रेत के घर

This poem is written in response to the picture prompt by Aditi Kaushiva

"कल समुद्र के किनारे जाना 

कुछ रेत के घर बनाना 

एक छोटा सा महल भी होगा 

जिसमें कहीं मेरा निशाँ भी होगा 

जब लहरें शोर मचाएंगी 

इठलाती हुई पास आएंगी 

सब कुछ ढह जाते देखना 

मुझे फिर मर जाते देखना 

लड़ तो तुम नहीं पाओगे 

लहरों से क्या टकराओगे 

खुद भी तो रेत से बने हो तुम 

एक दिन तुम भी बह जाओगे 

यही तो किया तुमने 

कमज़ोर दीवारों से घिरे 

निरर्थक व्यवहारों से पले 

उठा न पाये सर कभी 

झुके खड़े हो आज भी 

सुन न सके उन तरंगों की धुन 

नई सोच से नए सपने काश बुन देते तुम 

मेरे पिता बन जाते तुम 

कुछ गुड़िया भी घर में लाते तुम 

पर सोच तुम्हारी काँटा बन

पैरों में मेरे चुभ रही है आज 

मैं जाती हूँ अब तुमसे दूर

नहीं मुझे अब तुमपे नाज़ ...."

Image Source here

कल रात नहीं फिर सो मैं पाया

सपने ने जैसे मुझे जगाया 

आइना मुझको दिखलाया 

एक कमज़ोर शख्स से मिलवाया 

पिता हूँ कैसा मैं 

जो आती मेरे जीवन में 

मुझको भी जीना सिखलाती 

कुछ रंग गुलाबी बिखरा कर 

मेरे कुंठित काले मन को 

नित नया रूप वो दे जाती 

निर्जीव खड़ा मैं गुनहगार 

कल सुबह वहीँ पे जाऊँगा 

लहरों से न मैं लड़ पाऊँ 

मैं फिर भी महल बनाऊंगा 

एक घेरा ऐसा डालूँगा 

जो अनुचित दूषित  सोच को 

दरवाज़े से बाहर रखेगा 

तू आना मेरे घर बेटी 

इस घर को खूब सजाना तू 

और इस दोषी पिता को माफ़ी दे 

इक बार गले से लगा लेना। 

Similar posts you might like

Disobedient Wife

I am Born Again

Winds of Change : Embracing the Girl Child

बेटी की शादी

What is Potential but a Life full of Possibilities

What is Potential But a Life full of Possibilities.....

Today's Wordy Wednesday Prompt has been given by Elly Stornebrink. She is a wonderful blogger and a lively person. It has been a pleasure to discover her through this platform of Blog-A-Rythm. 

For the word-prompt 'Potential', I am submitting my entry below.



Work hard

Believe in yourself

You can surmount mountains

You can overcome hurdles

You have the potential

To do what lies within your reach

You have the potential 

To do what remains outside your reach

After all,

What is potential

But a state of mind

That gives you the ability 

To achieve

To rise

You just have to trust -

Trust your inner voice

Prod yourself further

On the path that lies ahead

Look behind sometimes

At the footprints you leave

Learn from the places that have some muddled prints

They tell you where you faltered

They tell you that you tried

They tell you that you have lived

A life exploring your potential......

Sad is the state of those

Who trust not, try not

Sadder the state of those who stop and smother lives

Lives that had the potential to be lived

Lives that had the potential to bloom like fragrant flowers

Lives of little unborn girls

Who had the potential to do what any boy can presumably do

Lives of little aborted girls

Who might have surpassed all boys

If only their potential had not been killed

After all

What is potential

But a life full of possibilities

A heart that can beat

A mind that can think

A body that can breathe

In a soul that can believe

Many potentials don't see

The bright sun

The silver moon

The twinkling stars

The rain-laden clouds

The azure sky

The vast oceans

The verdant earth....

Many potentials don't hear

The music of life

The harmony of cool breeze

The rustling of leaves

The splashing of waves....

Many potentials don't bathe 

In the fragrance of Aurora

In the scents of blossoming flowers

In the balmy tender touch

Of motherly affection.....

Ah

Potential killed...

Killed by prejudice

Cries alone

In some corner....

Untouched, untapped

And yet sullied and stained

Irony of life.....

If you liked the poem and the thought, do read the following two posts on similar topics I wrote earlier. The first one is a guest post I wrote for ideasforideas.org and the second one is a post from my other blog meredeshkimitti.wordpress.com.

I am Born Again

Winds of Change - Embracing the Girl Child

Food for the Goddess

They often left food for her near the lamp. It would miraculously vanish and they thought Goddess Imoinu ima was pleased by them and appeased by their offering.

 Deb was an eight year old domestic help in their household. He could not play like Ajoy because he was not born with the silver spoon in his mouth. He had no access to the mouth-watering delicacies that Ajoy was forcefully fed by his mother. He had to satisfy himself with the left-overs.

One day, Deb could not clean the house as he was sick. The master of the household got very angry. He had invited the head of an NGO running in his area. The NGO worked for poor kids and saved them from child labor, malnutrition and abuse. Ajoy's father had a given some substantial amount of donation and secured his position as a good samaritan in a hopeless world. The unclean house enraged him and he beat Deb and threw him out of his house.

A crying Deb, jobless and starving, had nowhere to go. He waited for someone to come from the house and take him back. But nobody came. He decided to spend the night under the tree he had often watered.

That night, surprisingly. the morsels of food left near the lamp, for Goddess Imoinu Ima, remained untouched.

Ajoy's mother was panicky in the morning.
Ajoy's father was called.
Their was a long pause.

Then suddenly Ajoy's mother realized her folly.

"The Goddess is angry because you threw out Deb. Bring him back', she pleaded to her husband.

The husband was god-fearing man too. He rushed outside.

Deb was still sleeping. He touched his hand. Deb got up and apologized. The master of the household made him promise that Deb would do his duty well. Deb promised.

Deb was back in the house.

Ajoy's mom was feeding Ajoy. She did not ask Deb to eat anything. Deb started mopping the floor. The day went just as always for Deb.

Night came. Food was left near the lamp.
It was gone in the morning. The Goddess was appeased.

Everyone was happy in the household.

Picture Prompt provided by blogger Parul Kashyap Thakur

A World full of Small Spaces....

An excellent prompt by a fellow blogger I have recently discovered - Usha Menonji

Being new to B-A-R, I just busied myself in submitting prompt-based posts. But when I read what others are writing, I realized my mistake. I seek apologies from all the previous bloggers who gave such great prompts to write on, and who I did not acknowledge in my blog posts. Do overlook this fault of mine. 

This world is a small place
A cozy nook 
Where love ought to flourish
But sadly it just perishes
As we all fight for space
Space built by ego
Fed by anger
and jealousy
We need a smile
And a hug
To break barriers
To come closer
But we know not how to bring that curve on our lips
We know not how to loosen up
We forget the magic of touch
We forego the magic of compassion
It is so hard to let go
We keep holding on to regrets
Nurturing hatred and indifference
Creating chasms where bridges ought to be
We pull down the curtains to let others out
Out of sight
Creating foggy visions
Straining stares
Frowning brows
Contriving in countless ways
To make an antagonistic world
Which is not small
But home to small thoughts and petty minds
A world of alienation
Of isolation
Of distances
A world full of small spaces.....

My other posts on B-A-R prompts

Power that is kind stem not from Cruel Mind

Scream

Silly Stillies

Power that is Kind Stems not from cruel Mind

(Power is derived from Latin 'posse' which means to be able. Grace takes its roots from Latin 'gratia' that means pleasing, kind. French grace means forgiving.)

The notion of power has often been linked to physical force. Power and its use and abuse are associated with control, confinement and conformity. This kind of use of power has at different points of history seen the rise of dictators and tyrants. Power that verges on senseless massacre of minorities and those considered 'rebellious' and 'deviant', is, not surprisingly, devoid of grace. This kind of power functions not just at the dominant levels of hierarchy. It is prevalent in almost every strata of social structure, as Michel Foucault, the French historian of ideas, had pointed out. It seeks to control and legitimize ideas and belief systems that are in harmony with the ideologies that are considered 'normal'. Foucault's analysis of 'madness' in this context is relevant here. He describes how 'madness' has been 'used' for conveniently muting voices of dissent and disobedience in an age of reason.

Power is all these examples has been used to mean something that restrains, something that contains. But there is another kind of power which is completely free of brutality. It is a strength sages derive from self-control and disciplining of the senses. It is a virtue that calms turbulent minds and stormy hearts. 

Remember the story of Buddha taming the wild elephant. 

When Buddha's cousin Devdutta unleashed his jealousy on the great sage by letting loose an elephant that was drunk and enraged by the cruel treatment he had been subjected to, Buddha remained unperturbed. A woman cried for help as she felt that the mad elephant would trample her child. Buddha did not succumb to any fear. Nor did he administer cruelty on the animal. He reciprocated with love. He touched the elephant. There was magic in his touch, a magic that stemmed from love that was powerful yet graceful. It was an affectionate caress that understood the pain of the mad elephant. The touch did not desire to defend. Rather it wanted to help.

This kind of power that Buddha possessed was power that was ‘able’ to ‘please’ rather than condemn or demean.

‘Graceful power’ or ‘powerful grace’ are not oxymoronic phrases. They define an attitude. They exemplify a state of mind that is free from bias, jealousy and barbarity. They define a mindset that aims not to curb but set free.

Power that pleases

stems from a heart

that is kind

not a mind that is cruel....

It is grace 

that pleases.....

Calm and serene

Like the ocean's water

Placid and balmy....

Powerful yet graceful.....

Do spare some time to read my other Blog-a-Rythm entries by clicking the links below:

Silly Stillies

Footprints That Changed My Life

Scream

Scream

Scream is a stream of anxious mind....an outpour of an injured heart. Scream is also a deluge of happiness, a rush of joyousness. Scream is emotions, in their extreme form. Sages say do not over-react to situations. They tell us to be calm, to maintain a sort of temperateness of spirit, a spirit that is balmy, still, serene.

I wonder how they do it. I can see pictures of the enlightened Buddha and imagine how gentle he is. Even in the face of adversity. I can read many inspirational stories that tell me to stay calm and unaffected by joy and sorrow. But I do not know how to do it.

I remember the story of Buddha where a woman wailed the death in her family. Kisa Gautami's little son died and she was inconsolable. Buddha asked her to bring a few mustard seeds from the houses of those who had not seen death. Kisa went from one house to another. But she could not get even one. She returned and Buddha made her understand that death and suffering were part of life. There was no escape from that for us mortals. Kisa found solace in the learning and became Buddha's disciple.

I wonder how Kisa did what she did. Maybe the greatness of Buddha was transferred to her. But I do not have that great power around me. What do I do?

In joy, I scream. It is the scream of happiness.
In pain, I scream. It is a scream of sorrow.
When I see some injustice happening around, I scream.

When I read about some horrors that humans wreck on other humans, on animals, and on nature, I scream. This scream has no sound. It is the scream of silence. A silence that is deafening.

Edvard Munch's The Scream is emblematic of all humanity. I am no art connoisseur. But some things just speak to me. The Scream is one such painting. It depicts us humans, the suffering humans. In the expressionist medium, it puts on canvas the plight of our minds. How the entire world comes tumbling down.
We scream. Some scream loudly, some silently. But we all do. We are not the sages. We do not try to be like them. We fail if we try to be like them because we do it with doubt and skepticism, because we do it halfheartedly.

On the other end of the spectrum smiles Mona Lisa. A picture of total serenity, devoid of the dread and angst, free of turbulence, distant from the stormy spirits.

Can we find Mona Lisa in real life? It will be difficult. Can we find the subject of Edvard Munch's The Scream? Almost everywhere.

The Scream (Image Source here)

I remember one more Buddhist fable. Once a man comes to Buddha and abuses him verbally. Buddha asks him, " If you give someone a gift, and that person does not accept it, what happens to that gift?" The man replies, " It stays with you." Buddha then answers, " I refuse your gift my friend. You gift of words." The man is at loss of words. What this fable tells us is to remain unaffected in face of anger. Do not let the other person feed on your reactions. Anger grows when met with anger. Stop the flow of this negativity by refusing to react.

This reminds me of Gandhi and his non-screaming and non-violent ways. This also reminds me of the line that silence is the most powerful scream.



Do spare some time to read my other Blog-a-Rythm entries by clicking the links below:

Silly Stillies

Footprints That Changed My Life


As always, will love your comments!

Silly Stillies

Kids on adults taking selfies

‘They are so selfish, these adults, don’t you think,' cribbed the tiny tomato.

‘You bet, said his friend’, another teeny-tiny tomato

‘All they care for is these silly selfies.’

‘I know. Silly stillies! Look how they fake that smile.’

‘They don’t know how to put on a nice and big smile like we do.’

‘I wonder what makes them so happy.’

‘I just overheard what they said about us.’

‘What?’

‘They think we are a nuisance in these selfies. Oh my goodness. Isn’t that a crime? We little ones bring so much peppiness in their dull drab dramatic world!!’

‘Let us ruin it. Tug along. They won’t buy us a toy anyways. Let us be the Selfie-Spoliers.’

Moms on kids spoiling selfies

‘Can you not just play with your friends? We arranged play-dates just for you,' says one mom.

‘Uff….They will never mend their ways. Look how they push and crib,' says another.

‘They won’t come in the pic anyway.’

‘Why are you peeping? Stand aside. We will take you pics later.’

‘No, they are not listening. Ahh….they came in the last click.’

‘Take one more.’

‘Ready. Don’t make a silly face kids. Put on a nice smile. Don’t you know how to pose for a picture properly?’

‘Stop playing. Stand. Rather sit. They will be in the corners.’

Wink.

Click.

Done.

‘Look. We look great, don’t we?!’

‘Look at the kids. Wish they had posed nicely.’

‘We can edit it. Crop will do.’

‘Let’s take one more selfie. No kids this time.’

Kids are listening. They still tug along.

Click.

Wordy Wednesday Picture Prompt

Footprints that changed my life.....

Footprints - the physical manifestations of our presence in a place. Footprints - the lifelong impressions we leave behind........these ones being abstract, they have no palpable existence. Yet they exist, in the form of the change we bring about, in the form of dreams we materialize or help someone achieve.

Today, as I sit and ponder over this word, I think about the footprints the nurses took of my children the day they were born. Those were timeless gifts given to a mother. Those little treasures marked the entry of my little ones in this world. They were more than just physical prints. They signaled a change that was about to come. A change in my life as my roles shifted from being just a woman, a wife, a daughter, or a sister. I was a mother now. It seemed like my whole being was undergoing a sea-change. A tear-drop from those little eyes would flood my heart. A cry from those little mouths would pierce me through and through. What had those little footprints done to me?

They had transformed me into a care-giver. They made me realize the immensity of the task that lay ahead. The task of bringing up another life, a life I had sustained in my womb for the past nine months. But that life was in my hands, playing, crying, playing, crying. It was on me to guide them to a path of peace and happiness, contentment and bliss. It was on me to lay before them the foundation of a life full of virtue. Yes, those footprints changed it all.

They told me they were here for a purpose. They told me we all are here for a purpose. We need to find that purpose, and hold on to it. That will help us define who we are. That will help us bring meaning to our life as humans.

It is said that mother is the first teacher of a child. She gives him/her valuable life-lessons. And I totally agree with this. Being a mother, I have felt that whatever I do has a huge impact on what my children do or think. My life is like a yardstick by which they measure or define their actions. For this reason, it is important for me to commit myself to actions and emotions thoughtfully. I can teach them to be calm or be angry. I can teach them to be helpful or selfish. I can teach them to be friendly or alienated. The steps I take in my life are footprints I leave behind in their memory. Footprints I can't see, footprints I can't erase.

So when I take that step forward in haste and without reflection, I teach my kids to be rash.
So when I take that step forward blinded by grudge, I tell my kids to hold on to negativity.

But when I relax and weigh on the situation, when I take time to think, I leave behind footprints of love and balance. I leave behind footprints of composure and stability that will teach my kids to be sound in their judgments.

What impressions those footprints on the page have made for me!
Will I be able to do justice to those little feet entering this new world? I will try. That is the best I can do for them. I will try to leave behind footprints of love, of togetherness, of warmth.......