Dosto aap sab ke liye.... jarur padhiyega: @sam1nitb @emily6 @cynicalruchi ....& many more...

शराब

अगर बोतलों में शराब न होती...
तो गालिब की शोहरत आफताब न होती....

न होता साकी न होती हाला...
न होती बच्चन की मधुशाला...

फिर न होती ग़ज़ल पैमाने पे...
हाल-ए-दिल का बयां मैखाने में...

फिर नशे की कोई बात नहीं होती...
टूटे दिल की कभी कोई रात नहीं होती...

होता किताबो से ओझल देवदास का किस्सा...
प्यार रहता कभी न इतिहास का हिस्सा…

न होती महफिल न होती सरगम...
न होती गज़ले न दोस्त न हमदम...

शुक्र है आज हाथो में मेरे जाम है...
कौन कहता है मय ये बदनाम है...

कौन कहता है मय ये बदनाम है...

--------- कविराज तरुण

My First post on this forum

I am a bass guitarist of a band in Pune called Riptide
We guys have recorded 2 songs till date ... Following are the links to the songs... Do give it a listen .. would love to hear your suggestions !

Rebellion : https://soundcloud.com/arun-prabhu/rebellion
Deadalus : https://soundcloud.com/arun-prabhu/daedalus-riptide

====my part of RAIN====

sometimes i c myself in DARK...
sometimes there is no SPARK...
sometimes sorrow hits me BADLY...
sometimes i feel so LONELY...
sometimes i just revealing the PAIN...
sometimes here is no profit no GAIN...
sometimes don't know wato give wato TAKE...
sometimes all beauty seems so FAKE...
sometimes not find right or WRONG...
sometimes i write motivational SONG...
but the best thing i have in my BRAIN...
is waiting n working for my part of RAIN...

---- Kaviraj Tarun

dedicated to all youth:

SAMVEDNA: AAHWAN

@Sherjil @dubeps @richaaa.. @emily6 @mmssilentmode

साथिया
तू जब मेरे साथ था , दिल को एक शुकून था ...
मंजिले भी पास थी , अलग सा जूनून था ...
तू कहाँ चली गयी , कि फिर आई नहीं
क्या है वजह.......... ये बता
साथिया साथिया साथिया ......
थे चाहतो के रंग भी ...
बारिशो के संग भी ...
ख्वाहिशो के ढंग भी ...
प्यार की उमग भी ...
बह रही है ... कह रही है
आ लौट के तू.. मेरे हमदम .......... मेरे रहनुमा
साथिया साथिया साथिया ......
रात बेजान है , रूह अनजान है ...
घर की तहलीज़ पर , तेरे ही निशान हैं ...
इस आबोहवा को , इस फिजा को ...
इन धडकनों की हर एक अदा को ...
तेरी ही जुस्तजू , तेरा ही अरमान है ...
कि मै चाहता था , चाहता हूँ , चाहूँगा मै ........सदा ...
साथिया साथिया साथिया ......

Lyrics by---- कविराज तरुण

@Sherjil @tiwarishiva @explore9 ...

माँ

मैंने पुछा उस खुदा से
तू कैसे रखता है ध्यान हम सभी का
कैसे सुनता है हमारी बातें
कैसे पूरी करता है सब अरदासें
कैसे झांक लेता है हमारे मन के अन्दर
कैसे थाम लेता है आंसुओं के समंदर
कैसे करता है खुशियों का हम सब में बंटवारा
कैसे संभालता है ये संसार सारा
कैसे जोड़ता है तार तू इतनी दूर रहकर
कि मै इस ज़मीन पर और तू आसमां है
वो बोला मै तुझसे दूर ही कहाँ हूँ
तेरे लिए ही तो जमीं पर मैंने भेजी माँ है ||
--- कविराज तरुण

यांत्रिक जीवन का औचारिक प्रभात ::
यांत्रिक जीवन का औचारिक प्रभात , अक्सर ज्ञानेन्द्रियों को चिंतित कर देता है |
अर्थवादी महानगरी में स्वार्थवादी सोच का आगमन , अन्तः करण को हर रोज विचलित कर देता है ||
एक वो भी समय था...
जब पडोसी का बेटा प्रथम आता था ... तो सारे मोहल्ले को पता चल जाता था ...
किसकी नौकरी लगी कौन परदेश गया ... किसकी चिट्ठी आई किसे सन्देश गया ...
ढूधवाले की गैया बियाई या नहीं ... पडोसी की बारात आई या नहीं ...
कौन सी 'डिश' बनाने में किसे है महारत ... किसका बच्चा करता है सबसे ज्यादा शरारत ...
कौन घर घर जाकर चौपाल लगाता है ... किसका शौहर अक्सर देर से आता है ...
कौन बीती रात हो गया बीमार है ... किसने छत पर सुखाने को डाला अचार है ...
परन्तु आज का समय बदला कुछ ऐसा , जाने अनजाने ही हमें व्यथित कर देता है |
एक अनुभव संकुचित मन में उपजे परायेपन का , असुरक्षित भावनाओ का वेग त्वरित कर देता है ||
यांत्रिक जीवन का औचारिक प्रभात , अक्सर ज्ञानेन्द्रियों को चिंतित कर देता है |
अर्थवादी महानगरी में स्वार्थवादी सोच का आगमन , अन्तः करण को हर रोज विचलित कर देता है ||

--- कविराज तरुण

It was just another night,with a sunset and a moonrise;

"Chhoti-chhoti chhitrayi yaadein Bichhi hui hain lamhon ki lawn par

. Nange pair unpar chalte-chalte Itni door chale aaye Ki ab bhool gaye hain joote kahan utaare hai

Aedi komal thi, jab aaye the. Thodi si naazuk hai abhi bhi.

Aur nazuk hi rahegi..

In khatti-meethi yaadon ki shararat Jab tak inhe gudgudati rahe. Sach, bhool gaye hain Ki joote kahan utaare the.

Par lagta hai, Ab unki zaroorat nahin."

Whooshing wind whispers to me, Drizzling rain writes, staring through the darks and even in the brights.

My insoluble thoughts actually dissolve, immobile ones? Now they revolve.

Is it real or just a figment of my thought, Am I seeked or is it what I sought?

Am I lost, is there any hope, Will I be rescued, will there be a rope, will I be the laughter or just laughed about, or will I be the tears your eyes sprout.

I am not sure of what I do, but that is not the point, is it? If it is the point tell me, Are you?

A Beggars Take on life and such....

A truck passed, washing all the people and objects alike in a thick white exhaust. Not only our vision but even our nasal cavities and wind pipes were choked simultaneously. The old man, sitting beside me, on his prized spot, started coughing and at the same time cursing the younger generation for its technological evils. As if it was the truck- exhaust and not the 555 pataka bidi that gifted him his bronchitis. It is a fashion, it seems, as you grow old, to criticize the younger generation for all the evils of the world. Whatever you do, you will eventually fall marginally short of their expectations. And this phenomenon has to show itself in the older age, as if this characteristic is embedded in the chromosomal gene code of the race - Homo sapiens. As we grow old, kings and beggars alike, we start finding solace in cursing the younger generation. As the breathing gets heavier, the teeth fall, joints weaken, hair greys, skin wrinkles and oxidants start winning the war, this gene makes its presence felt, getting stronger and bolder, as the time passes by.

As I said “beggars and kings alike” earlier, does that give you a hint about my life, my life-style to be particular? HELL YES!! It does. When did you last hear a king equalling himself to a beggar? Try! And you won't find even a single example. (If you really find a few, then they will certainly be rendered negligible by sheer numbers.) It has, since the era of pre-historic mankind, been my proud fraternity, that has given the society its equal status, of course in words only, but we don't have anything else to support it. Yes friends! I am a beggar. Just like the street urchin you pass everyday on the way to your office, shop, colleges and other destinations, either with a pair of fake blind goggles or caressing a crutch to support an imputed limb or ogling at you with my cataract ridden eyes. However our motive in each and every seemingly different sightings is the same – to reach inside your pocket and take my share in the economy.

Though seems like a dream for us, but actually we and you are from the same species, though the greater section of your kind (of course the non-beggar folk) fight all their life against this stupid notion. They do all they can, in order to separate themselves from filthy, stinking beggars. In other words they fight against themselves and their senses to deny the fact that we exist. They ignore us like we are nothing but a figment of their imagination. We shout, we squeal but they don't notice us. But generally their senses betray them, to be particular their noses, they are the real culprits, these stupid noses!! Even if the nose- bearer (men with their pointed or snout like, flat and women with their softly contoured noses) deny the fact of our existence, their noses wrinkle in protest when they walk across us. And we squeal in delight, that after all, we exist and are not the shred of somebody else's stupid imagination. And you will be astonished to hear, but we actually unite the society in this expression better than any sense of religion, nation or even a cricket match ever can.

Well if I say nobody notices us, that won't be true. Many people notice us and take pity on our condition. They are the ones who run our lives. They are our life savers. Though there are many factors that control the moods of our life savers. These conditions are really strong as they sometimes can convert a real existence-denying man to a real life saver in our case. These conditions are really as varied as is the diversity of culture and languages in the Indian subcontinent. Ranging from ' showing off in front of a female friend' to 'passing an exam' from 'getting assistance from god in the court cases' to ' even settling their heaven- account'. You see we are a multi- service industry.

The general age of an entrepreneur belonging to our industry varies from person to person. There is no recruiting age limit, nor is there any limiting or retiring age. You can easily spot even the toddlers playing their part beautifully just by hanging onto the arms of a lady ( generally someone pretending to be the toddler's mom.) and assisting her in getting the money out of the target's well protected pockets.

Though most of the 'below poverty line' society does much more work than just sitting idly and flaunting an aluminium katora like us (this is your notion, and I differ, but that is for later.). Even then, they are considered as somebody belonging to our privileged brotherhood (read industry). But I resent it sir, oh I really do. Contrary to your beliefs of our laziness, it has been centuries of hard work of our fathers and forefathers (don't take the plurality of our fathers too literally) and improvisations in the tactics and techniques of our work- skills that we stand here. And yes we have a sense of heritage. We just cannot allow a breach in our class by somebody who does not possess our indispensable tough working abilities.

General routine in our life is not much different than the people working in any other corporate house except the fact that there are no holidays and no medical and insurance facilities in our sector. Our strategic business- points are varied but all these locations are common in one quality — they are hubs of swarming human thoroughfare. In case of FDI (Foreign Direct Involvement) inflows, we keep our strategy simple and yet demanding, it involves establishment of strong business sites at the historical and cultural sites and sites of FNA (Foreign Nationals Accumulation) for example CP and Paharganj in Delhi and at the same time unrelenting cajoling and running-behind-potential-candidates tactics.

We wake up very early in order to secure our strategic spots on the site. Yes we have to fight for that, but which industry doesn't support cut-throat competition for the most desirable post (site, in our case) in the market. Yes we do have fixed spots, but that is only after you are an adult. And no!! It is not 18 years of age that signals our adulthood. A true adult beggar is the beggar who possesses all the skills and cunning required to hold his post to himself. In other words it is the true battle ground of nature where survival of the fittest (read strongest) is the law. A beggar generally reaches adulthood at the age of 10-12 years which symbolizes the fact of our early maturity than the brothers of the non-beggar fraternity. You see, if you give beggar-adult (10 years) and a non-beggar child (10 years), 10 rupees apiece, who can tell you the real value of the 10 rupee note. Of course even you know the answer. It would be the beggar adult.

We sit in our office premises sometimes even before people generally set to their washrooms in the morning. For example you try coming to a temple 2 hours before sunrise; you will definitely find some of my kambal-clad and earnestly coughing co-workers working from their posts.

Breakfast is not a daily affair for us, not that we can't afford it, but we prefer brunch. You see we are very honest to our work and hence don't like wasting our precious work time. We start our day with certain well-chosen and pre-fixed abuses we reserve for our colleagues who compete with us for the most coveted spot on the site. And the competition is really healthy, barring a few kicks, slaps and punches, it is all very healthy. Once you get the strategic spot you were eyeing, you are well on your course to become the star of the day, and everybody will envy you and make you feel like a superstar. As it has rightly been said, 'well begun is half done'.

Now, if you end up on the losing side i.e. you did not get the desired spot (that is the general case if you are not strong enough or if you don't pay the local thulla or the hafta-waala properly), you don't have to worry all you have to do is make use of the natural skill you possess. That is, of course, the fake blindness, the cataract, the damaged limbs etc.etc.

It's not that we just use these physical disabilities (in our case these are abilities actually), we have many other professional skills too. We generally are more receptive to the data around us, more than most prized of your statisticians ever could be, we read people, there general behaviour and the mood-alms relation. We prepare the chart for general and particular data and all of this is without those precious gadgets your data collectors use, we don't even use stationary. All our data is stored in the non-crashable drives of our brain cells (except again of course in case of old age or death).

We are better sniffers of an affair than most marriage-spouse-infidelity detectives ever could imagine to be. You see we have to really scrutinize the tiny behavioural patterns of a couple before declaring them actual couples with our prized product tag line—'rab Jodi salaamat rakkhe'. Actually contrary to the public belief, it is not that we just pick up any slogan start chanting it. It is not so, you see, for instance, we on spotting a person, carefully observe all the physical and psychological signs that betray his religion and then we offer him the tag line attaching ALLAH'S or BHAGWAN'S name in it to make a successful breach in the target's pockets.

We sense communal tension even before it hits the streets, we sense the arrival of the baby in the local hospital faster than the relatives at home, to intimate the local eunuchs, to ensure our proper commission. You can see that we are actually the torch bearers of the street-life economy.

The general social notion about us beggars is not very charming, people consider us to be illiterate, unintelligent and stupid. Illiterate we mostly are, but unintelligent and stupid, sorry mate, I beg to differ. Yes we are filthy, we stink, our teeth rot, lice thrive in our hair, even our clothes are matted and generally don't resemble their original colour, but my friend, tell me, which other job in the world pays you more than Rs.7, 000-10,000 per month and in case of visiting places of foreigners as good as Rs.3000 per day (You see the foreigners like visiting us more than the historical monuments of your country.) and that too for mostly sitting and making faces ( even actors don't get such a return). For the foreigners we are the real cultural heritage of India and rightly so, heritage is something which hasn't changed with time, and so are we, right from the Mughal era, through the British regime and now in this democratic country of yours.

Speaking of Democracy, it has brought many changes. However, there has not been much change in my fraternity's conditions. From monarchy to anarchy and now democracy we haven't noticed any change. For us it is the same type of government from the pre-independence era that has carried on, for us election occurs every seven days (sorry, we don't have a right to vote in that), when the local Thana rotates the erstwhile thulla from our site. That local thulla is our prime minister, president or even king for all sense and purposes, he is our bank (though the deposits can never be withdrawn and are permanent fixed deposits), he is the tax collector (we don't get receipts, but we get danda marks on or body that symbolizes our attempts to exempt ourselves from the taxes), you see it has been the same type of government since the time beggar-folk started existing.

Presently this country is the largest democracy in the world; but even then we, who are the citizen of India by birth, don't get to vote. As for voting we need Voter – I card, for that we need a ration card for Ration card we need address proof, and what are the documents deemed fit as the proof of address – Telephone Bill, Electricity bill, Bank account, wait a minute, didn't you notice I am a beggar. Leave voting aside, for most of our independent history we've not been included even in the census. Yes, off late a few NGO's have taken the responsibility of getting our name in the voter's list, but that is not the true picture mate, you see these NGO's are owned by either a political party or by corporate houses that help and sometimes get helped by these political parties and hence we become a mere pawn in this helping and getting helped business. Do I need to elaborate? Come on, are you not intelligent enough to guess what a beggar like me said between the lines? And friend unlike you, I don't find it wrong at all, of course why should I find it wrong? For me, 500 bucks are worth much more than to just get in the polling booth and stain my index finger. With 500 bucks I can do much more than to just sit and wait for the poll-results and then to abuse the government for its policies for the whole tenure. Does it matter to us 'who is in power and who's not? Hell no!! We were, are and will be in the same condition forever that is our destiny. Then what is use in denying the NGO'S what they are paying us for, is it not considered bad to be disloyal to the ones who give you all facilities (though once in 5 years, but we are still grateful). Yes my friends we take all the courses that our stomach forces or rather signals us to take.

Do you know that we are better friends of Mother Nature than you ungrateful scumbags? If a cow or a dog or any other animal (except the carnivores, who could eat us) encroaches upon our property, we do not shoo them away with sticks nor do we chase and pelt them with stones. We coexist and share the space; it's like having the god, silent (mostly apart from a few moos and mews and bhow-wows) and watching over us. We don't own vehicles and hence don't contribute in air pollution (and limit the traffic congestion as well). We don't use home appliances hence no question of CFC pollution, we can't afford loud speakers hence any noise pollution. And the best is the fact that we don't even take bath regularly (except the days when it rains), so we help in conserving the water. We are in other words true sons and daughters of Mother Nature.

We are very loyal to our industry; no amount of cudgelling would lead to our desertion of our dear profession. We actually are the true examples of the indomitable grit. Municipal corporations are our modern enemies. We are always the eyesores of their eyes. But even this organization or a section of it owes us big-time. It is on our filthy, stinking shoulders that the generally unused ambulance and its always-so-sleepy and abusing driver get his living. Had it not been for our fraternity, then whose lifeless and limp body the driver would have dragged from the last prized spot of the beggar on or in general case 2-3 days after its last breath to justify the salary?

Though we are the true apostles of heritage, even then we had to undergo certain changes, some involuntary, others by choice. The involuntary ones being the topographical changes and the changes in lingua-franca and currency of course. The chosen changes have been the amounts of the minimum service fee; after all we too have to take the current inflation into account. I know you oppose, but think Re.1!!! Come on dude! You give us alms to impress other, to settle heavenly account, to appease the god in order to do well in life and all this in Re.1, not possible, in this age when even the stinky onion can reach Rs.100 per kg, are we not justified in our demand to raise our basic service fee from Re.1 to Re.3 (if not 5, see I am being reasonable)?

Enough of economy crap, let's talk some religion. My personal favourite is Buddhism; no other religion in the whole human history has given beggar-hood its true identity as “Gautam the Buddha” gave it to us. In my opinion he was the true enlightened being. He foresaw our eco-friendly nature and economic future before many of the great thinkers of the world were even conceived.

See, Buddhism is my personal choice, but personal choices have no say in the life of a true professional. We as true professionals do not have any favourites in the religious arena; rather it's our stomach and the dates on the calendar of different religions that govern our favourite religion of the time. And for this we don't need any pundit-purohit, any mullah-maulawi or any pastor-priest. We just wait for the right dates, for e.g. in Holi-Diwali we are Hindus, in Eid we are Muslim and come Christmas we are true followers of Jesus the Christ. And we are proud of it; I think we are the true followers of the one god thesis than you pseudo-religious maniacs, who kill each other on account of utterly nonsense and stupid reasons like disputed places of worship, blasphemy etc.etc. We are the true followers of the theme one god- one world as for us our stomach is our god and we as a person is all we have for our world. Unlike you fools we do not slit throats of the people who danced, ate, sang and lived with us just on account of some stupid communal tension. So my saviours, ask yourself, who's intelligent?

People often say that it's better to die of shame than beg, I differ and this time around I am not begging to differ, not out of shame but anger. It's better always in my book to beg than to steal or to rob. It's always better to beg than to slit the throats of your father, mother, sister, brother, just have the non-living property under your hands. Life always is, of a greater value especially of somebody who cared for us, than the filthy, non-living currency and the life less walls of the house without them.

Oh yes!! I am proud of being a beggar. Why shouldn't I be? After all it's not me who is bothered by the dreads of my wife's possible or probable affairs, I don't get BP pills to control my heart-rate after the sleepless nights either due to work or due to fear of losing the well-earned black money in the hands of petty thieves. I, gentlemen, can sleep peacefully after my day's work and after thanking my lord (my tummy) for bearing with me for one more day. You see my friend I am more intelligent and wise than you are as I have found what actually life is and in that knowledge you are very poor, you are not even a beggar because you are ashamed to beg.

@emily6 @sam1nitb @cynicalruchi ...

ye kavita kuch lambi hai...par haan padhoge to pasand aayegi... aisa mera vishwas hai...@mmssilentmode @emily6 .. baki to koi shayad hi padhe tum padh lena...
Link:

SAMVEDNA: PREMRAS

@Sherjil @cynicalruchi @sam1nitb @mba4oldman @Buck.up @emily6 @miseera

उन्मुक्त विचारो का पंछी मै इस ओर चला , उस ओर चला |

जो हवा मिली मध्धम मध्धम ... एक सांस भरी फिर पुरजोर चला ||

निर्भय जीवन की पगडण्डी पर ... जाने कितने मौसम आये ...

लपट आग सी गर्मी देखी... बारिश देखा सावन आये...

तूफानों में उड़कर देखा ... पतझड़ में भी चलकर देखा...

बिन पानी के खुद को मैंने ... धूप-थपेड़ो में जलकर देखा ...

और अपने अरमानो के दम पर मै सांझ चला मै भोर चला |

उन्मुक्त विचारो का पंछी मै इस ओर चला , उस ओर चला || --- कविराज तरुण

DHARM KI RAJNEETI-----

धार्मिक अवसादो के पुलिंदे नज़र आते हैं ...
जब कभी हम किसी नेता के घर जाते हैं |
न विकास की बातें न देश की चिंता ...
धर्म की राजनीति में आखिर ये उतर आते हैं ||
एक आईना तराशा, कि नेक सूरत दिखेगी ...
हर जगह प्रेम की बस मूरत दिखेगी ...
गले मिलते हिन्दू ओ मुसलमान दिखेंगे ...
ज़न्नत के फूल इस सरजमीं पर खिलेंगे ...
रंग होली के उर्दू जुबानी मिलेंगे ...
ईद की सेवई से हिंदी के थाल सजेंगे ...
पर इन हुक्म-मरानो को ये मंजूर कहाँ है ?
गन्दी राजनीति में प्रेम का दस्तूर कहाँ है ?
ये तो अपनी बात से ही अक्सर मुकर जाते हैं...
हमको तोड़ते हैं मरोड़ते हैं और साबुत निगल जाते हैं |
धार्मिक अवसादो के पुलिंदे नज़र आते हैं ...
जब कभी हम किसी नेता के घर जाते हैं |
न विकास की बातें न देश की चिंता ...
धर्म की राजनीति में आखिर ये उतर आते हैं ||
--- कविराज तरुण

My best poetic work: pl read & put ur comments....

अगर बोतलों में शराब न होती... तो गालिब की शोहरत आफताब न होती....

न होता साकी न होती हाला... न होती बच्चन की मधुशाला...

फिर न होती ग़ज़ल पैमाने पे... हाल-ए-दिल का बयां मैखाने में...

फिर नशे की कोई बात नहीं होती... टूटे दिल की कभी कोई रात नहीं होती...

होता किताबो से ओझल देवदास का किस्सा... प्यार रहता कभी न इतिहास का हिस्सा…

न होती महफिल न होती सरगम... न होती गज़ले न दोस्त न हमदम...

शुक्र है आज हाथो में मेरे जाम है... कौन कहता है मय ये बदनाम है...

कौन कहता है मय ये बदनाम है...

--------- कविराज तरुण

SAMVEDNA: शराब

Sherjil @ PaGaLGuY cynicalruchi @ PaGaLGuY Surabhi30 @ PaGaLGuY sam1nitb @ PaGaLGuY emily6 @ PaGaLGuY mba4oldman @ PaGaLGuY @Buck.up @naga25french @missionCAT13 ... Pl read

For sure, U'l find ur old days back after reading this poem.... Enjoy !

बचपन और जवानी

सावन के झूले देखे , बारिश का पानी देखा |
पतझड़ के पत्ते देखे , किस्से कहानी देखा ||
हवा की नरमी देखी , ऋतुएं सुहानी देखा |
बचपन के सवालो में निरउत्तर जवानी देखा ||
गीली मिटटी के बर्तन पर सूरज की किरणे देखी...
उलझे धागों में लिपटी पत्थर की गिट्टी देखी ...
उड़ती पतंगों संग हिलती मांझा और सद्दी देखी ...
बिस्तर के नीचे से ताश की गड्डी देखी ...
ऊँगली के इशारों पर नाचता कंचा देखा ...
मोहल्ले के नुक्कड़ पर चाकू तमंचा देखा ...
लट्टू घुमाते बूढ़े और बच्चे देखे ...
नमक से खाते आम कई कच्चे देखे ...
लैला दीवानी का मजनू दीवाना देखा |
प्यार की कसमे देखी , राजा हिन्दुस्तानी देखा ||
सावन के झूले देखे , बारिश का पानी देखा |
पतझड़ के पत्ते देखे , किस्से कहानी देखा ||
पर न देखा हमने शुकून फिर दोबारा ...
माँ के आँचल में छिपता गमो का पिटारा ...
न चकोर का चांदनी से मेल मिलाप ...
न कोयल का भोर में सुनाई देता आलाप ...
मुंह मोड़ते रिश्तो की कई सारी बातें देखी |
आंसुओ में सिमटी कई तनहा रातें देखी ||
बड़े क्या हुए उलझनों की सौगातें देखी |
रेत पर गायब होती कई मुलाकातें देखी ||
न स्वच्छ ह्रदय ही देखे , न रगों में रवानी देखा |
न मदद करते हाथो की कोई निशानी देखा ||
फिर न सावन के झूले देखे , न बारिश का पानी देखा |
न पतझड़ के पत्ते देखे , न किस्से कहानी देखा || ----- कविराज तरुण

​

Although this poem is having comic timing... but pl hv an eye on its serious note:

MY LAST DATE

My last date is starting wid a candle of light;
My eyes being sparkled coz my wish is so bright;
i dont know its just feeling or strength of my sight;
but a hope is still here wid a bit of fright;
My last date is starting wid a candle of light;
What happened wid timing, hazing of dark;
sky being cloudy, wid gathering of spark;
n one thing in my hand, its waiting of car;

JUST WAITING N WAITING N WAITING SO FAR........

My last date is starting wid a candle of light;
My last date is starting wid a candle of light;
Time is playing wid me so hard;
Is someone doing whatever wizard;
I get tired to fumbling of card;
Time is playing wid me so hard;
and soon i realize its being too late;
Tell me plz how till i wait;
Candle go melt n turning of light ;
darkness is telling its being so night;
Then i cut my nerves to end off my life;
bleeding is started n vacuum arise;
My eyes get closing heart beating is tough;
n my soul my emotion my feeling get rough;
I saw this bleeding who break my life's jar;

JUST BLEEDING N BLEEDING N BLEEDING SO FAR........

N when i touch beginning of my last sight;
i look at gate n she is there right;
she runs towards me but what can i do;
my eyes then closed n nothing will do;
OH ! I LOST MY SOUL--- ITS A GREAT HAUL--- in My Last Date...................

(Kaviraj Tarun) :

SAMVEDNA: My Last Date : A Poetry, close to my heart

The Magician - Part 1

“Do you want to see some magic?” A voice asked her, from behind.

Rinita was late already. It was half past ten in the night and yet she was on the road, almost a mile away from her home. The institution from which she was returning made them leave late tonight. Moreover, she chatted with her boyfriend for some time before ultimately leaving the place. She had already called her home to tell that she'd be reaching late tonight. But still, ten-thirty in the night at this part in Kolkata in this time of the year is not safe at all. Winter is on the cards, so the possibilities of people roaming around late were next to nil. What was worse, there was a sociopath killer on the move.

“Do you want to see some magic?” The voice asked again.

Rinita looked back.

Before her, stood a medium heighted fellow. He was slightly bent, and even if she couldn't see his face, it looked like as if age has started marking its presence on his spinal cords first. His hands were stretched forward, and together they made a sign of an appeal, as if he were to start his tricks from the very word 'go'. He wore a dark long coat, unusually long for a regular city-walker to wear. A pure leather - for sure, for whatever lights there were on the footpath, were reflected and left a glistening effects to the surroundings. His face was covered, not from some masks, or any clothing, but the top hat he wore, hid his face completely beneath that, making him look like a faceless monster.

She, though being a bold city girl, suddenly tasted fear out of nowhere. She looked around, and realised the road was unusually lonely that night.

“Who are you?” She shouted.

“I show people tricks – magic tricks. Tricks that they enjoy. In return they give me money. Only if they get entertained, that is.” The man smiled from beneath his dark hat.

A high class beggar, perhaps? Rinita thought.

The dark face smiled again. Another silent smile.

“…but certainly not a beggar.” He clarified.

It was her turn to be amazed now. He read her mind. How could he? It was really something extraordinary. Rinita got interested.

“Well,” the man continued, “Then you will be more fascinated to see this” as he drew a piece of brown cloth from his pocket and whirled it round her head.

Rinita blinked. And then when she looked at his hands again, the piece of cloth was gone. But instead, she saw a brown hawk sitting in his left shoulder. A living, brown hawk. Its head was still, bent at an angle that gave her a feel that it has been watching her since ages with its eyes fixed on hers.

“Every magician has a pet. He's mine.” The voice said.

Rinita gave a sigh of relief.

And then after five more minutes of more tricks and entertainment, the man paused.

“So… are you ready for my last magic? The magic of all magics, the queen of the best magics in the world – are you ready for it? “

Rinita smiled. The man certainly knew how to build up a stage to perform something. But the only problem was that, she was very late.

“I am sorry, I'll have to go. I am very late tonight. And besides, my family will be worried.”

The man fell silent. He drew his hands closer, as if he didn't expect it to happen. And then he said, “This is the magic where I create fire. Don't you want to watch it?”

She looked at him. This silence, it was going to kill her anyway.

“Never mind.” The man laughed out. “You have your urgency. So until we meet again, good bye.” He took his hat off and brought it down to present a full bow.

Rinita looked at his eyes now, as he stood on his feet straight. They were brownish, and had a yellow flame in them. She had always heard about the eyes those magicians have… attractive, gorgeous, deep and appealing. There was something in his eyes that asked something to her. And she realised she could neither move or take her away from that place to anywhere, as if her body was stoned to death at the same place for ages.

The hawk flew away, with a sudden cry, as the darkest paths of the city remained silent, with the half-moon hovering in the December sky amongst the thin fog spread across the city. The high rise buildings in the distant places remained the proof of a man walking under a dark top hat, throwing a piece of white paper which resembled something like a visiting card to the body which lied still in the footpath…hands spread, head bent and eyes that were not going to see anything of this mortal world. And a thin bloodline ended in the nearby drain which seemed to start somewhere near the neck. She was dead.

With silence, the piece of paper fell somewhere very near the body. And then two words appeared out of nowhere in it. It was his last trick that night.

'The Magician'

कुछ अनकही सी अधूरी रचनाएँ.

चरागों की तरह झुलस रहे थे हम न

लौ दिखी किसी को न धुँआ इधर नज़रे फिरा सका | - प्रवीन "साहिल"

कुछ अनकही सी अधूरी रचनाएँ.

Color in her

eyes

never failed

to darken her

dreams for

she was in wait

Wait which

was endless

enough

to kill her

He never feels

locked up in your

heart but safe

to stay somewhere

he is always

going to be valued

for life

and death

hey puys,

pls have a look at some of my poems and let me know wht u think?

> Poems by racinghorror"> > Poems by racinghorror" href="http://www.gotpoetry.com/Poems/l_op=Showpoet/poet=racinghorror.html">Poems by racinghorror

शिथिल कदमो से आगे बढता जा रहा था

शब्दों को जोड़-तोड़ गड़ता जा रहा था

अवशेषों में कुछ यूँ ढूँढता

अभिलाषा फिर भी कही नहीं दीखी

व्योम सा व्याकुल

बुदबुदा कर मानो समझाता -

झीण सी स्वास भी जान है

अधिरायी सी मानसी भी मान है

कुछ यूँ धूल झोककर आत्मा को

चल देता है वह फिर

अपूर्णता की ओर.......

The Night Train

It was past midnight when the train screeched to a halt at some unknown station.

Shruti woke up. Surprisingly, the compartment was empty. She looked outside the window...

Dark was outside. Distances away forest began, a dense one. It was one of the forests of eastern Madhya Pradesh – through which the lines of the rail passed.

People try to sleep in darkness, when they are alone, but she does not. Rather she tries to hear strange sounds, if any are there. She tries to smell those things which are abstract, like the pages of old book, chhatim flowers, the wooden benches, the railings of windows...

Now someone entered into the coupe. Middle heighted man, and to her disgust, switched on the light.

He was a middle aged man, placing his bag under the seat.

“Turn out the light.” She said.

There was no answer. Rather, he turned to her and their eyes met. His was yellow, and had a painful look.

“Turn out the light.” She said again.

He sat on the seat slowly, but nevertheless taking his eyes apart from her, smiled a little.

“Yes I will.” He said.

“Do it now.”

“Don’t you like it?”

She was about to answer something, but stopped. Months, years she has passed in darkness, but didn’t she like the light? Didn’t she want to join her friends coming out of her loneliness? Yes she did. But she feared to do, because she feared to remind...

And then he told something which shivered her.

“You are hurt, by some ways.”

She fell silent.

“May be an old liking, love or something like that, has hurt you a lot.” The man said.

“...what?” she said anyway.

“Here... I turn out the light now.”

And the light was switched off.

The man lied down the bench, but she sat still. In the same darkness, the train ran at its highest speed.

She feared to remind, and he helped to do it again.

Reminding about past is never easy. The words of the man, thoughts of chhatim flowers, and dark night... took her to twenty years age... the day... a sharp, lightened afternoon saw her hesitant before a boy, and for the first time, she was lost in the world of colours, seasons and happiness. For the first time, she discovered love and liking in this world, and afterwards, an irresistible force called her again and again to the place he lived. Love – she found in the first hours of sunrise, in the red clouds of sunset, in the night dark sky standing alone on the roof. Flowers... songs... happy surroundings... if you have ever been in love, you will know – if there is something called God... it is love.

And then it was a Friday he committed suicide. Not much news she got, but some family problems..., with which he could not cope up with, killed himself.

Since then, she is alone, inside darkness and silence... companion-less... perhaps waiting for him...

As the first lights of morning reflected into the coupe, she didn’t find the man on the seat. Rather, bizarre feelings popped up her head when she remembered the man’s face very much alike with that of the boy she loved…died fifteen years ago.

The Mayhem inside.
Waiting can cruelly rape the patience in me
Waiting can brutally kill the feeling in me
I wish u understand what is the time
I wish u understand what is the mime
Its been just few days yours and mine
Reality can wash off my stained mind
Reality can wash off the fear I find
I wish u understand what is the reality
I wish u understand what is the tranquility
Its been just few days yours and mine
Addiction can set me back
Addiction can get me sack
I wish u understand the habit
I wish u understand a little bit
Its just few days yours and mine
With confusion as another sign,
I cant let my self in grime
nor ask u to give me the time.

Another picture. Less of editing. More of writing stuff. Used Creative Kit of Picasa and a bit of gimp.



The text originates from a t-shirt quote once I saw from a friend's.


And thus again I realised I am lacking new ideas. :|

Poems are just reflection of what you are and what you see around - People whom you speak , thing which you have /lost .

When all the negative thoughts come into your system from various sources like your own disappointment ,people around sharing their disappointments , cribbing by a friend , etc , you will feel something like this :

Struggle is my life
It’s always here with me
I know there are many
With problems worse than I

My worst enemy is not life
But It’s Only Me…
I feel everyone is better than me
I feel I can’t do anything

This is how I felt my whole life
And it didn’t start last night
I try & try to erase the pain
All my efforts go in vain

No one could ever understand
Why I want my death sooner than planned
It’s not something good for me
But to end my pain this is what has to be

God’s Child I am
But they say I’m awful
It hurts it pains
My life is an Endless struggle I say

A Beautiful Damsel

@sonamaries7 said:

u mean u dint sketch the woman and teh bushes used in the scene...u probably picked a pic and then used brushes, right...

@sonamaries7 said:

my work?!...newbie....have just downloaded gimp..dunno even how to use it! ...any tips fr starters?..how to get going?

@banu2312 said:

Everything you see is made up using different brushes. btw why don't you put up your works too?

@sonamaries7 said:

for this pic of urs...did u use the pics of a woman and the bushes below and wrked on those in layers??..or was it a complete scene where u just used the brushes?P.S: awesome work...am also trying my hands on gimp these days

@banu2312 said:

On days like this, I have nothing to do but sit at my computer and use gimp to make some useless stuff. Here's one. I have started believing that I'm becoming less creative. No new thoughts.

J for Joker


I realized there were only stacks of cards in the room. I flipped through them and realized something; the joker was missing in all the packs... which, I had to use somewhere.


“CID thinks, may be a mentally disbalanced one is responsible for the murders, to which I contradict.” I muttered.


It was a dark December night, and my house, being some distances away from the core of the town, remained silent and dark, and as alone as its master.

There were dreamy blue scent of chhatim and other flowers coming from my garden, and the glasses of the windows – were pierced by the light of the lamppost standing outside on the road. Night, smell, loneliness...these were my only companions, after my wife left this world.


“CID thinks, may be a mentally disbalanced one is responsible for the murder, to which I contradict.” I muttered again.


Last week, my wife was killed, being the fourth prey of a killer, who leaves a certain sign after the murders.


I took up the newspaper and eyed the heading reflecting the four at a row murder case.

“...and taking the last, four persons have been killed by the same murderer. The first three were inside the town, and the fourth is just nine kilometers away from the town. The killer, according to police, is a psychopath who leaves his presence by a certain sign – a joker card. CID is investigating for...”


“Mentally unstable, joker card... hah ha” I laughed out loud breaking the silence of the room.

“They are searching for the mad person like bulldogs, and here is your murderer.” I said.


It was easy, very easy. I was planning to get all the properties of my wife, and suddenly came across a story heading ‘ABC murder case’. I turned my plan to ABCD murder, and at last here I am, with properties worth six crores.



From the farthest part of the town, where the old temples exist, sounds kept coming of barking of dogs, and except that, sounds in my room of ticking of the wall clock.


People try to sleep in darkness, in silence, when they are alone. But I do not. Rather, I try to hear strange sounds; try to smell those things which are abstract. Like the railings of windows, the wooden benches. Have you ever tried to find the smell of night? It is a soft, gentle and charming one – like those of chhatim flowers.


I took my gun again. The bloody gun, which took all the four lives. And a last work is to be done. I have to kill my last enemy, tonight.


And the next day, police will find another body in the house. Similarities – the joker card, the same murderer. Difference – case of a suicide.

Okay so I'll be away for a few days. Wishing happy Holi to everyone in advance. Here is a picture I made. :D

Enjoy the holiday. :mg:

My First Post on this thread

Another 50 word fiction :)


Crime


"I am afraid it is a murder." Officer said.

"I heard no sounds. We were sleeping."

He looked at me, and wanted a napkin.

"Sure." I gave him my own.

...and I regretted.

But it was too late.

The blood-stained napkin was the only proof of my wife's murder.