Sunday, October 25, 2020

तमन्ना

ख़ाली हो जाऊँ मैं ख़ुद से, 

तब तुम समाना ऐसे, 

तुम्हारी आवाज़, तुम्हारी चाहतें, 

मेरे ज़रिये निकलें, मुक़म्मल हों। 


मैं ज़मीं पे घूमूँ जैसे चींटी आवारा 

भटकूँ तुम्हारी तलाश में धरा

तुम चीनी की बोरी बन जाना  

मुझे तुम एक क़तार में लाना ।  


सारा आकाश तो नहीं 

एक टुकड़ा बादल का सही 

तुम सदा सर पे छाए रहना 

बारिश की झींसी सी रिसना 

तन पे मेरे चमकना। 


मैं पत्तों सा खनकूँ 

जब भी तुम आओ 

चिड़िया बन झूमूँ डालियों पे 

साँप बन मिट्टी में मिल जाऊँ।  


Friday, June 5, 2020

Feel The Road

Let’s remember
Throughout our lives
We’re on our way
Toward death.
Each day we travel
Only a little
And think
We were always at rest
Like someone sleeping throughout
The journey on a train.
Let’s change this
Let’s take the travel
To somewhere else
Let’s settle someplace else.
From the streets spread on earth
Let’s carve paths as such
Where by merely walking
We make mornings
From nights,
Destinations
From paths.
Let’s not waste our wanderlust
Let’s not only breathe
And run out of it
Let this life
Feel the journey
Let the traveller
Feel the road
Let’s travel to life before
We meet death.
(The poet dedicates this poem to his father.)
Feel The Road was first published by Spark Magazine

Nothing Survives

Nothing Survives

NOTHING SURVIVES

Words leap over words
Trounce each other
Silence survives.
Time runs over time
Flatten each other
Memory survives.
Pages pile over pages
Bury each other
Reader survives.
Love wrestles with love
Trample each other
Nothing survives.
***
Photo by John-Mark Smith on Unsplash

Nothing Survives was first published by The Bangalore Review
http://bangalorereview.com/2019/05/nothing-survives/

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

A Tribute to Amit Kumar - My Mentor

I don't remember how I first met Amit Sir. But much must have happened in that meeting, for within weeks of my joining OG, he was helping me out with my studies. He wanted me to start preparing early for IIT. Back then I had little idea of IIT. I only vaguely knew that they are at Kharagpur and Kanpur. But his words, coming from a senior, at a new, unknown place helped a seventh grader find some footing for himself. Moreover, had they been merely words, I would have surely forgotten them. But what was touching that he actually followed them up with his actions. He brought me books, Brilliant Tutorials study material, abc of Chemistry and K C Sinha Maths (both Class XI textbooks). He monitored my progress regularly (until he remained at OG), and taught me concepts which were too difficult. Amit Sir was a rare human being who wished much more for his fellows than he wished for himself.
On my first birthday at OG, Amit Sir called me in the morning, while I was going to take bath. He was in his bed, in what was known as super-senior dorm, the area at the end of Tagore house. He called me near his bed.
Jaa cupboard khol ke dekh, first shelf pe jo hai leke aa.
It was a birthday card and a Dairy Milk chocolate. I brought them to him.
Smilingly, he said, aaj mera birthday hai.
I wished him.
abbey kiska birthday hai?
He laughed and asked me to open the card. The card had my name on it. Then he said happy birthday. I don't remember what I said. But that day, I kept trying to go to Mr. Naqvi, and get some pocket money, to give him something in return. Ashesh Chaubey Sir had however put us, the last 10 height-wise from our class, under his command, to shift furniture here and there. I had requested him to let me go to Mr. Naqvi, but he did not. However, he gave me a hundred rupee note from his pocket, when he came to know the reason. I bunked to Gupta store sometime, and got some Dairy Milk chocolates. The chocolates remained in my pocket, until at night. It was just before the night play, I saw him in the dorm, and rushed to give him a Dairy Milk. By then the chocolate had melted within the packet. When he took it in his hand, he said - Dairy Milk waale halwa bhi bechne lage kya. We both laughed.
I don't remember when I last met him. It hurts in a way, not meeting him, but it is also soothing that whenever I remember him I see him laughing, I see his kindness.

It is his image that reflects in the following lines:.

Stumbling in that hardened place,
many hit upon some hearts so tender
like they had walked inside of a seed
within its soft, sweet, life-bearing core.

If Oak Grove is indeed a seed, Amit Sir surely is its soft, sweet core. 
I had always wished that one day I would meet him. His sudden departure has left much unsaid between us. I wished I would have got the opportunity of thanking him. 

यह आपके लिए अमित सर: 

तू मिले बग़ैर बिछड़ जाता है  
जैसे बहार में पेड़ से पत्ता झड़ जाता है  

जो बात तुझे कहनी होती है हमेशा 
वो मेरी आँखों को कहना पड़ जाता है  

अलविदा ही कह देते तो तसल्ली होती 
तू चुपचाप क्यूँ अक्सर सफ़र पर जाता है

अब क़यामत के रोज़ मुलाक़ात मयस्सर हो 
अब जो भी बचा इस दुनिया में उजड़ जाता है 

'शजर' बहार में बेनूर खड़ा है 
वो परिंदा जो शाख़ों से उड़ जाता है।   



















Friday, September 27, 2019

बम्बई

विरोधाभास का शहर
दबे एहसास का शहर
समन्दर में बसा हुआ
सपनों में फँसा हुआ
बेचैन, बदहवास सा शहर।

कहीं किलकारियों से खनकता हुआ
कहीं सिसकियों से छनकता हुआ
सैकड़ों तमन्नाओं को संजो कर
मुस्कुराता निराश सा शहर।

मंटो का शहर
ग़ुलज़ार का शहर
साहिर के टूटे मज़ार का शहर
कहीं जाने की चाह में
खड़ा करता इंतज़ार सा शहर।

ज़मीं में बिखरे सितारों का शहर
टैक्सी पे लिखे नारों का शहर
नींद में चलता हुआ
चॉल में खड़े क़तारों का शहर।

यह शहर अब मुझमें बसने लगा है
शब्द बन ज़ेहन में पनपने लगा है
देखता हूँ जब भी, दिल में उतर आता है
यह ख़ाली ज़मीन पे घर बनाने का हुनर जानता है।
                                                          - ताबिश नवाज़ 'शजर'

Saturday, July 6, 2019

एक ग़ज़ल

दर्द को जो ज़बाँ मिले
इस वजूद को नामो - निशाँ मिले

जिन बातों में चमकती हो उदासी
उस चमक से रौशन जहाँ मिले

और जब आँहों से उठने लगे सदा सी
उन सदाओं को ग़ज़ल से बयाँ मिले

तर तन्हा करते हैं जो दिल की सुर्ख़ मिट्टी
उनके आँसुओं को तर आँखों का मकाँ मिले

तमन्ना नहीं कि सुख़नवर कहलाऊँ
लिख लेता हूँ 'शजर' जो दो वक़्त तन्हा मिले

                           - ताबिश नवाज़ 'शजर' 

Sunday, June 30, 2019

मिथक

छूटते दोस्त
और छूटता जाता एक शहर
समय की धारा  पर
बहती ख़्वाहिशें
कुछ डूब जातीं
कुछ उभर आतीं
जो डूब जातीं उनसे
समय का घनत्व बना रहता
जो उभर आतीं उनसे
समय की गति।

बिछड़ते हुए बोली गयी बात
शब्द और आंसू का मिश्रण
कुछ बड़बड़ाहट, कुछ बेचैनी
सारे स्याह धब्बे
बैठे हुए चुपचाप
ख़ामोशी की सतह पर
बेमानी, बेमतलब
हमारे लफ़्ज़ कोरी वास्तविक्ता पर
मिथक।

जीवन यूँही मृत्यु की पीठ पे मचलता
समय की सतह पर संभलता
तैरते जाता,
एक शहर से दूसरे शहर
मिलता लोगों से
जैसे जल पे तेल
चमकता, सतरंगे जैसा दिखता
पर होता मिथक।