With excitement that knows no bounds, I present to you my first book.
The beautiful cover has been designed by my younger brother @kumar.shrey95 who has adorned this hard work of mine with his art.
This book is the result of endless sleepless nights and my thoughts that have come to me over the years.
Symphonies of a Curious Mind will be my first book and I need all of your support and blessings for the same.
Coming this 2020.
Thank you.
की रोज़ लड़ता हूँ मैं,
बादलों से जैसे कुछ फुस फूसा कर,
लड़ता है सूरज जागने को,
की रोशनी से उसकी आस जुड़ी है कइयों की,
की उम्मीद है रोशनी और धूप करवटें,
की रोज़ लड़ता हूँ मैं,
बाँधों से जैसे गुज़ारिश कर,
झटपटाती है नदी बहने को,
की पानी उसका जीवनदायी है,
की बहना ईमान है उसका और छोर साथी,
की रोज़ लड़ता हूँ मैं,
अफ़सोस से जैसे हंस कर,
मुबाहिस करती है उम्मीद,
की सच से परे है,
की सादगी उसकी आज की नहीं और मज़हब उसका आसमानी है,
की रोज़ लड़ता हूँ मैं,
आशाएँ जैसे काँप कर,
उखेलती हैं चंद साँसों के लिए,
की कब कोई हक़ीक़त गला घोंट दे उसका,
की कब कोई बेबसी दफ़्न कर दे उसे,
किसी बेनामी ताबूत मैं,
और भूल जाए उसे,
क़यामत या उसके बाद भी,
की रोज़ लड़ता हूँ मैं,
शायद लड़ना ही धर्म है मेरा,
फिर चाहे ये वक़्त हो या तक़दीर मेरी,
याद नहीं की कब सोया था,
की पता था लड़ना अभी नहीं है,
कान, नाक, आँखें, बाज़ुएँ, ये चर्म मेरी सब साक्षी हैं,
की रोज़ लड़ता हूँ मैं,
की कई जंग दिखती हैं,
की कुछ बस अंदर ही रह जाती हैं….।।।
देखा मैंने सपनों को आशाओं के तले दबते हुए,
की आँखें नहीं खोलता था मैं,
की सपना यह ठहर जाए कुछ और देर सही,
की जब आशाओं के समंदर का खारा पानी,
चुभन कर बंद कर देता है आँखें मेरी,
एक सपना ही है तो जहान मैं आज़ाद हूँ,
ज़िंदा हूँ, सहनशील हूँ,
एक बच्चा जो बस बड़ा नहीं होना चाहता,
सपना बनना चाहता है,
आशाएँ जिसे डुबाती नहीं,
आशाओं और सपनों का एक घनिष्ट संबंध,
जैसे बारिश और मिट्टी,
धूप और छाँव,
अनेक और एक..
है मोहब्बत उनसे,
की जानता मैं भी हूँ,
की जानते वो भी हैं,
की रोशनी भी चुभती अब नहीं,
की बारिशें और भी हसीन लगती हैं,
मैं बस इस ख्वाहिश मैं आहिस्ता से खोलता अपनी खिड़कियाँ भी हूँ,
की आबरू होगा उनसे भी,
की जानता मैं भी हूँ,
की जानते वो भी हैं,
इश्क़ तो है उन्हें,
मक़बूल सोचा करते होंगे वो भी,
कुछ तो वाबसता होगा हम दोनों के दरमियाँ,
की मेरा नाम आज भी उनके होठों पे अक्सर दस्तक देता है,
शायद तभी चुपके से एक नज़र मुझ पर भी अदा करते हैं,
की जानता मैं भी हूँ,
की जानते वो भी हैं,
फ़िलहाल दूरियाँ शामिल कुछ इस तरह हैं,
मैं याद उन्हें करता हूँ,
फ़रियाद कोई उनकी मुकम्मल होती है,
की जानता मैं भी हूँ,
की जानते वो भी हैं…..।।।
I see lavender greens,
Over mists that gather,
On the ruins of my wretched heart,
For my eyes still search,
A wither of golden,
A Touché of transcendental being,
For I begin and end with the touch,
Of the one I call my heart,
She calls me by name,
And brews mountains of ecstasy,
On nights cold and days so hot,
For I begin and end with her touch,
The only that tears me apart,
Stitches me again,
And tears me apart,
I see lavender greens,
On the ruins of my wretched heart,
She mends and brings sunshine,
The dry soil that longs for the rain…..
कुछ तो होगा शायद,
की बिखर के भी मैं टूटता नहीं,
है कहीं तो ज़ोर बाक़ी,
कहीं कोई कतरा शायद हार मानने को त्यार नहीं,
तुम ज़ुल्म करते हो,
मैं साँस लेता हूँ,
कमबख़्त ये दिमाग़ ही है जिसने बचा रखा,
वरना मदहोशी में ए दिल तूने तो अब तक मेरा असमान ही जलाना था…..
Sleep eludes me on days like these,
The winds when surf the lands slow,
Bereft of the cold, the sweet serenade it sings,
The nights that are laden with clouds,
Thunders that ruptures threads,
Inside and out, spiritual and material,
I close my eyes in silence sometimes,
Sometimes pervaded by the blaring sounds,
Of strangers and accomplices,
For sleep eludes me on days like these,
The earth below sinks,
And I smoke a cigarette…….
I suffer from consequences of decisions,
Small or big,
Taken earlier or later or today,
For they bring a certain miscalculation,
In my course that I very comfortably set,
A dilemma I clearly face,
To easily let it pass,
Or let it ruin my day,
Months or years,
It’s funny how often I resort to a decision,
The later and usually the hardest,
Like weeping over set Sun,
And the rain that fell yesterday…..
A devil stares me at night,
Standing infront of me,
Whenever I dream of darkness,
I know it will someday grab me,
Take over my mind and body,
As I try to stay numb to sensations outside,
For they push me closer to it,
Everytime my heart bleeds,
And I become pieces of chalk,
That absorb slowly its footprints,
In dark soot and viscous slime,
I try to sleep with eyes that close sometimes,
It comes closer everyday,
Near to my feet,
More than ever,
I can feel its hands reaching up my bed,
Or is sanity slowly diminishing from my head,
Past is future,
Or is future past……
There once was a fisherman that lived beyond a river that had been long dried up. The once lustrous flow of clear water that bore fishes large enough to feed families now only had stones carved by its water-round, dilapidated, slowly degenerating. The fisherman out of habit visited the river each day in a hope that water will someday start flowing through it again and feed him. He would everyday open his net, spread it neatly over the river bed and wait for the water. At the end of the day, he would again collect his massive net and with a heavy heart head back to his home. He would spend sleepless nights on his bed thinking about the next day and how lavish his breakfast, lunch and dinner would be had the river started flowing. Days passed and turned into months, months to years and years to decades when one day the fisherman didn’t have the strength to move. He became a captive of his situation, unable to even move. He could now only think about the river and all the fishes in the river and how they would be calling his name. The fisherman thinking the same closed his eyes one day to let sleep intoxicate him. He woke up the next day to find he was his younger self with muscles of that a teenager. He quickly grabbed his net and rushed towards the river. The river was flowing with water that gushed so fast even the stones were carried in the flow. The fisherman jumped with joy and hurriedly started to unfurl his net when he heard a sweet voice call his name. Filled with awe he turned around to find a beautiful girl standing, a face he recognized from somewhere. Hello Miss, I think I have seen you somewhere, he remarked as he started to walk towards the girl leaving his net on the ground. How can you forget me, the girl said, I was your fish, the girl had remarked. The fisherman was found dead the day before.
I see faces down with the work of yesterday,
The faces tired and anguished,
Dirt lay still and has made mounds on them,
Living but dealing with canyons that haven’t touched in eternities,
For One sees reflections of oneself,
Their inner beings around them as they traverse,
Tread over boulders big and small,
Life as we see and life as we believe,
Changes meaning every other second,
And every other passing of day,
For life is simple,
Simple as water dropping down a stalactite,
For years and years until it forms another similar being like themselves,
Life has meanings in times like these,
Times of everyday,
Each day…..
I bleed slowly on tattered bedsheets,
Of closely minced with dead meat,
Rotting, degenerating, infested with melamine ticks,
For my blood thickens and spreads unevenly over times before and after,
As I try finding myself,
Over the corpses of my dead dreams,
The desires gutted in slumber,
I cry for help,
For the end is not near…..
I see small, minuscule pieces of myself,
Scattered over the glazed floors,
White marble on the roofs of euphoria,
A little over there and little beyond the cracks,
As sunlight burns some pieces,
The rain washes some,
The storm dirties them yet again,
And the autumn helps them shed their skin,
For a belief that stays with me,
On days when people walk over me,
And behemoth crushes my vision,
I will see you,
One day, beyond these days that have been altering me,
The course, rough edges that belittle into a perfect circle,
And bring me warmth and peace written somewhere in the myths,
Like Cupid and Psyche,
Forever and beyond,
A happy ever after…..
If love comes and it comes close,
When you are tired and hopeless and numb,
The skies the shade of grey,
And winds that fumble of a sound low,
Hold it and hold it tight,
Like the will of a fighting gazelle,
What if it slips away,
Can love finds its way?
मैं तक़दीरों से लड़ता हूँ,
बंद कमरों में उलझता हूँ,
की जनता नही सर्द हवाएँ लाती क्या खबर हैं,
जब साँसे झिझक के सीने में उठती हैं,
और उँगलियों की कपन से मैं उठ जाता हूँ,
वक़्त है शायद बीत जाएगा सोचता हूँ,
मैं ख़ामोश हूँ तो चुप नहीं,
लड़ तो रहा हूँ पर ना जाने दिखता नहीं,
है मालूम मुझे की सुबह होगी तो सही,
की जनता नहीं अभी या फिर कभी……
If passion could speak,
And heartbeats could shout,
Ambitions could paint,
And desires could walk,
I would see for what’s invisible,
And feel the blood in my veins,
For dreams shape when we work,
It’s only a matter of time……
My voice echoes in darkness,
For the plethora of my nuisances play folly,
As my head and my mind stop being in sync,
To follow the unruly practice of harming itself,
I breathe and breathe through crevices made of burnt rubber,
And I indulge in sin of desires,
It’s reverberation of my methodic insignia,
The need of gasping for air,
That I see through tinted windows,
And make myself believe,
There’s a silver lining to every cloud……..
Love seems like a rainbow,
Filled with colors of the Sun,
It drips over me like it does over the others,
Slips down my shoulders when I am not looking,
Sometimes falls down my eyes over a memory that was pure,
An emotion true, an incident tragic,
It reflects the piercing, sharp parleys,
Off of my chest and into the open air,
For Love brings me life,
Reminds me that my heart is not made of stone,
And my skin that breathes slow symphonies,
Onto this canvas that I create,
Piece by piece and that changed colors with each gray of my hair,
If Love was perfect, it would be like light,
Simple, colorful, white,
But Love is not perfect,
It is the same as a falling down a waterfall,
Only to be caught by a branch thin,
That breaks off too soon,
Until someone holds on to you,
And keeps on choosing you,
As you fall together,
Infinitely, together,
Love is organic, slow, smooth like a fine whiskey,
You gotta keep on drinking…….
I slowly walk towards you,
Following your footsteps,
Etched on pathways golden,
Petite, almost unnoticeable,
And follow your scent among all the unknowns,
For it takes a century of being,
To see what it is like to be a speck,
Amidst the dust that gathers on a runaway cloth,
I see you while darkness turns me upside down,
And inside out,
My fall and my rise,
My imagination almost running thin,
My ink that doesn’t spill,
They all ask one thing,
When would you be real?
My day starts as the colossal struggle between my mind and my heart ends,
As I struggle, exerting every vein in my body,
A pain arises somewhere beneath my skin,
Gravitating through my toes and my fingertips and the little wrinkles that rest on my body,
For the day is new and the night shall be here soon,
I gather them all, my angels and my demons,
And I open my eyes,
For the day is new and the night shall be here soon……
I sleep with arms wide open,
For the air feels thin at nights,
When I am all alone on my bed,
That knows when I sleep,
When I wake up from nightmares that crawl over me,
As a realisation dawns upon me,
The bed is magnanimous for someone as timid as me,
I yearn for warmth that my sheets shall never provide,
The sound of rhythmic waves,
I turn on my speakers in nights like these,
For silence keeps me up,
And my bed pulls me down,
A crisis of the century,
An affair that must end,
Before I perish,
Or these arms through which blood still flows……
Caring for Art 