I see comparison in the name of equality, but why? Man and Woman are two sides of the same coin, aren’t they?
I had the good fortune to meet someone today. Someone who really made my day. Hope you do well and stay happy. 🙂
From a humbled heart, I present to you this Poem.
जैसे हर रात के बाद एक सुबह आती है
जैसे हर बात कुछ जज़्बात जता जाती है
जैसे हार साँस एक नया एहसास लाती है
ठीक उसी तरह हम सबकी ज़िन्दगी में वह एक सुबह जरूर आती है
कौनसी एक सुबह?
जिस सुबह मैंने अपने आप से बात की,
जिस सुबह में हँसा और मुस्कुराया
जिस सुबह मैंने अपने आप से यह पूछा,
क्या मैंने खुद वह किया जो मैंने दुसरो को समझाया?
नहीं, मैंने नहीं किया.
कहना आसान है, करना मुश्किल
समझाना आसान है, समझना मुश्किल,
दिमाग समझदार है दिल नहीं,
गलती करना गलत नहीं.
जरुरत जरूर है पर जरुरी नहीं,
जो सोचा वह वैसा ही हो,
मनमानी जरूर की पर मन को समझाया नहीं,
संघर्ष मेरे अकेले का नहीं.
अब सुनो सुबह की वह एक बात.
ज़िन्दगी किसीकी भी आसान नही,
पर हममे यह समझ आता नहीं,
समझ नासमझ क इस खेल में,
या तोह में कहता हूँ या जता पाता नहीं.
Youth, embodiment of energy and crazy. But
Truth, quintessential drudgery resulting in lazy.
Why, a question with an answer all hazy.
Reality, no one knows or even asks out of courtesy.
Anomaly, when someone tries to row upstream.
Perceived, a foul player who cannot be of a team.
Irony, when one does live their dream,
The World, “Why can’t we live in the same theme?”.
Walk your own life and let others be,
The more you twist or tangle, lesser you will be free.
Maniacs at Work need to stop and flea,
Your wish is what your life should see.
There is this bizarre concept called Extrovert and Introvert.
Extrovert is someone who is considered as a socially confident person. A person who knows how to leave an impression etc. etc.
Introvert is someone who is shy and cannot gel up in the crowd with ease.
Adjectives are only good when used in a sentence to describe things, not humans.
To be honest, every extrovert is somewhat of an introvert and vice versa.
It is all about the time and place.
The crowd is engaged as the desired one speaks,
Everything that is being said is simply magnificent.
Who cares about the content, just see the techniques,
Extroverts, blinding all the critiques.
But wait, who is that standing in the corner?,
And why is he not saying a word?
Maybe he doesn’t understand, poor foreigner.
Introverts, know only the art of murmur.
No doubt extroverts are great,
No doubt introverts often wait,
But that is all, there is no other difference.
Extro-intro-verts have both shaped earth’s fate.
Look beyond the skills of presentation,
Extrovert is more than charms and smile.
Look beyond the silent hesitation,
Introvert is more than a closed file.
~Ideas and content matter the most
Oh! dweller, who is looking for self,
Funny how you know everyone but you.
Like all the books that stand in your shelf,
You think you have read everyone you knew.
Oh! dweller, let me know then,
Who am I and what is true?
For all I have heard time and again,
My different versions from many different view.
Let me tell you what is known to a few,
We are what others want us to be.
Oh! dweller, without any further adieu,
Do convey what you actually see.
Be it any country, religion, race or identity, core values all remain the same. In the end we are all but a name.
It says, human did not know how to lie. It came to us as well started settling in this world.
What/who taught us this unique ability?
What/whosoever it was, changed the shape of the world we know today.
Act of concealing what we label as truth,
Comes natural to most if gazed up close.
Tranquil tunes wrapped with fallacy,
Are being administered at a regular doze.
Tricks are quaint and treats seem heartening,
Masking the gloomy road ahead.
An act that never ends but keeps circling,
Even after the lie has spread.
Some are necessary, noble, and kind,
While most seem innocent with a deceitful glimmer.
Precarious are the stones on which,
Lie makes promises to a desperate winner.
Necessary evil whose chains have broken,
Commands even the noblest of us.
Since the beginning only truth has spoken,
Impeccable amidst the liar’s fuss.
Follow The Poet and the Pen for more such works. Poem #96
An art which appeared long ago,
Is perishing with each passing day.
The profound game of words and phrases,
Ironically is lost for words and way.
Literal sense of what literature means,
Is perhaps the one that comes last.
A set of rules which were meant to simplify,
As per whims and wishes are changing fast.
Take it at its true value,
A deal to deceit one called life,
If you must, change your actions for good,
Leaving the literal literature alive.
And the walls of the old house were strong,
Standing and steering for generations now.
Each mark on them had its own story,
Each pillar kept secret the family vow.
But one picture caught my eye,
A portrait of someone long-lost now.
An unforgetful face, even if I try.
Bold, beautiful and righteous frau.
So many emotions did the portrait portray,
A genius for sure, who played with colours.
Some saw her happy while some grey,
“Life”, wrote the painter, “every single day”.
It is only as beautiful as you believe it to be and only as dark as you see.