October 26th, 2013

wave

Ek nagm

Ek bachpan kA zamAna thA,
jismE khushiyOn kA khazAna thA;

There was a world of childhood,
Where there was a treasury of joys;

chAhat chAnd kO pAnE kI thI,
par dil titli kA dIwAnA thA.

The ambition was to get the moon,
But the heart wanted the butterfly, too.

khabar na thI kuch subah kI,
na shAm kA thikAnA thA;

There was no knowledge of mornings
No certainty of the evenings;

thak hArke AnA padhAyI sE,
par khElnE bhI jAnA thA.

We'd come tired from school
But we could go and play.

mA kI kahAnI thI,
pariyOn kA fasAnA thA;
bArish mEn kAgaz kI nAv thI,
har mausam suhAnA thA.

There were mother's stories,
Stories about fairies;
There were paper boats in the rains;
Every season was pleasant.

har khEl mEn sAthI thE,
har rishtA nibhAnA thA;
gam kI zubAn na hOtI thI,
na zakhmOn kA paimAnA thA.

There were friends for every game,
Every relationship was important;
There was no sorrow,
Nor the pain of wounds.

rOnE kI wajah na thI,
na hansne kA bahAnA thA;
kyOn hO gayE ham itnE badE,
isse achhA tO wOh bachpan kA zamAnA thA...

No cause to cry,
No pretense in laughter;
Why have we grown up...
Our world of childhood was better....
wave

Decay

DSC00492

A house in which no one lives
Any more. Dead sere leaves
Floating, spent, on a pool
Of autumn rain. Shut windows,
Reflected in the parking
Reserved for a pastor
Who suffered from cancer,
And passed away: whose wife,
Now the pastor, struggles
With health, herself.
What was once live, and green, and young
Passes into the waiting arms
Of mortality.
There remains, only, the hope
That the cycle will start
Once again, and the sap will rise
In a new spring, a house alive
With a family, and the parishioners
Renew their faith.