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

I was Me

Every time the dusk got delayed,

Or the morning sun felt harsh,

Sound of life seemed disarrayed,

Or water disappeared in the marsh,

Loved ones took a separate turn,

Old enemies met at the crossroads,

Water started to burn,

And decrypted were all my codes,

I came to this place I now call home.

 

There is always a place for me,

Here I am always allowed to be,

The person you see every now and then.

I cannot tell you how but,

The Poet and the Pen (my blog) saved me.

I was always Me.

 

Blogging has this beautiful thing in it. It makes you feel so special, so connected to yourself. Sometimes I find out so much about so many things when I sit behind this blog and dive into the World of Words.

Blogging is a good addiction and I am addicted.

Fiction

 

I have a theory that says,

Fiction is non-fiction in the making.

Those who transform a fiction into a fact

Change the ways of our living.

And that not many but one fiction

Resides in each of us.

Can we solve that question?

Do we have that obsession?

We seek greatness and immortality

In what lies in front of our eyes.

Maybe we fail because

It lies behind our eyes.

Find that fictitious thought,

Write it in your mind.

Heave till the fact is caught,

Fiction is yours but non-fiction is for the mankind.

 

 

We all have that one thought inside our mind which if realised and put out there in the world, it can make the world a better place.

250: Thank You

250th post. Each Post (on The Poet and the Pen) is done with the sole purpose of spreading a message. Message of Care, Fun, Love, Laughter, Happiness and Emotions.

I grow each and every day through this blog and many of you out there who just like me are on a quest to make the world a better place, I want to say Thank You.

We blog not for likes, comments, shares or anything. We blog so that someone who reads this irrespective of his country, location, colour, language and situation gets to know that we are here, we are with you and if we can do it so can you.

Lots of Love.

 

 

For every tear that you dropped in silence,

For every goodbye that scathed your heart,

For every smile that you projected despite inner violence,

For every day you played your part,

For every friend you lost and let go,

For every enemy you won by letting go,

For every step you took for a better tomorrow,

For every brave moment you faced your inner sorrow,

For every harsh truth you accepted,

For proving that you cannot be defeated,

For not treating the world as you were treated,

For spreading the good message that your misery created,

Thank You.

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.

Be Badass

You know what… Just play it cool!

 

 

Let’s part ways with the respectful methods,

And talk in the rawest of forms.

Denounce hiding and set the records straight,

Being badass is setting your own norms.

 

Call what you see,

Be you, simply be free.

Bottomline: The world will always misread.

Don’t bother, let them and you just be.

 

Do what you please, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else.

For being badass is even more cool without creating any mess.

Make your own rules, goals and set yourself a bar so high,

That even you realise you have no option but to try.

 

Stop reading this, go write your own lines now,

Let them see you succeed and wonder, “How?”.

You be the one whom you does or doesn’t’ allow,

Rule no. 1: You make the rules now.

Read to Refuel

Let me take you someplace nice. Somewhere you will not feel trapped, burdened or scared. Times are tough and therefore it is very much necessary that we keep ourselves upbeat and happy.

 

 

Around you is an empty canvas,

Waiting to reflect your mind.

Step on it and jump into a world,

Where only you know what to find.

Laws of Science and of Sense, do not apply,

For it is that World which is kind.

Your emotions and creativity are unbound,

Waiting for you to intertwine.

 

Here you are a painter, plains and hills are yours to Paint.

Here you are a writer, in every book, you will be the Saint.

Here you are a reader, stories are of your choice.

Here you are a dancer, and Music is your own Voice.

Here you are a traveller, destination is yours to make,

Here you are a creator, and everything is at stake.

Here you are anything that you wish to be,

Canvas is yours, you and all your dreams are free.

 

Around you is a beautiful canvas,

Just the way you’d like the World to be.

Close your eyes now,

It’s beautiful, if you can see.

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.

चाहे जो भी हो

Just smile at the end of the day, that’s all. It’s that simple.

यह कहानी उसकी है जो कभी हारा नहीं,
एक ऐसा शख्स जिसे कोई समझ पाया नहीं.
यह किस्सा है उसका जो आज भी है कही,
कौन है और कहा है वह बात जरूरी नहीं.

कठिनाइया उसने भी बोहत है उठाई,
पर फिर भी चेहरे से हसी उसने नहीं गवाई.
हर रात तारो के सामने हुई उसकी सुनवाई,
पर वह सिर्फ मुस्कुराया, यह बात न समझ आई.

ऐसा नहीं है की उससे ज़िन्दगी ने घसीटा नहीं,
चोट उससे भी लगी, आंसू उसके भी बहे.
पर फिर भी वह उस रस्ते वापिस गया,
क्युकी उसकी मंज़िल वही थी कही.

यह कहानी उसकी है जो कभी हारा नहीं,
चाहे जो भी हो दिन के आखिर में वह मुस्कुराया कही.
क्युकी हार को उसने अपनाया ही नहीं,
उसने खुद को समझा क्युकी दुसरो को कोई समझ पाया नहीं.

Placid Place

Someone asked me about the Happiest day of my life, I couldn’t answer then but I can answer now.

The Poem which got me into India’s one of the biggest Poetry Societies’ E-Magazine: Placid Place

 

 

It was around 4 in the evening,

Birds were flying back to their nests.

Ambered eyes due to the sky were deceiving,

When I realised, we are all but Guests.

 

At an altitude high above the citylife,

Surrounded in the serenity of nature,

While in harmony with the elements five.

I found the happiest day of my life.

 

Every accomplishment seemed futile,

Every being seemed related,

I was in Nature and Nature was in me,

Negativity became outdated.

 

Wind bore messages from trees and streams,

Water carried a thousand dreams,

Fire inside was reignited,

When Earth absorbed my screams.

Elated and rejuvenated was I when hugged,

By Nature who ended all my strife.

For whenever Nature’s sound is plugged,

To me that is the Happiest day of my life.