If there is paradise…It is this
If there is paradise…It is this
Was that a dream,
Or was it a trance..
The babble of a brook
And flowers that dance
A touch of a breeze
That tousles your hair
A hint of fragrance
Is it really there?
The green, the red
The violet and blue
Colours that only
An artist can brew
But you have painted
A canvas so real
Dewdrops on the grass
Or are they pearls?
And nature beckons
At its pristine best
To lie on your back
And view god’s own nest
A sky full of stars
The night strums a tune
Hark! It’s a melody
The song of the moon
I still don’t know
If that was a dream
Or my mind played a trick
And I’ll wake up down stream..
Can you tell me if that
Was a dream or a trance
The babble of a brook
And flowers that dance..
How should I greet you?
How should I greet you?
How should I greet you
My friend on this day?
How should I wish you
A happy birthday?
Should I tell the sun to
Shine brighter for you
Or colour the flowers
With a radiant hue?
Should I turn the sky
To a palette of gold
Tell the birds to sing songs
So you never feel old?
Should I make the stars
Shine through the haze
Of clouds that should weave you
A shimmering maze?
Should I get the earth
To marry the rain
To fall on you gently
And ease all your pain?
Tell me my friend
How to wish you today
Make it glorious for you
And then let it stay!
I have seen death
I have seen death
I have seen death
Dance in a macabre form
I have seen it in the eyes
Of all those forlorn mortals who fear it
But death is only
When you are not
And you are only when death is not
So why fear what is when you are not…
I have seen death
Dance a macabre form
I have seen it in the eyes
Of all those forlorn
Mortals who fear it.
Some stray thoughts
Some stray thoughts
20-11-04
Forty five years ago on the twenty-second of November, two hours before mid-night a star was born in the city of Delhi.
It spread its light to all those who were in its orbit and beyond.
In the same city one being had been waiting for several years, unaware that her wait would stretch for half-a-century more before that magic would envelope her because their meeting had been planned by their souls in some other lifetime.
When they did meet she was blown to smithereens and the pieces were scattered for miles around lost to all.
The young star picked them up one by one with his beautiful hands, put them together, tied them up with a rainbow, to give them back to her; but she doesn’t want them back because those pieces are his foreva..
For her that wait was worth far more than all the treasures in the chests of the roman
emperors because this radiant star had finally lit up the depths of her dark eyes.
A very happy birthday to you my beauteous one!
May you see 44,000 more.
A tribute to my dearest friend….
A tribute to my dearest friend….
The Walker between the Flowers and Sunshine
Fifty nine is no age to die. Not for the handsome, youthful, and spirited Surender Singh whose religion was fitness and vigour. Not for the one who had mocked at the natural ageing process and had defied his body clock.
No fifty nine was no age for Surender Singh to die.
But death came to him swift and sure when his chopper nose-dived into a field near Saharanpur on a grim Thursday morning in the last week of March, leaving a nation in shock and his family and friends inconsolable.
Surender Singh was a permanent fixture in Lodhi gardens where you could find him in the latest branded t-shirts and top of the line sports shoes whenever he was in Delhi, which was at least 20 days a month. His fresh wit, which all his associates and most Lodhi-walkers frequently sampled, is immortal.
An early riser, frugal eater, vegetarian and teetotaler Surender Singh lived life on a high, driving his spanking new jeep between Delhi and his home town, Bhiwani, where a huge constituency of supporters had elected him to parliament and the assembly twice over. He was a tough fighter and a survivor and most viewed him as the dashing future chief minister of Haryana, a legacy that his father Bansi lal was gladly bequeathing to him. A keen cricketer and astute politician, he had an image of being untiring and timeless.
No fifty nine was no age for him to die.
But death be not proud, for he has outwitted you.
Surrender Singh lives on.
He lives in the blades of grass, the trees, the flowers, the birds, the bushes, the stones, and every nook and cranny of his favorite Lodhi Gardens. He lives in the minds and souls of all those who knew and loved him; in the hearts of scores of walkers whom he whizzed past and those who often saw him sitting on the parapet at the entrance with his unending stock of crisp one liners that had become his signature stamp.
We mourn you my friend. Lodhi gardens will never be the same without you.
Death be not proud…
For Surender Singh shall live on.
Death… what are you?
Death… what are you?
Death is nothing at all….it does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I and you are you and the old life we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, and pray for me.
Let my name be the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant; it is the same as it ever was; there is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well. Nothing lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before—only better; infinitely happier and forever.
Happy Birthday My Child
Happy birthday my child
How can I wish you
My child on this day
How can I wish you
A happy birthday
Let the sun rise
To a radiant new life
Let there be joy
No pain no strife
Let the birds chirp
For you on this day
Let the stars sing to you
Happy birthday
The sky shower gold dust
And honey and dew
Let each pore inside you
Turn over anew
Let a light bathe you
In a bright golden glow
Let all the flowers bloom
And love inside you grow..
Happy birthday pretty rainbow!
Who are you?
Who are you?
When I was ecstatic you were there to share my ecstasy
In my sorrows you stood by to console me.
When I was lost, you were there to show me the way
And in distress you reminded me to trust my abilities.
When I was jealous you were there to caution me
And my pain you simply took away.
You taught me that anger could kill and destroyed it
Before it destroyed me.
When I got to love, you were there to love and when
I hated you showed me that you still loved me.
When I was tired you filled me with energy
And when charged up you gave me courage to conquer.
You taught me to be graceful in my victory
And protected me in my hour of defeat.
When I fell down you were there to pull me up
And when I flew high you reminded me of the ground beneath.
You are my philosopher and guide and bosom friend who
Always comes back when I need you
I know you will stay by me forever and ever…
Who are you?
My mother
I came back from Eden
I came back from Eden
-
It’s that time of the year again
Angels beckon to God’s own den
-
Once again I walked
In the Garden of Eden
-
To breathe the air
That only angels breathe in
-
They led me to into
The land of flowers
-
That sang and danced
The colours they showered..
-
The leaves gushed on
Looking up to the moon
And the trees swayed to
A celestial tune
-
The babbling sound
Of the water near by
It was winding down with
A sweet lullaby
-
Dahlias and roses
Bogain villas too
On a rainbow palette
Of another worldly hue
-
A warm pink blush
With a hint of gold
There’s no place like this
Outside God’s own abode
-
God’s footsteps I saw
On the dew drenched grass
Not a moment of sadness
Can come to pass
-
I drank the nectar
Of this land divine
It’s a gift from heaven
It’s headier than wine
-
It breaks my heart
To leave that den
But one part of my self
I’ve left there again..!
The End of Love
The end of love
-
Should I celebrate
The end of love
Should I revel
In the feeling
-
That I am alive
I can speak hear and cry
I can move like before
Am I healing
-
Should I rejoice
And hire a hall
Should I dance to the tunes
Of the sky
-
I can breathe I can sing
I can feel I can laugh
I can feast and get stoned
On this high
-
Should I rummage
Through the drawers of my past
And scrap all the memoirs
Of pain
-
Should I shred to bits
All those tokens of love
And write odes to myself
Once again
-
The end of romance
Is a glorious event
It’s the end of
A weary old strife
-
Should I re-incarnate
Once again as a child
And begin yet
Another new life
-
Somewhere someone is waiting for me
To rouse my passions within
I shall never believe in this adage of love
And be hanged for the cardinal sin
-
Yes the end of romance
Is a glorious event
It calls for a big celebration
I shall sing I shall dance
I shall feast I shall drink
I shall go on an endless vacation
-
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