DISCOVERY

Proud we are
In our discovery of soul
That's of self
And not of what is before.

In the West : A guiding force,
In the East going within
Though unseen,
Yet visible
Like human stages
Right from the child-hood.

The variety of truth and time,
The world under a guise
And attempts of men
To open the universe
Like the unbuttoning of shirt
Is the happiest quest
That satisfy
The exploring lust of mind.

Achievements
Brings progress,pleasure
But not always peace.
There is darkness
And dense smoke
Spread all around
Even during the day

Our discovery breaks
Other's discovery,
Inventions,enrich inventions
Then what remains to reach.

BUNYAN TO BONSAI

BUNYAN TO BONSAI

There is no place.....
For seeding plants,
No space for trees,
No room for little grass,
No passage for breeze.

Bunyan tells
To its little Bonsai,
Kept on the balcony
Of the second floor
"Pleasure comes
From within 
When you effortlessly try".

By cutting their twigs,
And tying with wires
Its delicate trunks
They check its desire
For a hand full of sky.
Where it will see
Birds flying
And reflect
What progress is,
How and why?

No shades of affection
Only shining walls
With color so green ,
Chairs around a table.
And the furious sun out side.
Stars studded on the ceilings
Behind the moving fans,
Barely saves some sheen.

Today
The work and ways,
Show every heart behind a cage
Laughter or smile
Becoming just an exercise
That keeps body fit,
Muscles strong
With fresh air going inside.

Life is slave of time,
Time is slave of time,
It keep strict watch on
Men laughing without laugh,
Walking without a distance
Yet trying to look so wise
With instant material rise.

Was it a case in the past
When people had time
To laugh and let laugh
Living on the grains
Of happiness
With a nice cool head
And a thinking heart?

Happy were those days
When plants turned into trees,
River flowed with ease,
Birds soared in the sky
And came back
With the dying sun
To their cozy nests.
As nothing was at cease.

Since men are growing nuclear
In their day to day life,
Radiation of desire
Has spread all around.
With the fast fleeting moments
Relations have turned bonsai,
Time and tense has turned bonsai,
Thoughts have turned bonsai.
Nothing moves skywards,
Emotions don't grow fast.

Everything curtailed-
Be it food,salt or fat,
Freshness of mind
Happiness of heart-
All's going south
Yet illness is all time high.

Let the bonsai break
Its wire and grow, 
Grow into a tree so high.
Sit in the balcony with a cup of tea
And watch them calling you
To join the curly shade
Join the intimate soil.

Posted by Rajiv at 7:04 AM 

THIS YEAR TOO ...…

Like previous years,
This year too
The effigies of Ravana
Along with Kumbhkarna and Meghnatha
Will be consigned to flames
Onceagain
With loud and deafening crackers
And thousand thunderous claps,
Cheered by all:
Be it old, young or small.

But once again
Attempts would surely fail
To burn them all
As the trio has melted
Into the body of Ramas
And has got slowly multiplied
Keeping their Soul intact, undetected,
Making it difficult for burning Fire
To penetrate the core.

Laxman keeps drawing a line
To save Sitas
But all without fire.
Now none fears
That dreaded idiomatic line.

Year after year
The trio is gaining heights
And growing in numbers,
Flames are also rising high,
Dark smoke leaping
To touch the sky.

Today every Rama is doubtful
As Ravana within is holding forte,
“V” that once stood for villain,
Now stands victor.

Next year again
We will get ready
To burn them all
Like a bonfire
And dance around that pyre
Knowing it well
It didn’t work and won't work
Till the naval is hit once again
With the arrow of corrective fire.

Time is ripe to know
What is Rama and what Ravana is?
This myth has to be broken now
As happening makes it everyday
A biggar speaking tree.

IN THE NAME OF TRADITION

Like Yesterdays
Even today
The sky is not so blue,
The wind is not blowingso soft,
The rising Sun is hotter,
The evening,more dusty,
And the moonless night is darker
Than ever even with stars.

Things are right
Till you don't apply your mind
And blindly follow
The pre-laid medieval path,
And move ahead
With meek obedience
Holding their fingers
In your hand,
Listening to the music
They play,
Seeing the world
Through their eyes,

Once you grow young
And make-up your mind,
Try to find your ways,
And do something
That you wish to do
In coming days
You will go horribly wrong,
In the world
Where people seek
To have their way,
Want to have their say.
If denial comes,
Souls are snatched.
No heart is found,
No mind appears,
No remorse is seen
In the watery eyes.

Don't know why ?
Those arms and embrace
That cradled you once,
Wherein you slpt
All fearless
In the fairy world,
Turns tormentors
At once?

No body knows,
Wants to know
Why young generation
Always have to pay
For their freedom,
For their choice.

Perhaps
This is in our blood
That streams through......
Each and everyone
But seeks no change.

PAST MADE ME

PAST MADE ME

Whenever I open 

The back-door and walk out 

On the long memory lane, 

I always see A lush green village 

Full of mango trees and palm 

On the bank of a rainy-river, 

Damned forever 

By a mighty dam. 

Now not flowing so fast, 

Lying motionless

On her sandy bed 

Between her banks 

Like a grand-old-mother, 

Looking at her grand children 

Playing fearlessly all around.

 

There..... 

On the silky sand 

Spread like the dust of gold 

Lies our childhood 

Making and breaking structures, 

Throwing balls of sand 

At each-other, 

Or one-another, 

And laughing to see 

Sand mingling with sand. 

In the morning. 

Under the rising sun 

A small boy standing 

And watching 

A velvety green paddy fields 

Swaying with the blowing wind  

Full of water and fish at roots underneath.

 

I see a young child 

Dipping his hands in the water 

To catch a fast fleeing fish, 

Or running after the jumping frogs. 

And catching the firefly 

To make lights of my own 

After the sun goes down.

 

Today I am far-far away from her, 

But in my long memory-chain 

Even with her thinning stream 

She never ceased to flow, 

Nor did she left caressing 

My incessantly drifting dreams. 

 I Still love her presence 

As she keeps my past abreast......

My Lost Sundays

My Sundays are lost
Like other Working days
And still
I have a soft corner
For you,My Love

My days with books
And apart…….
Are those
Wherein
I see nothing,
Nothing beyond you & …………..
Still Sunday comes
It will come sure
But I don’t know
If the sensation will sneak
Into me the same way again
As something is changing
Incessantly in me
With careless control.

Yet, it’s not mine
This is the wind
Across the mighty wind
Blowing in all directions.

CHASNALA

Monday, March 14, 2011

CHASNALA

It was just another night
Full of twinkling stars
And the deep cut moon 
Steadily growing bright. 
Cradling their children
To happy dreams
Putting soul behind
Mothers were singing 
Their favourite  lulla byes, 
Very close to their heart.
Old aged father was coughing out the night
In a solitary room just outside.
Restless dogs were barking loud
Thickening the darkness 
Of CHASNALA.

On the fateful freezing night
Of 27th December,1975
Almost 3000 head lamps came 
Out of the Old Light-House
Dazzling the dark core of the Mine
Like the fire flies
Four hundred feet below the surface.
With gillatin rods in their hands
They were measuring 
The depth of the MINE,
The layers of "BLACK DIAMOND"
And the sound of horrible hollowness
On the other side of the wall.

Ignoring the experience of those
Making their presence felt
Through the impression of their thumb,
The blast was carried out-the blast of DEATH.
The River Damodar 
With all fury and fire
Roared through the wall
That instantly caved in 
Putting off the lamps 
Atonce.
But
There were dreams 
Still floating
In their open shocked eyes.

It took months 
To bring Damodar out
But at a cost.
Human skeleton were still coming out
To say the story of utmost greed
And human plight.
Their songs of pleasure or pain
Sung with diffrent mood 
Hangs in the air even today.

The songs of the mothers were lost,
The sound of coughing old man was gone,
The children suddenly turned young,
Flowers around lost their sheen.

The care free faces 
Throwing coins on funny cock-fight
Are now rarely seen.
Temple of Mother KALI is filled
With terrible void,
Where once 
Thounds used to bent
Their heads and knees
Without showing 
Their caste and creed.

Though 
By vacating the families 
And tearing away
The pages of presence
Attempts were made 
To erase 
The memories of those 
Brave hearts. 

But
Even today
As a DATE they stay
In their family's heart,
In commons'mind.

चासनाला 
(धनबाद से बीस किलोमीटर दूर एक कोयला क्षेत्र है चासनाला. २७ दिसंबर १९७५ की रात को एक विस्फोट होता है खान के ३०० फुट नीचे और ७० लाख गैलन प्रति मिनट के हिसाब से पानी घुस जाता है खादान में और करीब ३००० मजदूर कभी ऊपर नहीं आ पाते. सरकारी आकड़ों में ये केवल ३७२ हैं. यह कोई दिल्ली तो नहीं है कि मनाई जाएगी इस हादसे की बरसी या फिर से खुलेगी इसकी फ़ाइल भोपाल गैस कांड की तरह. गुमनाम चासनाला शहीदों को समर्पित यह कविता ) 

आम सी ही रात थी 
चाँद आसमान में खिला था 
तारे झिलमिल कर रहे थे
माँ लोरिया सुना कर 
सुला रही थी बच्चों को 
बूढ़े पिता खांस रहे थे बाहर के कमरे में 
और जोर जोर से भौंक रहा था 
धौरे का कुत्ता 
चासनाला में 
२७ दिसम्बर १९७५ की 
सर्द रात को 

बत्ती घर से
उठी थी लगभग ३००० बत्तियां 
और झिलमिल हो उठा था 
चासनाला का भूगर्भ 
लगभग चार सौ फुट नीचे
टिमटिमाती बत्तियों से 

हाथ में थामे 
जिलेटिन का बैटन 
स्टील के लम्बे छड़ों से 
मापी जा रही थी 
खदान की और गहराई 
कोयले की परतें
खोखलेपन की आवाज़ को
और निरक्षरों के अनुभव की 
अनसुनी कर 
किया गया था एक विस्फोट 
जो साबित हुआ अंतिम ही 

एक विस्फोट और
सत्तर लाख गैलन प्रति मिनट की दर से 
दामोदर के सैलाब ने
भर दिया चासनाला का गर्भ 
और समाहित हो गयीं 
वे तीन हज़ार बत्तियां
काले स्याह चेहरों के बीच 
झिलमिलाती पुतलियाँ और
उनमे भरे सपने 

महीनो लग गए 
चासनाला खान से 
निकालने में पानी 
वर्षों तक कंकाल मिलते रहे खान से
चैता और विरहा के आलाप भी 
गूंजते से सुनाई देते थे चासनाला खान में 

वह जमाना नहीं था
लाइव रिपोर्टिंग का
फिर भी बिके थे
अखबार पत्रकार 
अधूरी रह गईं
माँ की लोरियां 
खांसते बूढ़े 
गुम से हो गए 
अचानक से 
बड़े हो गए बच्चे 
और पलाश, पुटुष, अमलताश 
चुप से हो गए 

मुर्गों की लड़ाई पर
पैसे फेंकते निर्द्वंद चेहरे 
गायब हो गए 
काली माँ का मंदिर
जहाँ रोज़ झुकाते थे 
हजारों मजदूर अपना माथा 
धर्म जाति से परे 
खाली रहने लगा 

फिर बनी 
जांच समितियां 
हुए धरने प्रदर्शन 
हटा दिए गए रातो रात 
हाजिरी रजिस्टरों के पन्ने 
और खाली करा दिए गए 
धौरे, मोहल्ले
और फिर 
हो गया सामान्य सब कुछ 
चासनाला में 

बस हँस नहीं पाया 
हंसोड़ बत्तीबाबू फिर कभी 
27 दिसंबर 1975 की रात के बाद

Posted by Rajiv at 3:19 AM