Mind Frame

Does the universe really have a soul? When an unwed mother of a four year old, Sleeps un-sheltered in the February cold, While men stare, some young some old, And winter chills her frail young bones. Stares feel like jagged stones. Does the universe really have a soul?

Then there were those nights. Long cold ones. My sister and I would camp on top of our terrace. Climb a 10 by 6 meter long water tank by measure of an old rusty ladder. Cold January winter wind would blow away the chance for any fleeting insect to interrupt our conversations. We did nothing but lay back on our backs immune to the cold concrete beneath us gazing at stars as if each narrated a tale. Minutes turned to hours and the nights went late only to be suddenly interrupted by the need to eat by someone among us and the long lecture by someone who would ask for more time. A plane or two would land sometime infringing the peaceful circular motion of the sky and its family or the flickering of someones TV set from a nearby building taller than ours. Few things mattered then in the pitch dark peaceful hideout - in the open yet away from all else. Some days never return, I hope these do.

दिन का सदमा झेल चूका जब रात को घर लौट आये, और तारे चमके, निंदिया बिखरे, सिराहना सिमट न पाए, बादल बिसरे और मेघा तनहा चादर पर शीत लेहर बरसाए, उठ खड़ा शरीर नीली रतिया मैं बह जाये. अवाज़ फिजा की कानो मैं कोयल सी यह कह जाये - जो है अभी है - कल यह नहीं है - सूरज सब ले जाये. रात में तू सपने ना देख, जब रतिए सावन सहलाये.