Half a dream

The winds eventually lost strength. Silence shadowed the trees like scares on sunburnt faces, which too would grow out soon. The air around was surrounded with thickness of cold. It reeled under the weight of clouds that had gathered for long in weeks of winter’s short daybreaks and endless nights.

The snow was the respite that everyone’s been praying for.

It snowed when the road seemed insurmountable. First on the sides, on the trees and on the mountains. The gray was slowly being washed away by snowflakes. Everything living or dead was covered with a patina of white much like paint of morality which some believed had crept into hearts of a few.

But on that day, road lost its path for travelers. Somewhere in those sharp turns over the mountainous terrain it turned itself into the mountain, tired of lost travelers. And on that day, a man brave enough to act lost walked on the road. Some said he had lost his soul and was searching for it. He walked tall covered in black.

But his heart cried and eyes choked. He couldn’t see white, all he ever saw was red, blood red. On that day he saw red everywhere even in the glowing snowflakes. He was trying to run away. On that day snow on road showed him the path away from chaos of screaming walls, away from flickering nightmares, away from vortex of spieled confessions. He walked on, as if this was the end he prayed for all his life.
Snow slid off his umbrella with as equal an ease as it fell from sky. His boots crushed fluffy fresh snow squeezing all color out of it. He waited for none.
In the landscape of white, darkness couldn’t turn him away. He walked on.0124_BW_web

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Ghuzzle

Ghazal is about freedom till one chooses a scheme after which slavery follows. Inspired by the art of Ghazal writing, i tried to write one. The freedom of free verse soon vanished. The question of “what follows” was tiring.  All thoughts have to pass through a narrow alley of befitting scheme, very few turn out victorious. But the way writing unfolds is addictive. List of words rhyming with the Qafia(“epitaph”) and completing the Radif(“Half”) were few. I would say i didn’t choose an apt Radif. Lessons learned. Ghuzzle ain’t as plain as they seem.

 

You etched an epitaph, and unveiled only half,
tore the photograph, and kept only half.

Bounded to the world, boundlessly you speak,
penning agonies in aching paragraph, erasing only half.

Heer left Sailaan, along with joys of the world
who would beseech on its behalf, who would grant her half.

Dream ends eventually, drama of life continues,
I wanted to choreograph, nothing but your half.
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Kohra

khamoshi ki baahun se bichde hue chand khayal
tamana ki rah par yun nikal pade aaj
jaise yaad dhund mein chiraagon ko tattole.

waqt ne dhak liya kohre mein shehron ko kai
jahan shabh na dhalti thi kabhi
jahan subh sa haseen tha zamana kabhi.

Bisre hue in makano mein thari thi kabhi
mulaqatan tumahri hamari. Puroi thi kabhi
milkar deewaron mein baattein humne, tumhari hamari.
Aur tarasha tha ek sangemarmar par pata
ke koi salaam jo dhundta aaye ise
chori chupe, teekh dil mein hi jaa smaaye.

Image Source:lupusincolor.blogspot.in

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Pyx #4

Few people realize that they are looking at the world of their own thoughts and the world of their own feelings~ Wallace Stevens

I have held this belief that everyone has a different system function when it comes observing and interpreting reality. There are aspects of conversations that go unnoticed by some and other would just pounce on these. Senseless for some, at times is all that makes sense for others. The reason for this is everyone has a different viewpoint of seemingly universal reality. And so everyone has a different way of looking at reality even facts of life. Lost in this conundrum arises the question of existence of reality as it is and not as I or someone else sees it. Ever more confusing is the thought that the system functions are constantly being shaped by the interactions with outside. Every single operation modifies it and sometimes these modifications are large enough to change the nature of function. This is the closest I have gotten to reality

I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody else’s. But behind all of them there is only one truth and that is that there’s no truth ~ Flannery O’Connor