Ink Stained

Right across the frozen river they sat, Right below the hardy palm snow clad. They laughed and recollected the days gone by, The days they spent with this long gone lad. Some riots of laugh they made, Some sighs on the issues they did hate, Those sighs though were less enough, As they together met after a very long decade. Amidst those riots and sighs, They sat unaware of the incoming plight, With his wicked oar and rusted boat, The Charon approached near for his daily freight. These days his job has been hard really, As rounds doubled for the valley, With souls of innocent and guilty-old and young, All alike to be taken along. Along came a patrol of uniforms, Tired of the endless, sleepless nights, Tired of the bureaucracy above uptight, And tired of the hazy war. The custodians of the law, Suspicious of the laughing lads, Suspicious of the way they sat, Loaded their service weapons. In a few seconds next, The territory t

आज से अच्छा तो वो बचपन ही था, जब झींझक से आज़ाद थे| कोई रोक ना कोई टोक थी बोलने पे, कुछ भी पहेन्ने को आज़ाद थे| आज जो एक ख़ौफ्फ सा लगता है, अपने दिल का करने में| इस ख़ौफ्फ से भरी ज़िंदगी से, तब तो पूरा आज़ाद थे| धर्म का कोई बंधन ना था, ना था कोई डर भगवान से| आज जो ख़ौफ्फ है पुजारियो से, उस ख़ौफ्फ से बिल्कुल आज़ाद थे| वो दोस्त जिसके डब्बे से खाते थे, वो दोस्त जिसको दिन भर चिढ़ते थे, आज जिसको धर्म पे बाटते हैं, तब उसका पूरा नाम भी नही जानते थे| ये बटवारा काइया किसने है? ये दर्रार डाली किसने है? पर आज जो दर्रार भरने को डरते हैं, उस डर से तब सब आज़ाद थे| मन का कहने से डर ना लगता था, ना था डर खुल क सोचने में| आज जिस सोच में भी झींझक है, उस झींझक से पूरा आज़ाद थे| उस सोचने से ही आता था समझ, सही-ग़लत क बीच का भेद| आज जो भेद भी धुंधला सा लगता है, उस उलझन से तब आज़ाद थे| इस झींझक, इस ख़ौफ़, इस घुटन से, चाहिए आज तो आज़ादी हमें| ना लौटा सको वो बचपन तो, वो आज़ादी ही लौटा दो हमें|

Don’t you stumble upon the rocks that hurt us, Don’t you cry for the thorns that bled us, Don’t you long for stars that upset us, You, our little baby, you have all of us. You have an aunt, from whom you’ll learn, The art of singing and the passion of hard work. You have an uncle, from whom you’ll earn, A crate of humor and a goodwill filled urn. You have an uncle, who at turns will guide, At times you are stuck, or in a turmoil of life. And you have a useless uncle too, But at times hard and tough, he can be counted on by you. But remember this our little baby, The strength of a woman, lies in her own body. Whenever in your life you start to forget this, Take a look around your house and look up to your Mommy. From ways rosy, and some full of thorns, You will learn some life lessons. But don’t cry on the blood from those thorns you, Because lessons learnt bleeding are the most vital ones. Trust people, but none too many, As goodwil