Pehchaan / Identity

Pic : Self

mujhe kya pata
main kaun hoon,

ek waqt tha
jab chalta tha,
hatheli pe apna pata
khud likh kar,

jab bhi kho jaane
ka darr hota tha,
hatheli ko khol ke
padh leta tha,

phir mausam badla
baarish ne nyota diya,
main bhi chal padha
banjaara ban kar,

bheeg to gaya
bhool kar duniya ko,
par jab hatheli kholi
to koi pata na tha.

Translation in English:

How do I know who I am….

for there was a time, when I used to roam with my world ky address, written on the palms, and whenever I feared getting lost, all I had to do, was open and read my palm,

then one day, as the weather changed, the rains sent me a cordial invite, and I accepted it, from the depths of my vagabond heart,

I forgot the whole world as I danced in it’s pure cleansing downpour, but when I opened my palm, the written identity had washed away and erased.



Pic : Self

i smile
when i hear
people say,
oh you’ve
for i know
i have,
even more
than their
words could
ever say,

from chasing
to chasing
a life
i might
never have,
i now
every single
i live!

© vidursahdev 2018


Pic : Self

i am
just a free falling
little raindrop,

looking for that
dusty leaf
to cushion
my incessant fall,

or the lamp that
would shatter me
into a hundred
glittering beads,

for that spot
of parched earth
that has for long
awaited my this fall,

or that flowing river
which’ll ensure
the journey continues
even after the fall,

and sometimes
I am them,
that awaits
that raindrop.

© vidursahdev 2018


Musings – ‘Truth’

Pic : Self

…and sometimes
the truth rises from it’s grave,

like a dead forgotten seed,

by an unexpected divine rain,

and then
it doesn’t just stop there,

for it continues to bloom
into the brightness of the sun,

each petal
completing the untold story,

which for long
had needed to be told.

© vidursahdev 2018



Pic : Self

visited me
again today,
as another’s,

reminding me
that i am still
and she still
just a tease,

reminding me
once again,
that living life
is adding

not just
to the ethereal
that rides

but to the
of the physical
that’ll be left behind,

and words
said after
by those
that put
one to rest,

are often
a testament
to that,
and a rather
worthy test,

me again today
as another’s,

but she parted
with a knowing wink,
like an aching lover
in the wings,

reminding me
that love
and awaits
in the beyond too,

and i
smiled back
a nostalgic

for her arms
i know
for sure,
how to hold.

© vidursahdev 2018



Pic : Self

Then one day
all the pieces
fall into place,

and a past
puzzle makes
complete sense,

nothing changes
for there were
debts to be paid,

but the mind
does find
a sort of peace,

and though
time has
it’s own ways,

always help.

© vidursahdev 2018


A Night of Joy

Pic: Self ‘Jahan-e-Khusrau’ 2018, Delhi

Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, was a Sufi saint of the Chishti Order and arguably one of the most famous Sufis on the Indian Subcontinent. His predecessors were Fariduddin Ganjshakar, Qutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki and Moinuddin Chishti. In that sequence, they constitute the initial spiritual chain or silsila of the Chishti order, widely prevalent in the Indian subcontinent.

Amīr Khusrow Dehlavī, was a Sufi musician, poet and scholar from the Indian subcontinent. He was an iconic figure in the cultural history of the Indian subcontinent. He was a mystic and a spiritual disciple of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya of Delhi.

A chance visit to commerate the poet’s poetry led to a blessed visit to the much revered Hazrat Nizamuddin Dargah, only to discover that it’s periphery was also the home to the shrine of the disciple poet too.

…and hence this dedication to the Sufi Saint, and his poet disciple.

suna tha naam
aksar yoon
par pata
na tha
pata tera,

paigam aaya
jaane kahan se
hua teri shayari
ki yaad
mein shamil main,

sunte sunte
tere likhe nagme
tere Huzoor
ka bhi zikr
aksar aaya,

kahin uthi
ek baithi
tere Huzoor
se milne ki,

muraadein hoti hain
aise poori
usne mujhe
jo apne
dar pe bulaya,

sar jhuka
jab dar pe uske
to jaake ye ilm hua
ke ussi dar mein
dar tera bhi tha.

Translation in English:

I had heard your name often in the passing, but I had no clue where you lived,

a matter of chance that found myself, amongst a crowd, celebrating the poetic you,

while hearing pieces from your verses, there were frequent references to your revered Mentor too,

a spontaneous wish within seemed to rise, wanting to pay my respects to Him,

wishes I guess come true like this, for out of the blues, I was granted that chance too,

and it’s when I bowed my head, before His resting place, that I realised, next to it was your’s too.

© vidursahdev 2018