Minakhi Misra

Category: Poems

  • मेज़

    मेज़ पे बैठा कवी, लिखने चला वो इक ग़ज़ल
    मन से चुन कर द्वेष सारी रख दी उसने इक बगल
    फिर भी ज़ुर्रत क्या हुई, कागज़ जो उससे रुठ गया
    छोड़ उसको मेज़ पर, कागज़ वहाँ से उठ गया

  • कागज़ के गेंदाफूल

    कटे मिसरों के घाव लिए
    बिखरे कागज़ के गेंदाफूल
    याद करते हैं उन लम्हों को
    जब क़लम का छूना भाता था

    लावारिस हलके झोकों में
    एक दूजे की दूरी को भेद
    बात करते हैं उन सपनों की
    जहाँ खुलके उड़ना आता था

  • पुनः मिलन

    मैं जाना था तुम ज्ञानी हो ।
    अब लगता है अभिमानी हो ।
    भुलाके सारे यौवन वर्ष
    स्मरण है केवल एक दिवस?
    जब तर्क तर्क में फर्क उठा,
    टेके फणा एक सर्प उठा,
    विषैले शब्द और क्रोध कठोर
    थे कोटी कोटी क्षत दोनों ओर ।
    थे छल छल दोनों के नयन
    पर छूने का न किया चयन ।
    कटके उस दिन दो राह चले
    करके काजल को स्याह चले ।

    माना उस दिन हम बच्चे थे ।
    नादान, हृदय के कच्चे थे ।
    पर अब तो पक के गल चुके
    देख हज़ार हलचल चुके ।
    कब तक जलें अभिमान में ?
    आ मिलें सुलह संधान में ।
    क्या मेरे कम हैं नखरें सब
    कि जोड़ोगे उसमें तुम अब ?
    गर द्वेष अभी भी है प्रखर
    लो झुकता हूं नत के मैं सर ।
    बस जल्दी से इंसाफ़ करो –
    या दे दो दंड या माफ़ करो ।

  • क्लोज़र

    आज काफ़ी दिनों बाद
    कुछ यादों के सफ़्हे पलटने लगा हूँ।
    चिपकने लगीं हैं कागज़ एक दूसरे से।
    एक दूसरे की गर्माहट को चादर बनाए ओढ़ रहीं हैं।
    उनको अलग करने का ज़ायका अभी भी जुबां पर लगा है।
    कुछ कुछ तुमबिन तन्हाई सा स्वाद है।

    वो सारे अलफ़ाज़ जो तुम्हारे लिए बुने थे
    क्रिसमस की स्वेटर जैसे भुला दिए गायें हैं।
    रात रात भर जब तकिया बनाएं सो जाता था उनपे
    उन रातों की लार अभी भी सूखे दाग से पड़ें हैं।

    बस कुछ बदला है तो ये है कि
    अब इस डायरी में लिखना छोड़ दिया है।
    अब किसी और के आँगन में यादें पीसता हूँ।

  • नया साल मुबारक

    नए साल में सब मोहब्बत कर रहे हैं
    और हम हैं कि शिकायत कर रहे हैं

    वक़्त तो आ गया है कि वक़्त बदले
    पर हम फिर वही शरारत कर रहें हैं

    ‘अठरा में सुना है कि सब है माफ़
    हम भी इंतेज़ार-ए-इनायत कर रहे हैं

    लोग बनाने लगे हैं सपने हकीक़त
    हम हकीक़त ही क़यामत कर रहें हैं

    इजाज़त थी पढ़ने को एक ही मिसरा
    हम फ़िर तौहीन-ए-इजाज़त कर रहें हैं

    नए साल में सब मोहब्बत कर रहे हैं
    और हम हैं कि शिकायत कर रहे हैं

  • The Silliest Things

    sometimes…

    i simply want to do
    the silliest things with you

    like stacking up the books
    to see how it all looks

    like clicking a thousand snaps
    to make our memory maps

    like dusting down the drapes
    to fly with them as capes

    like kneading up the flour
    to shape it into a tower

    like picking nonsense names
    to play the childhood FLAMES

    like writing little rhymes
    to seal our feels in time.

  • Little Birds

    Before I am awakened by the demands of the day,
    Someone releases a flock of birds from its cage
    In all directions, each heading its separate way
    Securing in their bosoms their mistress’ message.
    When I check, on waking up, my cellular device,
    To see what the little bird has to say this morn,
    Oft times I find a joke awaiting, seldom advice
    On things too abstract for the bird to have borne.
    I draft my response and confide it with the little bird,
    In hope that my words would reach her soon,
    Who every morn, sings her feelings to be heard
    By all she loves, expecting their replies by noon.
    Designed for use by every man, every day in excess,
    This flock of little birds calls itself, the SMS.

    Originally shared with a friend in the Winter of 2016

  • Beating the Bell Curse

    beating-the-bell-curse

  • Eulogy for My First Laptop

    We were together for six years.
    Six years! Can you imagine?
    It is an unnaturally long time, even for girlfriends.
    But there we were – together, for six years!

    Back when I did not know her
    and when my elder brother asked me
    What qualities I was looking for in her,
    I painted for him a picture so ideal
    That even I did not think
    Such a one could be found.
    I wanted her to be so smart
    That she could run eight threads in her head
    All at the same time.
    I wanted her to have a memory
    That could hold every secret of mine,
    Without ever complaining about her space.
    I wanted her face to be so beautiful
    That even when I look closer, grain by grain,
    I should be able to resolve, very clearly
    The minuteness of her imperfections.
    And if these were not demands steep enough,
    I also wanted her to be able run anything
    That I would load her with.

    And still, and still, by magic or some such craft.
    My brother, the conjurer of dreams, brought her to me.
    Yes, she did weigh more than the others,
    And yes, she was slightly bigger than my liking,
    But the moment she sat on my lap,
    I knew she was everything I had asked for.
    Her smartness was unparalleled then,
    And her memory as good as any other of her generation.
    She was more beautiful in what she showed me
    That what I had seen in my mind’s eyes,
    And she could run everything so smoothly,
    That I was sure she would make a good housewife.

    Originally recited to mildly amused friends the day my first laptop,
    a juiced-up Dell Studio 15 (with 2k resolution and i7 processor) died in 2015

  • Misty Mountains and Silver Fountains

    Misty Mountains and Silver Fountains

    Misty Mountains
    And Silver Fountains
    Are no longer that far.
    Notice that today, they are
    In our very homes here,
    So much to my fear,
    As Man’s dirty parody
    Of the Dwarvish Morian tragedy
    In which the smaller children
    Are overrun by the taller adults,
    Who with firebrands held in their teeth
    And rising mountains of ashes beneath,
    Puff out immaculate misty rings
    That float skywards on their wings
    As Fallen Angels set to do their share
    Of hanging on, as Death, up in the misty air.
    And so the children are slowly choking
    On the abject indifference of indiscriminate smoking
    While not-yet-old men are dying of their dragging faults
    And silver coins are pouring out into bolted vaults.