Showing posts from 2011


I seem to be transfixed with this idea of a pervasive thread that runs beyond every material thing and transgresses every boundary imaginable, to bind the whole theme of the universe together. And why just the Universe? Who has ever proved that there is just one Universe? maybe its just a part of the "Infinite-cosm" of cosmos. Just like a star twinkles upon the cosmos from a distance, and when you look closer and deeper into it, its a complete plethora of life, and nature, in whatever form; be it the icy satellite going by the name of Europa, or the raging fire within Saturn. Life is pervasive in itself, going beyond the description of words, and when seen at the higher level of consciousness, beyond physical form. And just as this star is just a part of the Cosmos, may be the Cosmos itself is just a part of the Infinite-cosm, as I like to call it. Infinite-cosm is a spectacle that we can not see, but only feel and observe. The mystics seem to be a part of that cosm

The Creaking Chair - Part III

14 May 1998 How ironic, death had to choose this day, out of the other 364 it could have sent its icy kiss on... Or maybe it was trapped like me, in the ecstasic glow of 14 May,Friday... The spell so strong that no other turn of the diurnal cycle could make its presence felt... Happy Anniversary, my Love !!! No, not our marriage.. before you pinch me on my right shoulder, like you always did... when you punished me, on one of my moronly stupid remarks, or at the extremes of our foreplay... The skin there is still soft... But our marriage.. still 14 months and 14 days away... The candle light on the first, The second honeymoon on the tenth... The rendezvous on the 24th... but the one you loved the most was the bunjee jump on the 16th... But today is not the day we vowed the celestial ties... You invariably forgot it year after year, And how I used to be taciturn the whole day, trying to show my hurt... and how you made the day memorable  with your proposals in the evening at 6, I sti


The parchment soiled with the blot, stunned... stinged as if by a ray of hope the hand flung back, resisting the flow of ink  throght the pen into his veins again... He stared in disbelief, the single dew of royal blue, spread like blood strewn on battle ground... dilating pupil of his eyes, followed every pattern  that the single stain on the parchment made... The net of nerves,  intellectual grays... suddenly conscious of consiousness grew... awakened in his dream again he saw the painting he used to create... Unfinished the edges here or there, grafted finesse in places he knew... Flourish in strokes, calligraphic art... the poet in him like a master beckoned his words.. Breathing again his senses alive.. in that cell confined, he wrote again... Irony laughs at an innocent's grave... He wrote his confessions, the convict proclaimed... in the verses he reigned... ASHK

Music That's Called Words....

" I slept uneasy last night" What would you interpret, if I say so? if at all you will. These are just an randomly arranged group of alphabets. They may mean a thousand things to a thousand different people. Every word in it may have different connotations for minds that have different rhythms flowing through them. No, I'm not talking absurdity. You can counter act me, saying that it means just what it is supposed to mean.That I slept uneasy the forgone night. I am no philosopher to make theories or deduce new variables or laws to define what I mean to say. Neither am I so good in expression that I may make you believe what I see in these words. But then that is the whole point of me writing this. Words have life.Just like we have one.Some are proud of it, others fret it, yet a few denounce it. But everyone has it. Words are pointless and they have a point to make. Words have their own feelings, when some believe that words are expressions of feelings.


IndianRed, That's what they called it... The couch and its colour How strange that things can fall under the collage of happenstance, He never believed in co-occurances, scepticism at its best... An Indian in the red blazing heat of Saharan desert, Even the hue spread by the subdued lamp sitting across the cozy lounge,where he lay now Exhausted, and slightly befuddled, brought back memories of those summers... How often they rambled pass his defences, the mirage-like hues of the Egyptian desolate.. These wafty fumes of mystic incense, some kind of Arabian soothing trick, the hostess had said, rather enigmatically... Even this triggered his oflactives into wild tremors, as if it was searching for something congrous, the aroma that had kept him intruiged, for the week long stay in the land of pyramids, maybe... Coincidences? No... He was just in love with the hues that the desert painted.... -Ashk


आज रोने का मन किया, तो तेरे कांधे की याद आयी, ऐ दोस्त ..... आज ज़माने की भीड़ में  एक साथी की खोज में था,  तो तेरी आवाज़ याद आयी,  मुझे बेहेन मेरी.... आज इस मोड़ पर किस रस्ते को चुनूँ, ये समझ न सका , तो आपकी सम्झाहिश याद आयी, पापा... आज ज़िन्दगी की दौड़ में  थक के भी नींद नहीं आयी, तो तेरे आंचल की छाव याद आयी,मेरी माँ.... आज फुर्सत से बैठा आइने के सामने, तो किसी शायर की ये बात याद आयी.... है कितना मतलबी इन्सान, अपनी परछाई से पूछो, कहा उसने, मेरी भी तो याद तुझे अँधेरे में ही आयी...... -Ashk