मेरे घर का पौधा मुझसे कहता.......

Once again updating after months....

For Week #24 Prompt "I smashed the flowers on the footpath"

For my Didun…..

She had an uncommon ability
To tread gently. A unique art.
It requires a soft nature, softer than
What is trodded on.
She hopped and skipped past
And brushed them softly away
A nature of a monk.
Tenderly she collected them
In her open basket of old cane
Only those that had fallen
Never tearing the ones attached
Still throbbing with life blood.
She urged us to join her
But we were young and silly
With rudimentary wisdom
But as we watched her and when
The play of the conch stirred us
We remained still for a while.
Inescapably time caught on
She grew very old from pretty young
And senile from always agile
And as though all those delicate forms
Of all those years had seeped into her soul
She was fresh to be trampled on.

For Week #25 Prompt 'Cliches'
(This poem won the 2 best rank and pleased me of course :D)


Settled / सेटल्ड 

फर्स करो सड़क नहीं 
चट्टानों से गुज़ारना आपका रोज़मर्रा हो। 
और अब फ़र्ज़ करो, हर पहाड़ पर आपको 
बस एक ही बात गूंजती हुई सुनाई दे,
अब शादी की उम्र है, सेटल हो जाओ। 
माँ बाप से दिन भर एक ही सवाल, 
बिटिया की कुछ बात चली.... 
कहीं देर न हो जाए....
बेटी को ज़्यादा छूट दे रखी है.... । 
वह तो एक पहाड़ पे अपने 
काबिलियत का झंडा गाड़ चुकी थी। 
और एक पर्वत चढ़ सक्षम हो 
चुकी थी, पर अब यह क्या मुसीबत 
की पहाड़ सर पे आ पड़ी। 
थोड़ी ख्वाइश से टकराई, उसपे 
इच्छाओं की परछाई। 
चाह तो एक घर का है, पर लालसा थोड़े 
वक़्त का भी है। 
भले ही आपके नज़रों में वह 
न काबिल है, न सक्षम है, 
पर जैसी है, पूर्ण है, स्वाधीन है, 
और अपने आप में सेटल्ड है। 

..... अब आगे 
...... a few years later......

The silent trickle turned into a whirrr
As the machine came to full life.
She gazed into its churning insides
Wondering for no reason about Venus
purposelessly erupting volcanoes,
screaming existence?
The husband’s call for coffee
Silenced her stupor and
she wandered into a steaming discussion
Of his latest entrepreneurial thought
saying yeses to his unbidden faith.
The half that always had had it.
The kids clamored in the car,
Arguing about an imaginary fight
Between dinosaurs and dragons
As she knocked her head on the wheel
Forgetting once again to pick up the 
leftovers bag for the old woman at the signal.
A woman of stories gurgling under 
Her surface erupting with red blotches,
but longing for language. A Venusian fellow.
The sound of the machine was a din and a few
Seconds later a silent hum when she returned
Later to her laundry.
She put her arm into its blazing world
And out of nowhere a picture of a Venus with
Her arms cut off flashed before her
And suddenly all the volcanoes made sense.