करते की विद्या है..... करने से आती है

"करते की विद्या है..... करने से आती है" (It is an applied talent, it comes only with application)

These haunting words from Gulzaar Saab echo in my head... and irritate me all the time. They challenge my belief...that creative people like writers are probably born with the exceptional talent of playing with the words. They need not sit for hours like us trying to create magic...it probably comes naturally and instinctively to them. Thats why it was surprising to know that Gulzar saab till today religiously follows the routine of sitting for hours in his office and just writing. Amazing...

Well...if he can practice it...why can't I?? Probably, this was my last resort to come out of the writer's block that I have been facing. So, today, after being persuaded and goaded by my wife, I finally decided that I will sit with pen and paper and keep thinking, pondering, scribbling till something worthwhile takes shape. It took long...five hours...but to my surprise...the pen started flowing again...and after these gruelling five hours...my moment came and in minutes I had two poems in front of me.

Here are they:

1. Phoenixes...

The pen in my hand
Frantically moves
Creating magic with words,
Oblivious to
The pool of blood all over
On the floor,
The corpse lies there
Unattended...
Like the many
Trampled over daily,
The stink of the rot
Or is it...
The stink of the rut
Suffocates,
The hardened skin
All peeled...
The seven-year itch worn off,
Stabbing wounds tell the story,
Was it the dagger?
But there's none around...
Oh No!!
It was the PEN
The paper is all red
And probably...
It is not just the ink,
The gestation was much longer
this time.

Last Night,
I brutally killed Myself...
To be REBORN.

2. The Love Affair

What you call a beautiful poem
Is nothing but
An Aftermath
Of My wild Love-making
With the naked Whiteness
Of the blank paper.

Words...
Splashed all over it
Erratically
Like the Unmindful
Passionate Kisses.

- Me, who else
Penned right now

I must have known that advices from Creative Geniuses like Gulzaar Saab are meant to work.

I finally feel emancipated.

रेख्ता के तुम्ही उस्ताद नहीं हो ग़ालिब, कहते हैं अगले ज़माने में कोई मीर भी था !!

Photo courtesy: http://www.wowzone.com/phoenix.htm

Life....isn't it all about Rising From the Ashes...again and again and again. Ashes...which signify so much - ashes which prove that we burn ourselves daily in this mysterious funny place called...the world...the society!! Ashes...of our own death...death not in the sense of stopping to breath (anyway, who the hell says...that breathing is living; we all just breathe in and out...very few live!!), but the death of our individuality, our identity, our ideals, our emotions, death of the human being within us. Death where we lose touch with our inner-self.

I quote Ishrat Afreen here...beautifully sung by Jagjit Singh:

"अपनी आग को ज़िंदा रखना कितना मुश्किल है,

पत्थर बीच आइना रखना कितना मुश्किल है"

So...this one is dedicated to my dear friend Shashank who rekindled the fire within...probably unknowingly...but credits are due.

I happened to read his poetry blog and liked his poems...so much so that my conscience snubbed me, cursed me...for having stopped to write...& my pen started flowing on its own. Strange...I, who was a prolific poet at one time...with an enviable collection of poems...dreaming and waiting for them to be published one day...haven't written a single poem...for more than 6 years. Where it all got lost...in the rut of life...but the pen just stopped. It felt so bad, it pinched...made conscious efforts to revive myself...but who knows better than me...that poetry doesn't come like this, poetry doesn't come...when you have killed a part of yourself and left it behind somewhere to lie stinking...poetry doesn't come when you are pre-occupied with the rat-race...Poetry happens when you are in connect with your inner-self...when you can web a spell of magic around small feelings...poetry happens when you LIVE

Thanks Shashank, for bringing me alive again...

Here's to you, my first poem after 6 years:

शायर मरा नहीं करते 

तेरे कलम की श्याही कागज़ पर जो देखी
तो याद आया
मरे हुए शायर का वो ज़माना
और दिल ने आवाज़ दी...
शायर मरा नहीं करते

फिर सूखी हुई श्याही पर एक बूँद पड़ी
और न जाने क्यों ये लगा....
की  फिर कोई ग़ालिब फिर कोई मीर होने को है
फिर उतरेगा आँखों में लहू...
फिर कलम उगलेगी आग
फिर हाथों की जुम्बिश काम आएगी

शायद... सच ही है  
शायर मरा नहीं करते

हम इंतज़ार करेंगे
फिर जिगर से निकलेगी कोई आवाज़

- Me, who else
Penned on 18th June, 2007