I know I can Share

I know I can Share

By Rajul Tiwari

In tyranny of pain, I woke up in nights,
In sense of no wrongs and no rights...
the soul inside the cage of the body
again flapped its wings in agitation...
for it could see the clear sky
still had to wait for the cremation...

No, I am not depressed but
it is the little death I live every day...
otherwise I just breathe when
I turn to you and pray...

Blessed with a talent, family and a home,
still my heart always seemed to hit the ribs so hard...
All the bonds  it received, always
severed the feeling of being hurt...

The poor little thing is the ever green flower,
which blooms in little smile and care...
Still it could not hold on enough,
as that "little" was kept to meager...
Unlike the bloom which is fondly remembered,
for the quality of being rare...

I stand alone gazing at nothing,
rendering my duties yet dealing with pin-pointing...
I am just trying to be there,
all that it takes to love and care...

I know that I can share,
I know that you will listen....
Because I know that no matter
what hue you gave to them,
you gave them an equal flight... dove or pigeon...

A Morning Walk

A Morning Walk

By Rajul Tiwari

When I dressed up for puzzles and riddles,

the flow of my robe played with the breeze...

The dew touched air hid inside the ripples,

I admired a look in my eyes, beautiful and at ease...

So much filled with freshness,
I cascaded down the long stair case...

Step upon a step on my way I sensed a stench,

Oh here! people lived where morning chores...

found place just beside their breakfast and lunch...

I cared enough to look away and walk past like ghost,

felt like something stuck in my throat, perhaps my toast...

I kept walking the rough alley down to the main road,

here, I met two damsels dressed in uniform for the green light...

two men on bike were stalking them, asking them to hop aboard,

whatever joy the morning brings, world of these girls hasn't yet seen light...

I overlooked their struggle with the eve-tease,

and immediately, a flock of school children rushed past...

buzzing loud like bees...

Their big bags felt like weigh-stone on my temple's crease,

these children ate organic junk and no butter or cheese...

They were capable of learning more,

but each piece of knowledge seems like burning more...

I thought growing up is not that bad now,

at least for us, milk matters more than buffalo or cow...

A few more feet and I reach Mahatma Gandhi's Idol,

all decked up with pigeon poop and dusty spiral...

I sat down here to catch my breath onlooking the Post Office,

I remembered about my letter to father and checked the post fees...

I had just enough for the day if I kept walking,

so, I went and bought a stamp and at last sent my regards...

I saw the blind sweeper, and in his cap stealthily kept a five,

to my surprise he turned and asked,"You had been absent, hope you are fine"

Then taking a short-cut, I climbed up the Ghats of Gomti,

almost bumped into a pyre, ablaze in union with Almighty...

The cracking of wood and bones felt like playing games,

I was dumb-struck, glaring at the enormous flames...

As if my spirit would be sucked in, I was so much tucked in...

A wise old man came upto me and said,"This is not the place for you."

I was forced back to self and fled hastily, suffering the morning blue...

I didn't utter a word and left the place far far away, pacing in,

traveled for about half an hour more and reached my college gate...

Relieved and relived to see several colourful butterflies racing in,

And I overheard,"So pretty! How many killed on the way? Why so late?"

Sleepless

Sleepless

By Rajul Tiwari

A little heart trapped in a deadly tempest,
the whirlpool of emotions and no saviour in sight...
Wait for the sunnier day, pray for best,
life has the power to dissolve all plight...

The howling wind might scare you,
but believe me, still you will not die...
The lightning may not spare you,
but to know the truth, you have to live all lie...

All the voices couldn't pacify my dread,
the needles of drops pierced my being...
This is only a dream my mind has bred,
even after knowing this, I was scared of staying...

And I restlessly moved my hand to my face,
petrified but transfixed, I still couldn't open my eyes...
I tossed in bed and hurt, I woke up in daze,
dreams are not my friends and they won't leave me in peace...

I walked the cold floor and kissed the paper with my pen,
I knew this will help me, this has always been my secret zen...
My shadow crouched over the table, scribbling then,
I still heard the storm whistling from my window pane...

The reality took away the fear I harboured,
I opened the window and stared at the moor...
The vast resembled the ocean, but now I felt armoured,
The pen released my soul and here, I stand with my core...

People slept while the night was dancing in the hail,
the music was loud but melody was felt...
Nothing else could be heard, not a laughter nor a wail,
I went back to dream and decided to leave it alone to melt...

But the wind seived through the curtains and sang a song,
So much it gave to me, still I chose to keep less...
before writing, I listen and feel so much and so long,
as I put the period, dialogue ended...
Now the night slept, it is only me now, dancing to its music... sleepless...

Story

Story 

By Rajul Tiwari 

(Dedicated to late Rani, my student)

Inside the closed lid of my pen, I hear a sobbing. It is in union with my hand, that it turns into a throbbing. It is when, it starts bleeding ink that I discover a little story, so tiny that in a drop... it would sink. A story which has cocooned inside it so long that it forgot how to "unfold". A story which was so much unloved that it hated birth. A story which took so much time to realise the lamp's glare and at last, it gave in and opened layer by layer. 

A story which has a poor princess in rags but no witch followed neither the love of a charming prince bestowed. A princess who had not attention of the death and neither life loved her. A princess who would come and peep through my window when I taught my son... When he would make some mistake, she would smile and answer "o-n-e is one". When I offered her food, she said "No, I can live without it but teach me to read... if you should" . Rani learnt English to the extent that she reads novels, she sits on a book-stand with growling bowels. I felt uneasy to see her filling her tummy with words, in the summer afternoon when we would eat ice-cream or yogurt! One fine morning she cheerfully said "Ma'm I have something to write. Before, I knew words, I used to read the world... and everything was a story to me, now when I know them well, everything else is boring to me. I know wisdom now but I have not gained it yet. So, I will write about how not knowing things is wise, I will write that feelings don't go beyond knowledge and wisdom combined... So, if you decide to gain, gain it till you reach this wall, or be ready to feel more and endure a fall. I will write about you, who taught me to be true!" I smiled and said,"You don't know, but you have reached that far, feelings don't affect you and truth has unknowingly raised your bar.." To my shock all light in her eyes went away, she said,"Oh then its over, then I must go!" Whole night I kept thinking about her, why did she say so? ... I searched for her near the book-stand and heard from someone, that she passed away with a pen in hand...

O' My Son

O' My Son

By Rajul Tiwari

Your mother might not be the best,
but when I carried you, I forgot to rest...
I sat down with you and made a nest,
A hard mother, a harsh teacher and for you, life's greatest test...

I know you are feeble and innocent,
So, when I hurt you, I cry the most...
All for a stronger you, but still I relent,
on each ordinary learning I also raise a toast...

I fed you tasteful meals,
and waited for hours for you to finish...
I also endeared and cuddled,
also, sounded funny and kiddish...

I may not live to witness,
the wisdom you will achieve...
but one day, you will know,
if I had to, for you... forever I will live...

I wish you to grow up to give and take respect,
Before making love, don't forget to make respect...
Talk to me or not, but mother knows,
All your lively highs and all your precious lows...

O' my son, be big enough
to raise little ones someday...
When you will be a father,
be free enough to play on Sunday...

I don't expect you to be the richest,
but people must look up to you as the pricest...
The world is full of super men and women,
for better, I give to you an enduring soul and loving omen...

I give a life to you which won't be easy,
but its beauty will reach the farthest of valleys
like blooming daisy...
I bless you with all I have,
never fear, only experience, still behave...
I might or might not succeed,
but O' my tiny gardener be ready
as I gift you the seed...

Living a Religion

Living a Religion

By Rajul Tiwari

So much for the species who follows the dark,
we all are born, but to sport a lifelong mark...
We study, symbolise, feel, and breathe through it,
breads, braids, beards and beads, everything to woo it...

We make Gods who created us,
adopt another for comfort and killing one which originated us...
The fact remains the same, we need one to exist,
and life becomes a journey into this thick mist...

Playfully, we declare secularism,
tell me about one, who is out of this prism...
We fight, terrorise and murder for them,
we use them in the name of trying harder for them...

Still the order so much charms us,
it throbs in idols, vibrates in prayers, and unusual alarms us...
What is more unusual than us?
why do we need these books to fan us?

Believe me Godless is better than Heartless,
and Headless is better than Soulless...
You keep finding your "self" in religion,
instead of living for a "selfless" reason...

For a moment pretend that you are God,
just for a moment take responsibility with a concerning nod...
For a moment realise the powers in you,
and use them to guard the little compassion that flowers in you...

I am not asking to make yourself a zombie,
and parade this earth in directionless feeding frenzy...

Let us all "Protect" and "Preserve" and live for this doctrine,
and together wash this social toxin...

We are not living a religion but are drowning in it,
these roads are becoming whirlwind and dead souls are howling in it...
Let us leave our Gods alone, and for once stand on our feet,
show our Belief, that we are worth our meat...

The End

The End

By Rajul Tiwari

I saw the clouds which inked,
somewhere in the mountains they blinked...
They meant their colour,
upon several lives they fell like a muller...

My heart gasped with agonising fear,
though they went far, it seemed so near...
What happened was not thunder,
A wrath or a question on faith's wonder...

Sea of humans was washed away by a river,
bodies clasped between boulders, bursting heart and liver...
And what stood was a shrine, adored by living and dead,
sitting peacefully over a corpse's bed...

All went their chanting and dancing, sweating faith,
they were nothing and no one there, but just a bait...
Finding God is being dead in His lap,
even then He didn't wake up from his cosmic nap...

Ever since then, I bell a temple, I don't seek but ask,
Is this dance of death needed for life to unmask?
The current of water hurts my soul,
the rivers carried bodies like pieces of coal...

This is how the clouds washed the nature,
Scrub of living bones, for a cleansed future...
Haven't we done the same all this while,
poisoned the blessings enough to explode this pile...

People lost, died, crushed, distorted and forever bruised,
Mother showed us how she is wasted and abused...
God didn't interfere for now nothing is unjust,
it has to pass, the curse of time, the nature's powerful burst...

Alone He sits in mournful silence,
passively suffering with the deeds of his sons...
It is still not late to hold these clouds that churn,
let's not wait till He Himself stands and turn...

Once upon a paradise, now a ghostly abode,
A life peeps from rotten graves, only to sing this ode...
For you I sing O' Earth dear,
even if you decided to end us, you kept us in you, so close, so near...