Dil ki chabhi hai tu maa

Click for YouTube video of this post ♡ Dil ki almari mein, maa ka chehra hai Maa se hi to hamne, sikha jeena hai Dil ki Chabhi bhi hai maa… Maa hi to dil ka chupa khajana hai Maa khajana hi to hai aur Maa hum sab ke dil ki chabhi bhi hai….maa ke kai […]

Dil ki chabhi hai tu maa

First kiss

It was a SundayApril

18th to be precise

I traveled afar

And her, I surprised

Sitting in a corner

Waiting for her

Wrote a lovely poem

On a tissue paper

Looking divine

She entered, superbly dressed

And innocent me

Suddenly got embarrassed

We talked gibberish

For many hours

And then I proposed

With a bouquet of flowers

And our misty eyes

Met each other in silence

The love in them

Broke all mental defence

And promptly

A hug she threw

I hugged her back

Till our heartbeats grew

Soon the time

For departure came

In an hour

I had my train

Once inside

The fateful lift

Don’t know

What happened to me

I acted

Like an. Insane

And tightly I

Hugged her again

Sensuously towards

Her I was drawn

Her seductive eyes

Made me turned on

Her Red and rosy

Petals like lips

And she kept

Those on my lips

It was not

One out of lust

And it transported

US to another world

A world

beautiful and serene

A world

Beyond horizon

A place where

Together we were

A place Exclusive

For lovers

Full of honey

And pure like a dove

First kiss is

Alike first love

Why A Poet

Why a poet?
One day I was asked
Why not like everyone
Can you have feelings masked

Brazen display of emotions
Why do you make
Why? Why to keep
Your heart at stake

Why do you allow
Those sharpening knives
Dissecting your feelings
While hard you strive

I stood along
And deeply I thought
Was it meaning less
What all I wrote

What if I didn’t
Wrote any verse
Had I been any better
Or had I been worse

Those pains are not
What makes you ,
It’s standing up ‘gain
After you are through

It was never love….

Good bye, yes let it be

Go where you want to go

And it was not nice meeting you

For me though

For you reinforced

My thoughts about men

Fake care, brittle ego

Who loves to berate women

You labeled me with names

Though you didn’t say it aloud

But in your eyes I saw

The suspicions cloud

You didn’t want comparison

And competition you don’t seek

It’s not my fault then

Coz your, not mine, love is weak

You were not second option

You just came late

But this is karma I think

My bloody heartless fate.

You of all, I thought

Would understand my situation

But with me, you too failed

To live upto expectations

I was young and gullible

Fell into his seductive trap

He played with my body

For me love he never had

He broke my heart

You tore into my soul

He hurt me in parts

You annihilated me whole

I was wrong, always wrong

To challenge the wisdom old

There can’t be a woman noble

If she is open and bold.

If Lord Shri Ram can desert

Mata Sita, so upright

How I thought, I’d

Be spared of the plight

He took away my virginity

I’m still alive with that

You just killed my sincerity

I’m as much as dead.

The Paint Brush

As I confessed earlier I have always been a lousy painter though painting as an art always allured me. Being a mechanical engineer, engineering and machine drawings did become part and parcel of my life, yet to draw a straight line even with a ruler remained my one of the biggest nightmare. The untidy smudges, somehow surreptitiously would always find a niche in my drawing sheets, causing an acerbic reaction from the teacher, who never gave me an A+, despite the drawings correct to the T whereas the copycats who would mindlessly, but quite effectively recreated the drawings would get the top honours.
Let bygones be bygones, as neither it affected me them nor it affect me now.
But the matter of fact is that I always rue over the fact that I could never learn nuances of the sketching.
One of the most complex art form, in which the artists dissolve the abstract into tangible and vice versa taking the perfection onto some other realm.
So, all these lengthy talks to introduce the newest addition of contributor to the blog: “the Paint Brush”.
The Paint Brush is a creative writer, with doodling as a hobby, so hereby sharing few of sketches here to complete the introduction.

My Diary or … …..

Do you have a journal which has been a soulmate to you or vice versa…..
Find them in this poem


Oh ! my dear diary
Where art thou
The quill with ink
Is waiting for you
It might be a thought
Or may be a song
Or my restlessness
Buried for long
You take it all
With no questions asked
And infront of you
I often get unmasked
And now out of sudden
You are nowhere to be seen
Hiding adroitly from my eyes (so) keen
This game of hide and seek
Despairs me a lot
And much more desperately
You are now sought
And an ephinany then strikes
Am I looking at places
When you are inside
Inside me all the time
The lub dub unmistakenly is yours
How foolish I was ofcourse
After those sleepless nights
Last, I’d sleep tight.

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Uneasy, I stood alone
Confounded by the news
Fiddling with numerous words
Didn’t know which to choose

‘t sent a chill through spine
And with panic I shuddered
I rushed quickly to her home
As soon as the news I heard

Then I waited & waited
And it seemed like infinity
Still unable to fathom the reality
With difficulty, kept my sanity

Childhood memories flooded
With pulsating , seething heart
I now knew , how it feels
When our dear ones depart.

While O was getting over
From unsurmountable grief
Good persons are never harmed
Once firm was now a shaken belief

Out from the car
Then she unmounted With a posture upright
A warrior she always was
Again she was, ready for the fight

Though no words were exchanged
In that brief meeting of eyes
Yet behind that steely gaze
Her message I could surmise

No words would now
Could lessen her agonizing grief
And all she wanted now that
In her abilities, everyone should believe

Not a drop of tear
Got past their hideout
The valiant warrior within
Stood alone amidst crowd

A long and tiring battle
She had just lost
And many more were lined up
Not sparing a moment to ponder over thoughts

A diamond chemically equal
To much inferior coal
Attributes its transformation
To years of oppression and toll
A warrior, earlier she was
Now rose to the captain’s rank
Though involununtarily she needs to keep
The soldiers secure in their flank.

The life is never easy
And much more tough it will get.
But it can’t unnerve a Samuri
On target whose eyes are set.

With the shlokas of Geeta
Enlighting her heart
Results will fall in line
If properly, She’d play her part