Want to know 

how this story ends? 

It ends 

the same way that 

all my stories have ended - 

Everyone else is happy. 

Why good reading matters

Water my heart 

with dewy drops of words

hanging from a poem. 

Water my soul 

with tears 

jerked involuntarily 

from words 

that come from strangers 

but know the exact nature 

and depth 

of the stab wound 

in my heart. 

WH Auden on grief

In Four Weddings and a Funeral, what a lovely, lovely poem on grief. By WH Auden. Can't believe I have never read this beauty before. 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Link for explanation: https://allpoetry.com/funeral-blues

The poem is called Funeral Blues, but i think it sums up grief and the sense of nothing making sense any more in the most beautiful yet precise way possible. 

"Nothing now can ever come to any good." 

Indeed. 

प्रेम

मैंने प्रेम नहीं, उसका पात्र निभाया था। 

प्रेम में जो बातें लोग कहते हैं, वे कही और सुनी थीं 

प्रेम में लोग जो करते हैं, वह किया था 

पर प्रेम में लोग जो महसूस करते हैं 

वह मुझ में नहीं हुआ 

स्वत: ही होता है 

स्वत: ही नहीं हुआ 

प्रेमी 

जान जाता है 

अंतत: 

जान गया था 

दुखी हुआ होगा उसका मन 

पर मैंने 

अभिनय नहीं किया था 

पता ही नहीं चला 

कि प्रेम में 

कुछ महसूस भी होता है। 

जो रिक्तता थी उसका 

रिक्त स्थान ही नहीं दिखा 

   

I said 

and heard  

all the things

that lovers say and hear 

and did 

all the things

that lovers do 

But did not feel 

what love feels like 

Eventually 

love realises

when it is not 

reciprocated 

It must have hurt 

but I was not deceitful 

I just never realised 

that one feels 

in love 

what one never feels 

outside it. 

I never saw 

the blank 

that love 

fills. 

Love

Until it happens to you 

Love

Is an urban myth 

Tickle

When someone tickles us, we laugh uncontrollably. 

That laugh is not happiness. 

It is a physical response 

to a physical stimulus

It is NOT 

Happiness.

Just the appearance

Of Happiness. 

Some people are like that too. 

Being with them 

is like being tickled

the physical responses are all there

but they are not 

real. 

The laughter 

does not go 

to the heart

or the soul. 

That is why 

i do not like 

being tickled. 

One-sided love

लाल-लाल डोरों वाली आँखें 

जो सदा चुराई जाएँ 

मुंह खुले तो न सांस निकले

ना बोल 

और आँसू? 

भादों की बरसात से 

 

मन 

बावरा 

और दिमाग? 

गाफ़िल 

  

अभी-अभी 

अचानक अहसास हुआ कि 

तुम से मिलने तक 

एकतरफा इश्क 

कभी हुआ ही नहीं था मुझको 

Eyes

red from weeping  

and blank 

from wondering. 

Lips 

that neither sigh nor part 

A heart 

that holds too much 

and a head that holds 

Nothing. 

You, darling, are my first 

one-sided love 

A rite of passage 

Belated, but not 

beleaguered. 

Eventually 

All seasons come. 

This one did, too. 

This poem was co-created while discussing unrequited love with a friend who started off as a colleague. 

Leading to the creation of a meme and another post for this blog. :) 

Bangles

Bangles 

A woman's voice 

when her lips are silent. 

They can tinkle softly, 

like gentle laughter 

or crash 

like a shriek 

Or walk away 

without a backward glance. 

Seeds

That day 

And all the days like that day 

Too many to count

But they did not vanish. 

They put themselves in neat plastic resealable packets 

and waited. 

They were not days 

They were seeds. 

Even if you put a seed away 

in neat plastic packaging 

it does not die. 

The only way to kill a seed 

is to let it germinate. 

It only goes

when it has given the world 

what it was meant to give. 

That day

and all days like that day 

waited 

until I took each one out

and gave it 

a place 

to express itself. 

It germinated, the roots spread out and the stalk stood tall 

to say its piece 

Then, and only then, 

the day died. 

Closure is not important. 

It is imperative. 

************** 

वो दिन 

और उस जैसे सब दिन 

जो दबा दिए गए थे 

मन के भीतर कहीं 

वे मरे नहीं 

पोटलियों में बंद हो गए 

प्रतीक्षारत। 

बीज को 

पोटली में बांध कर 

सन्दूक  में रख दिया जाए 

तब भी 

वह मरता नहीं 

कई साल तक। 

बीज को समाप्त करने का 

एक ही ढब है 

- उसे अंकुरित होने देना 

छोटी छोटी जड़ों से निकल कर 

नन्हा सा तना 

जब तन कर अपनी बात कह लेता है 

उसके बाद ही समाप्त होता है 

बीज का अस्तित्व। 

 

वो दिन 

और उस जैसे जाने कितने दिन 

सहनशील, प्रतीक्षारत 

जीवित। 

******** 

The thing that shocked me the most about therapy was how seemingly minor days of fights were making me cry over and over again. The days that I thought I forgot. I lived each one for days, wearing the ring for months and feeling the pain every single time. Still unable to speak about many of those days, sobbing quietly into the night. 

And this morning, this metaphor came to mind. 

Kshanikayein

उसके शब्दों के जहाजों पर चढ़ कर मेरे सपने पंख पाते हैं। 

कितना ऊंचा उड़े? 

जितना ऊंचे कागज़ के जहाज़ उड़ सकते हैं।  

**************** 

In a parallel universe 

there is always 

World Peace. 

********** 

I miss you

I miss you 

Like the night misses

the day 

Like the boat misses 

the bay 

Like the barn misses 

the hay 

Like November misses 

May 

Do you know what I mean?

Words. Between us. 

Said. and Unsaid. 

Passing thoughts. Within. 

A person. A full person. 

Sometimes Alive.

Occasionally loved. 

Do you know what 

I 

mean? 

2 poems by Christina Rosetti

 "When I am dead, my dearest.." was read many years ago and immediately became my most favorite death poem. 

Today, i read another great death poem by the same poetess, and I so want to share both of these: 

पर्वत

पर्वत 

सदियों से खड़ा है 

फिर भी रोज़ नया है 

The mountain 

Is eternal 

But the view 

is ephemeral. 

Kshanika: Roz

तुम रोज़ 'कल' कहोगे 

और गुलाबों का मौसम 

गुज़र जाएगा 

Everyday you will say, 

"Tomorrow, for sure" 

and spring

will pass. 

Hope

Today, I took out the noose 

to hang myself. 

And I put 

the "To Let" board 

on the house. 

Asked a few volunteers

to come and take the body away. 

- Didn't want any of my 'own' people 

to touch it. 

Called the lawyer 

and told her 

I'll die intestate. 

And then 

I made my bed 

and slept. 

- Might as well wait for you. 

- 11th Jan 1998. :) 

ਫਾਹਾ ਬਣ ਲੇਹਾ

ਪੱਖੇ ਨਾਲ 

ਘਰ ਦੇ ਮੂਰਹੇ "ਟੁ ਲ਼ੇਟ" ਦੀ ਤੱਖਤੀ ਟੰਗ 'ਤੀ 

ਸ਼ਮਸ਼ਾਨ ਵਾਲੇਆਂ ਨੂਂ ਦੱਸ ਤਾ 

ਬੋਡੀ ਕਿੰਨੇ ਵਜੇ ਲੈ ਕੇ ਜਾਣੀ ਏ 

ਸ਼ਰੀਕਾਂ ਨੂਂ ਮੋਯਾ ਮੂੰਹ ਨਾ ਤੱਕਣਾ ਪਵੇ 

ਵਕੀਲ ਨੂਂ ਵੀ ਦੱਸ ਤਾ, 

ਕਿਸੇ ਨੂਂ ਕੁਝ ਨਹੀਂ ਮਿਲਣਾ। 

ਫੇਰ ਬਿਸਤਰਾ ਵਿਛਾਏਆ 

ਤੇ ਲੇਟ ਗਯੀ 

- ਚਲ ਉਡੀਕ ਹੀ ਲੈਣੇ ਆਂ ਤੈਨੂ। 

Faaha bann leha 

pakkhe naal 

ghar de murhe "To let" dee takhti tang ditti 

shamshaan vaaleyaan nu dass taa 

body kinne vajje lai ke jaani e 

shreekaan nu moya munh na takna pave. 

vakeel nu vi dass taa 

kise nu kujjh nahi milnaa 

Pher bistara vichhaayaa 

te let gayi 

Chal, udeek hi laine aan tainu. 

:) 

 

In a Parallel Universe...

In a parallel universe, 

You and I, 

Perhaps... 

That parallel universe 

Is the stardust 

that makes up

Hope. 

An unequal relationship

तुम्हें "न" कहने का अधिकार है। 

मुझे 

नहीं है। 

You have the right to say "No" 

And I 

Don't. 

 

Happy Birthday, Friend! - A Birthday wish

What do I wish for thee? 

A little love, a little envy 

A little sorrow, enough joy. 

Someone to live for 

An ideal to die for 

This, I wish for thee. 

A home to call your own 

A heart that beats for ye 

Warm bread on the plate 

And a view that suits the eye. 

This, I wish for thee. 

Farsightedness to see 

life's ephemerality 

Yet to know the joy 

brought by a butterfly 

This, I wish for thee. 

What do I wish for thee, 

All eternity. 

Excerpt from the poem - Rain and Riches by Sunil Sachdev

 In its truest sense

the rainbow should come 

before the rain 

as 

then at its end would be 

not only 

a pot of gold 

but a shower 

of rubies 

 and gems

and diamonds