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

isn’t it,
or asleep,
i am still
by them

i guess
of love
and pain,

to scientific
of living

so i fight
to keep
my eyes open,
even when
to cast
it’s shadows,

just to feel
the breeze
and see
the moon,
holding on
till the ship

playing with
both good
and bad,
the past
and the future

a tear,
and sometimes
a smile,
is what
beyond definitions,
me feel alive.

© vidursahdev 2018


Pic: Self

I try
to rise again
a human
human falls,

are you
to judge
me on

the gods,
still haven’t
that art.

© vidursahdev 2018



Pic : Self

when I am bored
with this world,

I play
my own version
of russian roulette,

load all the blanks
with my worst
memories held,

point the gun
at the
judgemental mind,

pull the trigger
letting them hit it
one by one,

each exploding
with it’s own
particular bang,

but each leaving
the after taste
of a lesson learnt,

and the days
I can consciously count
all six as such,

I end the game
with a victorious

© vidursahdev 2018


…till we meet again

Pic : Self

After much contemplation and introspection, I decided to give the pen some rest, and take a break from writing, and WP.

When I wrote and posted ‘Unexplained Disappearances’ on 27 Nov.’17, I had no clue where it came from, and never thought it would be somewhat prophetic.

It has been a wonderful journey on WP for the last couple of years. In so many ways I discovered myself, and in as many ways I lost myself too.

Words happened, and I wrote,  connecting with strangers and faraway unknown faces. Sharing human depths, vulnerabilities and truths, which in so many ways we tend to ignore and sweep under the carpets in our real worlds.

People connect, and so did I, with so many of you. Some came, some went, some stayed. I grew beyond what I was, with the interactions that happened with all of you.

From the encouragement of the first ‘like’ on a post, to the thrill of the first ‘follower’. From a single-word comment, to a sentence of appreciation, all treasured for the encouragement they bestowed. It has truly been a journey worth more than the words read, and those written.

I wrote what came, but neither as a poet nor a philosopher. For those of you who saw it as poetry, I remain humbled and grateful, and will carry that title with me in my heart, for that entitles me to remain one of you forever.

On WP, I was privileged to read so many of you, feeling and connecting with your words, often more deeply than even my own. I remain indebted to you for sharing those wonderful and meaningful writings.

I was not very active on any other social media sites with regards to my writings, but some of us managed to connect through FB and/or Instagram over a period of time. We remain friends beyond the writings and WP. It would be my pleasure and privilege, if any of you choose to connect so in the future. My name/identity is the same across all of them.

As humbly as I started here, as humbly I take your leave. This probably has been the most difficult write for me on this blog, but as all journeys must end, so must this. Thrilled and happy that this was a really memorable one.

Wish you all good health, peace and happiness,and lots of love always!

One last bilingual verse for you, in Hindi and in English :-

na jaane kisne meri
siyahi ki shishi kahin chhupa di,

ab kalam ko paani mein
dubo dubo ke likhta hoon,

panna likhte likhte
alfaazon se bhar toh jaata hai,

par na khud
ab unhe padh paata hoon,

aur na hi kissi aur ko
unhe padhaa paata hoon.


i wonder
who hid
my bottle
of ink,

now i dip
my quill
in water
and write,

though the sheet
gets filled
with the words
that fall,

but niether
am i able to
read them myself

nor am i able to
make anyone else
read them



…till we meet again. 🙂


question/sawaal   (bilingual)

Pic : Self

s a w a a l        (hindi)ab sab kuchh
agar kehana hi pade
to jazbon ki kimat
kya hogi,

har subah ka suraj
agar roz kah ke jage
toh uss subah
ki kimat  kya hogi,

na hoon main na hai tu
khud se be-khabar
agar phir bhi hai darr
khud se hone ka door,

toh phir ishq mohabbat
pyar wafa
in sab imaanon
ki kimat kya hogi.

q u e s t i on       (english)
if everything needs
words to be conveyed
then what is left
of the intrinsic value
of the emotions held,

if the sun had to announce
his arrival each day
what would be left
of of the unsaid trust
we hold in him,

neither am i, nor are you
even a little disconnected
with our souls within
so why the fear
of losing yourself,

if love, compassion trust and faith
reduced one from what one is
then what would be left
of the relevance
of our belief in them.




note to self

Pic: Self

all said
and done

in the end
it’s always

to ashes

and dust
to dust,

i was
as i am

never more
yet never less,

no regrets
to carry

none left
to flush.