Bookmark

 

On the seat right next to mine

there was an old & torn book.

Faded ink on it spoke of a time,

Long gone now. It seemed bespoke.

Out of habit to turn pages,

My eyes started running over the faded words.

A few pages later there was a bookmark

on which written were these words…

Once you read, place the marker into the next page

and write a few lines about yourself,

Become a part of the book of age.

Keep it back on the seat, this was never meant for a bookshelf.

Upon doing as instructed I figured, I was reader number 511.

The book once belonged to this traveller

Who wished to meet the World.

Alas! he could not for time ran out. He was a believer.

He was reader number 001

and now I was a part of his world.

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.

Content Creators

A wordsmith who novels

And enables dwellers known as readers

To flee into the realm of realisation,

Word by word with no followers and leaders

But just a conscience seeking conclusions

By simply spectating other characters,

Created to craft nothing but a message

For all those who are believers.

Sheltering them from the world outside,

Where most words are deceivers,

And sparing them the time to be anything they wish to be,

After all you are just spectators,

Is a Poet, Writer, Painter and Storyteller.

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.

रेत

My identity is through my words and my genuinity is in my eyes. Hear to know and see to believe.

 

kka

 

रेत

कहते है कलम में तलवार से ज्यादा धार होती है,
रक्त बेह जाता है पर स्याही कहती रहती है.
में एक लेखक हूँ जो रेत से है बना,
सुनने यह रेत क्या कहती है.

जितना बांधोगे उतना में उडूंगा,
अपना रास्ता में खुद चुनूंगा,
सोच हूँ में, मुझे पकड़ नहीं सकोगे,
सच बोलू तोह शायद पूरी तरह समझ नहीं सकोगे.

आइना हूँ में जो सच दिखाता है,
खुद की गलती से दुसरो को सिखाता है,
नहीं जनता मुझे कौन कब पढ़ेगा,
लेखक वह है जो हमेशा सच कहेगा.

खुश करना मेरी फितरत नहीं,
दुःख देना मेरा पेशा नहीं,
दिखावट के परे दिखा सकू, रेत हूँ,
सच को शब्दों में उतार सकू, तभी में एक लेखक हूँ.