Pic : Self

kho gaya main
na jaane kahan,

mile jaane
aur anjaane bhi

na tha kisi ko
koi gila
na koi shikhwa,

bas chale ja
rahe the
sab yoon hi,

hanste hasaate
ki tarah.

English translation:

I got lost some where
though I don’t know where,

but there I met the known
and the unknown with equal aplomb,

no grudges and no complaints
were announced or held,

each one just joyous
in moving ahead,

like the open hearted travellers
of the vagabond era.

© vidursahdev 2018


The Rope

Pic : Self

just a stranger
to the lessons
of life,

learning the ropes
of how
to climb,

up and down

singing in
the sun
crying with the rain,

keeping a
on the rope of life,

smiling at
the distance
thus far travelled,

observing creation
to often
question myself,

there is so
much more
that meets the eyes,

i am one with
the flowers
and one with the ants,

the earth
the moon
and the glorious sun,

the seas
the rivers
the raindrops that fall,

one with the leaf
that in autumn
does fall,

and one with the bird
that croons
it’s spring song,

identifiable to you
by an exposed
named exterior,

holding within
an incessant
wondering interior,

the knots
that appear
to twist the rope,

are uncannily also
the one’s
that help me climb,

whereto i go
now seems
quite immaterial,

though with
my little experience
i now know for sure,

the vision does
seem to grow
with every inch up the rope.

© vidursahdev 2018

Musings : Paheli/Paradox

Pic : Self

koi dhoondta hai
aur agar usse
mil jaaye,
toh phir usme

koi leke chalta hai
hatheli pe
sajaaye wafaa,
ke koi usse
de toh de.

Translation in English:

there are those
who search for love,
and if they find it
they hope
it is strong enough
to hold
their trust,

and there are those,
who know
the sanctity
of that trust,
and wait for a love
to test it
to the hilt.

© vidursahdev 2018

Ink and Blood

Pic : Self

kehte hain dil ka dard likhne wale,
baha dete hain rakht apni kalam se yun,

hum ne toh ek aam siyahi se hi
bayaan haal-e-dil ka likh dala,

rakht to gham-e-judai mein dooba
barson pehle hi sookh gaya,

padh sako to padh lena
iss siyahi mein bhi kai rang
chhipe hain huzoor,

warna rakh dena isse
baizzat, kahin aisi jagah par,

jahan agli baarish mein
ye khud-b-khud, dhul jayega,

siyahi ka mol agar na bhi sahi,
panne ka mol toh mil hi jayega.

Translation in English:

It is said that those who write their heart’s pain, bleed blood through their quills,

but i used an ordinary ink to write, the deepest laments of my heart,

the blood within, drowned in the sorrow of your parting, had long died and dried,

read if you will, the words even in this ordinary ink, still hold a number of varied colours,

else leave this sheet, with respect to the emotions, somehere where the next rain will wash it off,

so what if the words were worthless to you, at least the clean sheet will recover it’s worth.

© vidursahdev 2018


Pic : Self

i look at them
with casual eyes,
till the mind
does tricks
and questions life,

scurrying about
in a focussed
these little creatures
that look alike,

did they ever evolve
just being ants,
for their antics to me
still seem the same,

i have seen them
in different –
and designs,

but one colony
of a crowned queen,
apparently only
the same,

my eyes linger
to see their gait,
not a care
in the world
is their practised haste,

yet i see
them pause
to greet each other,
more often than i
have done with mine,

a treasure
some carry,
without the fear
of being

one home
they all share,
and at night
is left out,

i wait and watch
for a fight
to happen,
for i am acostomed
to that sort of a world,

but my patience
soon wears out,
when none
even seem
remotely interested,

bored out of my wits
i sigh and say –
hey Ants!
didn’t you ever
get to evolve,

look at us
we have reached
the moon
while you are still content
carrying that single grain!

© vidursahdev 2018


Pic : Self

kya karoge tum
uss ki shikayat
jisne tum se kabhi kuchh
maanga hi nahin,

taap mila agar
chand ko suraj se
aagosh mein leni ki
toh kabhi farmaaish na ki,

yoon roshan
woh kaise ho jaye
utni hi kirnon mein
jitni tumhe aur mujhe milien,

phir bhi khuda ki
di doori par baitha
woh aise chamke
ke sab nazarein dekhein,

apne veerane
se gharonde mein kitne
adab se wo khud ko
sambhale rozaana damke,

kya karoge tum uss ki shikayat
jo itna hi paa kar
apni kismet ki khushi mein
aksar sharmake chhip jaye nazar se.

Translation in English:

What will you complain about him, who has never really, asked you for anything ever,

if warmth was received by the moon from the sun, it never sought to be greedy, to fall in his arms,

yet it shines, with a glow beyond compare, receiving the same amount of rays, that you and I do,

it maintains, it’s ordained distance, yet dazzles in that warmth, brighter than any star to our eyes,

alone in it’s uninhabited lifeless world,
it still manages to shine, the brightest smile,

what will you complain about him, who gets so overwhelmed, by his this little good fortune, that he often hides from our very own eyes.

© vidursahdev 2018