The Homecoming....Back to Our Roots

 Recited at You, Me and Poetry on Thursday 04?06/2026 for the theme Gharvaapasi/ Homecoming.

So here we are, journeyed roads unknown,

Chasing impossible dreams, the world has shown,

Deawn by glitter, speed and change,

We wandered through a widening range.

We carried forward the I, me, Myself charade,

With lies, deceit, hate, that the foundation laid,

We measured worth by wealth and size,

Saw deaths, assault and inhuman acts rise.

The noise grew louder, hearts grew cold,

Respect, goodwill, kindness, seemed ancient and old,

Respect gave way to carless words,

The wisdom of elders, they went unheard,

Courtesy faded from daily sight, 

Self  came first and wrong was deemed right.

Across the world unrest has grown,

Of fear and conflict, the seeds have been sown.

Though progress shines in many ways,

Brotherhood and peace eludes our troubled days.

We wore the modern cloak of greed with pride,

While simplicity and grace was callously cast aside.

But now the hour strikes, it's time to turn around,

We need to plant our feet back upon ancient ground,

Perhaps its time for a homecoming-

Not to a place but a way of being.

Let honesty be what we speak out loud,

Not the lies and deceit, to please the passing crowd.

Let civic sense and quiet virtue guide,

As we walk together, side by side.

Talking Pictures

 Tasveerein bolti nain, phir bhi bahut kuchh keh jaati hai,

Beete hue mausamon ki khushbu ssath le aati hai I

Jo pal lautkar kabhi nahi aate, Unhein umrabhar ke liye amar banaati hai I

Pictures do not breathe ,

Yet they keep hearts alive,

 They utter no words, 

Yet they speak the language of the soul.

They are our life's timelines,

Gathering fragments of our life,

Before they are carried away, 

By restless winds of tomorrow.

A baby's first uncertain step,

A birthday candle glowing with hope,

Joyful tears at a wedding,

A graduation cap tossed towards the sky.

A family or a group of friends,

Enjoying moments together,

When seen after a few years,

The ordinary feels extraordinary.

Every picture captures more than a moment,

It captures laughter before it fades,

And dreams and hopes before things change,

Love that grows beyond the widening distances.

A soldier stands beneath an unfamiliar sky,

A worn photograph of his wife and kids,

In this picture lives his courage,

His purpose and reason to return.

A faded portrait resting beside a lamp,

Maybe all that remains

Of someone whose voice

The world can no longer hear.

Yet families still smile through tears,

Friends still pause in silent conversations,

For love does not disappear with a heartbeat,

It lingers in every cherished picture.

Then there are pictures we dare not look at too often,

Our parents.....

Once the towering trees that sheltered every storm,

Their shoulders stoop a little lower, hair grow a little whiter.

Their hands gentler, slower.....wrinkled far too much,

The pictures then reveal,what hurried days conceal,

Time is slipping away,

For the ones we love the most.

When we search old albums,

 Old memories come alive,

Childhood, youth and adulthood,

We remember the joys and strife.

Pictures become mirrors,

They show us who we are,

They portray emotions,

And show who we have become.

They measure life's journey, not in years,

But in love shared, hands held,

Tears that fell,

And dreams fulfilled.

Pictures are truly precious,

For when time steals our youth, 

When distance separates hearts,

Words fail and memories fail, pictures keep talking.

Pictures are embedded,

In the deep corners of our heart,

Reminding us that life is never counted by the years we lived,

But the moments we loved enough to remember,

Yes! Pictures talk.

Sometimes I Wonder.... If a Goddess Ever Gets to be Human

 Recited at the anniversary event of You, Me and Poetry on Thursday 2nd April, 2026.

The theme was- Sometimes I Wonder.

I started with a couplet by the poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz-

Bol ki lab aazaad hai tere,

Bol ki zubaan ab tak teri hai,

Tera sutvaan jism hai tera,

Bol ki jaan ab tak teri hai.

Bol ye thoda wakt bahut hai,

Jism-o-jubaan ki maut ke pehle,

Bol ki sacch zinda hai ab tak,

Bol, jo kucch kehna hai keh le!

They said we are Goddesses, worshipped in temples,

Adorned with flowers,

Names of Shakti whispered and loud in prayers.

Yet at home, we fold in silence.....

Measured, moulded, made smaller than our worth,

Not all men , but always a man.

She steps out to work, to build, to dream,

Yet she carries the weight of two worlds on her shoulders,

The office may applaud her ambition,

But the kitchen and the kids still call her name.

Her success never enough to set her free,

Not all men, but always a man.

She asks for nothing, yet she must ask for everything,

Permission to go, to speak, to choose,

To wear what she wants, to be who she is.

Her will negotiated, her voice, her feelings filtered,

Her freedom wrapped in conditions,

Not all men, but always a man.

Words become weapons she never deserved,

Abuses hurled in the names of mothers, sisters, daughters.....

Her identity reduced to relations,

 Her dignity questioned, her space invaded,

Even her silence is not left untouched,

Not all men , but always a man.

She is told how to sit, how to dress, how to exist,

Too loud, too bold, too much, too less.....

She learns to shrink, to adjust, to survive,

In a world that celebrates her in verses,

 But denies her herself in reality,

Not all men, but always a man.

Sometimes I wonder-

If a Goddess ever gets to be human,

If worship ever meant respect,

 If she will ever live without fear, without permission,

Or if her strength will always be mistaken for silence,

Not all men, but always a man.