In the name of those Empty Days
When even the slower pace of
life, could not be hold,
Just unknown activities,
Hopeless problems himself were to
harass.
The riders of mind were not
provided with proper nourishment,
Those dull days, wake the strong desire to become an ascetic.
In Sad days, mind was automatically mapping
the Himalyan.
In those very days, we stepped
out in unlustful and clean premises,
Without any warm wrapping.
Bereft of father's protection and
mother's love,
Those days were the orphan days
to live our own.
Beyond the softness of love and any confession,
A far spreaded, scattered day,
Somewhere, far away from the
mildew days.
Away from everyday scrimmage and Tam
ladder dredge,
Clean and, tidy.
Sprawling days like the clothes
hung on ripcord.
Even the nights settling down at
the edges of those days,
Forgot, the paths of dreams.
Then only, revealed the common
strategy of world and dreams.
We were sitting with our back
toward worldliness, in those days,
And there was a secret agreement
between worldliness and dreams
With deaf ear to every knock; the
days of solitude stubborn yogi,
Then we had donated the entity
of, all the worries.
Making proper distance; Like
table-cloth laid straight, in wait,
In those days we drank enough
geriatric rosy-evenings.
Slept with firmly tied corners of
white sheet.
Relentlessly to target on Stone
Age;
We wanted to blow up our pet
dreams, one by one,
In those, very days.
Also, we wanted to see; How Big
is the sky for those dreams?
Blood was dripping for years, in
the courtyard of our soul.
And the resulted anguish of not realized
them was reduced in compunction.
Nevertheless, the dreams have
left their footprints.
When the turn of choosing
something come up;
In queuing times, never falling
short in the series,
We chose those peerless days.
So far, we did not have chewed a
piece of them,
The days with head tied scarf,
Go by looking at the sight of
squirrel’s agility.
Yet there was not any compunction
on;
Losing of noon of the day.
The smell of gas gulped in the
arteries, and we are certain.
On otherwise days we might be
packed into a bundle, with died of fear.
But those were unsurpassed days.
The pleasure to sit close to
those days was delight and frowzy,
When in any exercise; those days
will be recorded,
The same days will make NOISE in
our ACCOUNT.
...............................by Vipin Choudhary
 |
My lovely daughter |
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In Dilli Hatt |
 |
Again IN DILLI HATT |
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With Her SIS at HOME |
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