Tales of woe

 

After months of hard work didn’t bear fruit, he seemed despondent.

She too had nothing absolute, life seemed dishonest

but somehow they ended up across the same table,

as they say unstable finds unstable.

 

One had everything and aspired for more,

the other had nothing and wanted just a little.

Tales of woe were exchanged

and both realised, Life is a pickle.

 

She saw a guy with success, still not giving up on betterment.

He saw a girl with nothing to start yet, not ready for a settlement.

But none spoke it out loud and shared a thankful smile.

They got what they needed, at least for a while.

 

♦ Sometimes when two broken pieces meet they somehow fix each other with their shattered pieces.

Final showdown

It was the last time we ever gazed

into each other’s eyes.

Gone are those days

and life is what it is today.

But before we turned around

and walked our separate paths

there was this moment…

It was just this moment

when we both realised,

A good rival is also very important.

A good enemy helps you to improve.

-Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

Underrated Hero

 

It starts from the day we come into this world

and after that it lasts forever.

Father is not just a relation

but a journey full of sacrificing endeavours.

We cannot thank you enough, ever.

 

You never stop watching over us, do you?

My childhood pictures were taken only by you.

In adolescence we walk right next to you, holding your finger

and in teenage, despite wanting to be alone, your watchful eyes linger.

No matter how old we get, you remain our silent singer .

 

Underneath that tough and quiet exterior

we all know that you are soft hearted just like mom.

Yet your wish to make us better

asks you to take tough calls. How do you do it?

That parent who accepts resentment for his child’s betterment.

 

Perfect balance of love and lectures, teacher and friend,

at times harsh but always fair,

Father you are hard to comprehend.

I pretend to be like you when I sit on your chair

and feel that overwhelming pressure that you withstand.

 

No child can ever document their father’s role

because there are some things you just cannot express.

Words too have limitations after all

Unlike my Father’s worry when I am a mess.

Father, the person we fail to call.

 

All we can say is a Thank You

and we will try to be a bit more like you.

It will be tough but it will be worth it.

Even though we don’t say this enough,

Father, we really really Love You.

 

You cannot say anything about this one man because he knows you more than you know yourself. He is your Father.

-Nishant, The Son.

Rusted

 

An old bike sits in my garage.

It is covered in dust

and barely does it look nice.

One day it shall rust.

It was my favourite once,

I used to spend hours on it

riding through my favourite paths,

when suddenly it started to break down,

delayed my every plan.

I could no longer go around

and felt like a different man.

Everything has a life span.

 

When something/someone denies you from being the best version of yourself, understand that their time in your life is now over.

-Nishant, The Poet and the Pen

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.

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.

Abrupt

♦ The day you let pride consume you, the gift that made you will desert you.

 

 

In the loudest night amidst cheers,

Shiney lights and beloved dears,

It forsake in form of tears.

Realizing the biggest of fears.

Pride took over,

And stunted the prowess,

And while in hangover,

Revoked was the allowance,

For it no longer deserved to be,

The gift that was bestowed on me.

Word of the day

An old man sitting on the walkway,

Asked each passerby for a word.

Barely did anyone stop by,

For it seemed highly absurd.

I wrote on a piece of paper

And kept it in the old wrinkled hand.

Only to find out later

He could not comprehend.

In that moment, instead of being shy,

The old man smiled and asked for its meaning.

I explained but then I asked “Why?”

Said, “I am addicted to learning.”

 

~Each of us have something to teach but more importantly we all have so much to learn and not from only books or teachers but from each other as well.