उम्मीद

कहते है उम्मीद लगाना अच्छी बात नहीं. में कहता हु यह बात सही नहीं.

 

उम्मीद

मेरी एक आदत बहुत बुरी है
मुझे उम्मीद रहती है
और कही न कही सबसे रहती है.

गलती उसकी नहीं जिससे उम्मीद हो
क्युकि उसे तो पता भी नहीं.
बस मेरे ही मन में दबी रहती है.

बहुत समझाता हु खुद को
उम्मीद खुद से कर दुसरो से नहीं.
पर क्या करू? हो जाती है,

सबको होती है, उम्मीद…

हर बात की कोई न कोई वजह जरूर होती है,
मेरी उम्मीद की भी है और
जो उसपे खरे नहीं उतरते उनके भी.

बस इतनी सी बात ही समझनी होती है.

यह ऐसा खेल है जो शायद ही कोई जीत पता है,
और शायद इसमें हारना ही सही है,
क्युकि उम्मीद वही लगा पता है
जिससे दुसरो की उम्मीदें जुडी है.

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

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

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.

I woke up next to you

Finally that morning had come.

My eyes knew what they were about to see.

For before going to bed yesterday,

I knew it was meant to be.

It took us years to get together,

Years that felt like centuries.

But this feeling couldn’t get any better.

So many bitter-sweet memories.

Your eyes were just like mine,

Bright and happy and no longer wet.

And therefore this morning is oh so fine,

For there are no Teardrops on my pillow set.  

 

I want to try something here. I urge all my readers to kindly post their understanding from the said lines in the comment section. 

Play Fair. 🙂

Just curious and hey, no one can be wrong for that’s the beauty of Poetry. 

सफर

Almost all the time I see that people work to achieve something. They work hard and in the end either they fail or they feel discontent after reaching said Goal.

This happens because we don’t really think things through. So before you start for your goal, just make sure that you really want it.

 

 

फिर से चल पड़ा है तू उस सफर पर
जहा तुझे बस मंज़िल की आस है.
फिर से चल पड़ा है तू उस सफर पर
जहा तुझे बस मंज़िल की आस है.

और फिर से भूल गया है तू,
के रास्तो में ही मिलती जीत या हार है.

किसी और की मंज़िल को तूने अपना समझ
अपने आप को धोका दिया
किसी और की मंज़िल को तूने अपना समझ
अपने आप को धोका दिया

चलने से पहले एक बार तो पूछ लेता,
तूने वही मंज़िल को क्यों चुना?

कामियाब हो तू हर सफर पे
दुआ यही रहेगी मेरी.
कामियाब हो तू हर सफर पे
दुआ यही रहेगी मेरी.

पर उस कमियाबा का क्या लाभ
जहा ख़ुशी नहीं है तेरी.

फिर से चल पड़ा है तू उस सफर पर
जहा तुझे बस मंज़िल की आस है.
निकलने से पहले जरूर पूछ लेना खुद से,
वह क्या है जिसकी तुझे सच में तलाश है.

Close the door behind you

Hey could you please close the door behind you?, I would feel much better.

 

 

Do me a favour and close the door behind you.

Sun was shining earlier but now it’s too cloudy,

And I do not want dust to enter my room.

It’s time I did some real study.

 

For you see it was all very nice,

But then the outside became vile.

So I decided it’s better to go into exile.

No season is more beautiful than your smile.

 

But I am aware that the storm will pass,

And Sun will shine again.

To breathe in that smell of soil and grass,

I will open the doors again.

 

Until then, could you please close the door behind you?

I have some study, some real study to do.

8th day of the week

24*8

 

Just as the world never ceases to rotate,

For 7 days I will abide by my fate.

No more, no less.

 

But when the Sun will go down,

And Sunday will start to drown,

8th day shall come around.

 

And that shall be my day,

For 24 hours it will stay,

And fill me with hope.

 

There shall be no laws,

For what crimes shall I do alone?

8th day of the week, my own.

 

I will sip some tea and break bread,

Music will be played in the sky,

Deserted world will no longer be sad.

 

No words shall I utter,

To my mind shall I listen to.

On the 8th day of the week, I will meet you.

Why to write a Poem?

This Poem is a tutorial on “Why to write a Poem?”. In this Poem, I am going to let go of all that keeps me sane. It’s madness around this place people!!! Let me add some light hearted comedy and madness from my side as well.

Yes, I know that the world is going through a Tough time and I stand with you all. But, yes, BUT in this hour of worry, let me do what I can do… Take your mind off the sadness and concern for a moment and bring smile to your face (at least try to).

Anyway, just forget everything till you reach the last line and read it from a blank perspective.

 

 

Why to write a Poem?

Once I was walking through the Park,

Where I met, Mr. Jolly.

Mr. Jolly was happy because, in the Dark was Mr. Gloomy.

 

But then the Sun decided to shift, 

And reveal the existence of latter. 

My. Jolly’s smile took a drift upon seeing his terminator.

 

Both hated each other,

Each one ending other’s vacation.

Sons of the all mother, they were the balancers of every creation.

 

Ignorant of the novelty they refused to talk,

So I called a Poet to square things even.

In his own way he took them for a walk, rhyming helps to see what we believe in.

 

A Poem looks similar to all,

Yet is taken with different meanings,

Through rhymes we take your call, Poem strikes a balance between feelings.