुलन ही था जो मुझे दिखता था
वह झूटी हांसी जो दिखने में प्यारी लगती थी
इतनी प्यारी कि सच्चे दुःख को ढक लेती थी.
संतुलन ही था.

वह झूटी हांसी जो खुद को अंदर से दबोच लेती थी
पर अपनों को चैन कि सांस लेने देती थी.
आंखे जो नरम होके चमकती थी
पर आंसुओ को समेटे रहती थी.
आइने के सामने जाने की हिम्मत देती थी
वह संतुलन ही है.

आज भी हांसी आती है मुझे
पर अब खुद पे.
ऐसी भी क्या बात है जो मुझे
संतुलन करना सीखा गयी?
जवाब आज भी नहीं मिला.

Con-Text

I know life is not all proses and rhymes.

At times it just exclaims!

Every step carries a question,

And every paragraph has its own frame.

Somehow we never run out of conjunctions,

Neither do we run short of scenes.

And no matter how hard we try for perfection,

We mess things up with that punctuation in between.

Despite all this we believe in someone else’s writings.

Knowing deep down that we all are the same, human beings.

So why does this happen?

While most of us keep documenting our lives,

Some write a poem with their feelings.

Finding

Few years back I had set out to find

Something.

I found it but

It didn’t change anything.

Why would it?

I just wanted to find it

And never meant to understand

The purpose and the use.

Tomorrow I am setting out to find

Something.

I hope this time…