The Song Bird


Someone asked me,”Should a blog be used to rant about personal issues? Is it alright to expose your vulnerable side to the entire world?  Is it in good taste to bare your heart’s innermost feelings in front of  everyone? One can write about so many other things then why whine, rave and rant on a blog and why not use a pillow instead to cry your heart out? There will be hundreds who will offer you sympathy but that’s all BS. Actually no one cares a hoot.”

I listened patiently and said,”I don’t do it often and I don’t do it for sympathy. That is the last thing I want from somebody. Sympathy and pity. I write for no particular reason. Not everyone reads my meltdowns and those who do, maybe it helps them overcome theirs. Who knows? ”

Obviously she and I did not see eye to eye on this like many other things. So, if you think personal outbursts are not your reading material, move on. For, this is going to be one such post.

Sometimes one goes through this deluge of “what ifs and whys, If only and I wish” and seeks answers to questions which are better not raised. Questions which burn like embers in a dying fire. If you stir it you might start a wild fire. Uncontrollable and Unstoppable.

Your heart gets filled to the brim with this deluge and overflows on the blog. I think it is cathartic in more than one ways.

It makes me restless to realize that there is no escape to freedom. There isn’t a thing called ‘freedom.” It is always a caged reality. The cage gets bigger and better than the previous one but the walls begin to rise magically the moment you want to step out and not just the walls , the roof and the floor begin to close in till you choke and gasp for breath and surrender to “what is”.

It’s a woman’s life. A caged song bird.

“You always think as if  the entire world is out to get you and is conspiring against you.” She said. (It is strange when women talk about women’s issues in this fashion. Why am I surprised anyway? )

I think it is because at times I feel it.

Not the entire world maybe but then my world is very small. It is a world within a world and in this world are people who don’t give a damn about what I go through but are ready to make snide remarks, pass judgement, show all kind of indifference camouflaged as love, care, support and what not. It is an art. Not all posses this skill.

How does one feel to leave behind young children  in a personal quest for dignified living?  Mind you it is very different from “empty nest syndrome”  and ‘one day kids will grow up and do their own things and go their own way” thing. It is a living, pulsating, raw hurt which eats you away bit by bit. You try to reason with your self  but fail. I always said, “I have given my boys roots and wings”, never knew it’s not them but I , who will fly away leaving them to fend for themselves. Leaving, in search of myself.

Did I find “myself” ?

“No” and “Yes”.

“No”, because there is a lot that is concealed. There is deeper play of shadows that I do not understand at times. A door opens and closes behind me. I forge my way through the unknown only to discover a wall , a trap or again a door, sometimes just a window or a crack. The search continues.

“Yes” , because I managed to cut out most of the weeds which were blocking my way. I bled and bruised myself but finally found myself at the edge of a new beginning. Another challenge but certainly not as suffocating as the previous one

Some prisons have no bars. Some cages are imaginary. Some others we build around us unknowingly or knowingly because we are used to certain comfort zones.

I sometimes wonder who has got who locked in the cage. I just might be free, on the other side of bars. Looking in. Remembering my time within the cage. The feeling sweeping through me whispering to me that I am still there when I am not.

Have you heard the song of the caged bird? Do you find it different from the one who is free?

One day when I woke up I saw I had grown new wings. They seemed so unfamiliar and yet they were part of it. I was scared to spread them lest I lose an illusion. Instead I wrapped them around me and found comfort in the new-found warmth but wings are meant for flying. They throbbed with exciting energy sending sparks into my listless soul to make use of them as I should.

With the break of new dawn I decided to take a plunge into the valley of unknown. Either to sink or to rise.

The cage suddenly didn’t seem to be there. Was I living an illusion or just a shattered one? I wondered.

I looked around at the crumbs , the bowl of water now empty and turned upside down. I looked at the blue sky , slowly spread my wings, flapped them, took a deep breath and folded them back. I wasn’t ready. Then the wind began to blow. It picked up the momentum and I could feel my cage sway with it. Scared of this wind of change I buried my head in my breast but with one shove I found myself at the edge of the window. Perched precariously. Now there was no turning back. I leaped on the back of the wind and dipped my wings in brilliant sunlight and claimed the sky which was truly mine but the storm raged in insane fury and rain lashed like whip of bare skin. Bewildered and panicked by the raging storm, blinded by the dark rain I plunged and rose with the tempest fighting the forces beyond me, trusting my wings to keep me afloat. Fear gripping me from within, a tight fist beneath my breast. Caught in the whirling skirts of winds I circled and circled and longed for the comfort of the cage I had left. I scanned the murky unknown, shadowy in parts brightly lit in parts, a plethora of possibilities that could take me anywhere.

Startled by the fire bolt that swept the sky with lurid glow I screamed and was shocked to hear my own voice, stilled for so long. If I could scream in fear I could sing in joy. I began to hum and the words came back to me. Muted words buried in some deep crevices of my heart. In the midst of rolling thunder and chaos I had found my song. I began to sing and I don’t know when and how I glided out of the storm into a blaze of color — oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples, molten gold and when I looked down I saw deep green mountains and rivers coppery with sunset.

Then , at that moment I realized , “Deep in the heart of winter, there lay within me an invincible spring.”

I realized that the cage though real was also imagined. I had built it myself.  It was wherever I went and no matter where I would run, I just ended up running into myself. If you stay within the patterns and conformity you carry the cage with you. I broke those patterns and reclaimed myself, my freedom.

Songbird

This post is especially written for a songbird who lives in the Pyrenees.

No More A Trophy Wife


Sharp as mustard

his words stung and left

a trail of poison in my veins

the marks that you see on my face

are the scarred gashes of my  heart

parts of my body hurt

even with  friction of the clothes

I’m used to the metallic taste

of the human blood

“Perform” he used to say

his sandpaper lips

corroded my skin

rapacious, savage, fire-breathing monster

with tongue whipping in and out like a snake

his fangs exposed and dripping

large paws groping, trusting , tearing

mauling and ripping my soul

confused, deranged, wet and slimy

I lugged my pain streaked carrion

meticulously concealed

nothing but  a battered rag doll

with a wound between the legs

who says “time is a healer”

it torments, prolongs

I mulled memory wine for long

filled glasses, raised toasts

got drunk

and then one day

sprawled on the cold floor

I packed my dreams

gathered my hopes

threw you in the trash

crumpled ball of ink smudged paper

No more a sacrificial lamb

or a tasty morsel

a part of your feast

No more a nauch girl

a marionette

a trophy wife

to flaunt

and

keep encased

behind concrete walls

when not in use

I would rather

live on the streets

under the open sky

but will not be used, abused

humiliated, I won’t

become your trophy wife

I won’t succumb, I’ll fight

I will give  up

but won’t give in

my soul is hardened

I am a rock

63 Years of Freedom – What is this freedom we are talking about ?


This post is part of Blogadda Mera Bharat Mahan Contest

I am giving all my readers some food for thought on the eve of Independence day . Do read all the links please to understand  what I point I am making.

India Shining – celebrating the 63 years of freedom from ” British Raj” .

The whole country is singing patriotic songs , blogs are getting updated every second telling how proud we are to be Indians and how much we have achieved since that day in August 1947.

The question that comes to me again and again is , what is this freedom we are celebrating ? Is it just the transfer of power from British to Indian  or do we have something more ? Are we truly free nation, free thinking society ?

In a country where the great divides of the society tell a shameful story what are we celebrating any way? The economic, gender, cast based communal and religious  divides that have created the worst possible divides in the hearts of the masses.

We talk of AMAN KI ASHA ( read my poem)but when I talk to common people I still feel that the bitterness that brews in them in much worse than before. Hindu /Muslim divide even after so much awareness is till not sorted out in the hearts and minds of people .

The sweeper who   comes to take garbage  at our place does not drink water from the hands of a Muslim domestic help and that too low-caste Muslim. The attitude makes me sick and ashamed I try to convince but the beliefs rooted from centuries in masses are hard to wipe out .. the efforts still go on ..

We have bridged distances with advance technology but were we able to bridge the distance in the hearts of people ? The Brits went but we carried their slogan of Divide and rule and did justice to it fully and don’t you think it is shameful that the country is much more divided than it was 63 years back ? Separatism and then to top it separate stateism , what more is in store for this “Free nation “?

All the talk about  Women’s empowerment  { LINK } seems so hollow. The term “Women Empowerment ” has a lot of hot air fanned from this end to that end of the country for quite sometime now and nothing substantial has come out of it  other than discussions, speeches, talks by woman’s groups etc.

What have done to improve our society, to change the mind-set of the aam janta who still believes strongly in age-old dogmas, rituals that  are inhuman but still prevail in the name of religion like Witch Hunting honor killings and much more .

A country still where domestic violence , sexual abuse, Rape , malnutrition, poverty, unemployment and many such issues still stare at our face mocking us for all our tall claims. How can that country rejoice Independence in true sense?

Are we truly Independent

When our girls are killed before they are even born ? [ Link } { Link }

When thousands of children go through sexual ,  emotional abuse and there is no specific law for child abuse ? { Link }

When there is an urgent need to make the much awaited changes in the constitution ? Where one  has to question  what are the policy makers doing and for whom ?

When issues like Marital Rape and domestic violence ( male victims) are pushed under the carpet  and are best forgotten  because of social stigma and shame ?

When the masses are ignorant, confused, uneducated and don’t know whom to look up to for guidance and support , when people are dying due to lack of basic amenities like health ,food and shelter even drinking water ,  how can we celebrate freedom and from what ?

When we have census based on caste  what does one expect with this nation?

Do you feel proud today on hearing that  Indian Parliament members have criminal charges on them, “including human trafficking, immigration rackets, embezzlement, rape and even murder” all the time . At state level, things are often worse. People have lost faith in the efficiency of the system due to corruption at all levels. Power , judiciary all are just toys in the hands of some rich and powerful and average person is still figuring out what’s this all about .

What kind of freedom is this where every day there are a ” million mutinies ” Read this TOI article by my brother to know how our country is under siege which is brewing within at a colossal cost of blood and resources .

Who is responsible for the farmers committing  suicides in Orissa and other places and the cast based atrocities all over the country ?

Do we ever ponder about these issues  and actually do something about it – positively  and not just talk or write about them.

How many of us Be the change  they want to see ?

We are free to make our own choices but do we have a choice really ???

and when we do have it  then

Do we make that choice to stand against and fight for injustice and all the evils that infest our minds and in same way our society ?

We send hundreds of messages , mails , blog on Independence Day , congratulate and rejoice  but we hardly spare a thought on issues which are dirty to look at but  are the stark realities of today’s India ?

Till when will we live in a denial mode? Who are we fooling?

I am writing this article today  to roll the carpet on which we have danced, dined and drank to celebrate our country’s Independence Day for so long never bothering  to look beneath . Just as we are criminally indifferent to many other aspects of life including introspection  we are indifferent by choice  to look at those glaring issues that need to be  removed from the core.

I hope when you are through  with reading this  at least in one of you something will stir within and that will be the first step to freedom.. true freedom .. shedding all that is not you , that which needs to be wiped clean and not pushed behind the door.

If our minds , our hearts are in bondage and we have not learned in 63 years how to use the freedom  we got with so many sacrifices then we have  no reason to say I AM A PROUD INDIAN

I would love to have this gift from pingoo

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Short Story : A Price for Freedom


My name is Mittu. It not a name given by my parents. In fact I never had any name till Sanju found me. I was born in a village by the river. It had fruit gardens and mustard fields. I lived there with my family and a friend. My father was killed when I was a baby. He was electrocuted. Since then I have been afraid of electric poles and those snake-like high voltage wires.

My mother brought up me and my two siblings with great care and affection. I was the most handsome looking among all the young children in our group. My mother always kept an eye on me until that fateful day.

I was out in the mango orchard on a fine sunny Sunday when something hit me on my back and I fell on the ground witching with pain. A boy stood there with a sling shot laughing mercilessly. He picked me up roughly, took me home and caged me.

Since then I am here. Sanju, as I later found his name, was a ruffian who had no love for any one. He fought with other children, brutally kicked the street dogs, poked the village cows and troubled his parents no end.

He even cut my wings and poked me with a sharp thing insisting that I should say his name. I cried in vain .Sometimes the kind woman of the house threatened Sanju and made him run but mostly she was herself so oppressed by the two male members in her home that I was left alone to fight my battle. She was Sanju’s mother.

She would get up at about four in the morning and whole day she slogged in the house, got water from the well, cut grass in the fields, tended the cows and silently took the abuses and sometimes beatings of her drunkard husband. Thankfully he was rarely at home. He stayed in a home nearby with another woman who liked to put on a lot of make up and made him dance to her tunes. I know because Sanju one day took me there. She did not allow him to leave me at her home so we had to return the same night.

I liked Sanju’s mother. I think she understood my sorrow and misery just as I did hers. Many a times she would gaze at the open sky and then look at me with such kindness and passion that it made my heart melt. I too would look out from my cage and watch the swaying trees, the birds merrily chirping on them, the vast sky with candy floss clouds.

She would sigh too and get back to work .Like me she too was caged in her home, dying to spread her wings and free her from all the shackles. We developed a silent bond between us. She would smile and talk to me when alone in the house. Many a times I heard her singing to herself. She taught me to say RAM RAM but this I would say only when the two tyrants were not around. Sanju continued to bully me and even kept me hungry for two days when she went to attend some wedding in the next village.

I watched in horror as she suffered abuses from her husband as well as her son. Many a times there would be no food left for her and she would go hungry. Some times if she had a little left to eat Sanju would demand food again and she would lovingly forego her meal. It infuriated me but I was just a spectator. No one was concerned about her well-being. Even when the men wore new clothes I always saw her in an old sari.

I longed to get out of the cage and tried in vain to open the latch .She must have noticed me doing that because one day she opened the cage and set me free. There was a small wall made of mud where she set me with her soft hands and smilingly said, “Fly away little bird. Enjoy your freedom.”

I wanted to take her with me. I looked at her with moist eyes and tried to spread my wings and fly but fell on my face.

I discovered with horror that No bird with chopped wings could fly. It was the most helpless moment of my life. She too watched with silent pain as she carefully lifted me and caressed my back.

She took me back in the veranda and made me sit near her as she cooked the lunch. She talked with me of her childhood and many other things and I jumped around her in joy, trying to respond as well as I could. I had never seen her so happy.

I would perch on her shoulder as she would hang clothes on the clothes line or just hop around alongside when she cleaned the veranda with a small broom. We became inseparable. Two friends who were resigned to their fate and making the best of it. Life got some meaning for both of us and I did not miss my mother and family that much.

Whole day I would roam around free, eating fruits, nuts and other good stuff. Sometimes I would drop a few nuts in her lap or do some antics which would make her laugh. That would make her look ten years younger. It pleased me no ends to watch her laugh and enjoy.

Life went on well till the day she fell sick. Although she could barely walk, she still did her routine work. I felt sorry and frustrated. Her condition went from bad to worse and the two heartless men abandoned her and moved into the big house of that fashionable lady.

She mutely watched her plight.

Sanju did not care much about me anymore so I roamed free and the cage was put in one corner. I would silently sit near her bed watching her muttering to herself .The little girl who sometimes came to take milk now came once a day to feed her. She even gave me water and food. I prayed for her happiness.

She died in her sleep after few days. I was beside her when she breathed last. My cries must have brought the little girl’s mother for she came and hurriedly informed the others.

I now stay with her family. Many a time I go to the abandoned house and look around and feel her warm presence.

She got freedom from all her miseries and so did I in a different way. Each one of us gained our freedom with a price to pay.

On the wings of love …


“There is no punishment so severe as that suffered by the woman who finds herself imprisioned between a man she loves and another man who loves her. Susan suffered through a constant and painful conflict, but performed sorrowfully and honourably and silently her duties as a wife. She tried, but could not choke her honest love for you”

Secrets of heart by Khalil Gibran

++

She watched the evening sun bathe the hills in unusual shades of colors. The sounds of the temple bells echoed in the serene valley. Sitting on the steps of the old temple, she felt her heartbeats merge with the melodious tinking of the bells. The green hues, the vibrant colorful carpet of wild flowers, the intoxicating fragrance of the incense sticks all made her warm from within.

Her gaze fixed on the meandering steps going down to the village. A stream of Women in bright clothes flowed gently like a colorful ribbon. It was the annual festival for the married women. Tears rolled down her kohl lined eyes.

Her nimble fingers played nervously with the strings of jasmine flowers tied to her hair. The tide of love surged within her overflowing at times like a stupendous ocean.

One side of her chiselled face glowed in the amber light of the fading sun while the other was ash gray from pain and sorrow.

By law she was wedded to him, her husband of so many years, but, the twist of fate had something more in store for her ravaged heart and soul. By some universal conspiracy her heartstrings got tuned to another man. A man who inflamed her heart with the torch of love.

In the twilight of that evening she decided to tell me her story of her life.

“Is it permissible for a woman to buy her happiness with her husband’s misery?” And my soul added, “Is it lawful for a man to enslave his wife’s affection when he realizes he will never possess it?”

from Sprit Rebellious by Khalil Gibran

Born in a family which gave her the wings to fly and seek her own horizon, she had never known the chains that cage a woman to her husband’s home once married. In the prime of her youth she found a man who doted on her and offered her all the riches he could to make her his beloved. High on the wine of first love she decided to marry the first man who charmed her heart with flowers, presents and promises of love and protection.

The moment she stepped into her new home she knew she had entered a plastered grave. As time passed slowly she shed her skin and got into another to adapt to her new role as wife, daughter-in-law and mother. Her soul dwelled in an unknown body of a woman she did not associate with. She kept her dreams, desires, aspirations, hopes all locked up in the vault of her heart. Buried so deep that even she could not reach out to them.

He was generous and kind at one time and a ruthless tyrant and oppressor at others. She on the other hand withered like a plant deprived of care and love, craving for a touch of kindness and understanding. She played her role to perfection, hiding all her misery, pain and distress but somewhere deep within a spark glowed in her. An eternal spark of universal love, a caged spirit yearning to break the bandages and free itself.

For years she felt like an empty bottle thrown in a corner by some drunkard. Sh cried and suffered the agony of being alone in the midst of a so-called family with a man who wanted her mind, body and soul in exchange of food, shelter and security he provided. He wanted her submit to his commands , to buy her in lieu of the name he had given her in the hypocrite society.

She tried hard to accept her fate and fill the gaps, the cracks and empty spaces with love and caring but could not. The void grew larger and larger with each passing day.

Spiritually, emotionally and intellectually buried in that grave, she spent her life thinking about what more the destiny had in store for her.

She wanted an escape, if not from her cage then at least from her agony. She wanted freedom from the man who was atrracted to her body but wa repelled by her spirit. She did not want to be a platter of exotic food to be relished at will by the man she had married.

She wanted to break the chains and free her soul, her spirit refused to kneel and obey all the time. She wanted solace for her crushed heart and melancholy. She began to feel the spark within her turn into a sacred fire.

Engulfed by a spiritual hunger she began to rise from her ashes like a phoenix. She gathered the remnants of her strength, unchained the irons of helplessness, and spread her wings, untying them from the shackles of weakness to rise into the spacious sky of love. She ceased selling her body for food, sheltered material benefits.

“Many times ignorance kills a woman’s honour and revives her passion”- Gibran

A smile appeared on her lovely face. The sun had by now merged with the lake below making it shimmer like molten gold. The birds were getting ready for the night and the place was filled with the excited chirping and sounds of the flapping wings. She gazed at the trees which stood in deep meditation around the temple.

The cool breeze played softly with her soft hair which she gently pushed away from her dark eyes. It was getting dark but I wanted her to continue. She said she was in no hurry as the family had gone for some outing.

I got two cups of hot sweet tea in earthen cups and handed her one. She thanked me and cupped her hands around the “kullahar”. Her face radiated with the memory of her beloved as she spoke.

“I have not seen him, never met him but our hearts are joined by some divine force. My soul, my body and my heart is devoted to him by the will of the creator. We are inseparable and nothing can take away my happiness from me now. Our love is based on understanding and is protected by the universal powers. Two bodies living in two different continents joined by a bond deeper than any ocean. I don’t have a name for it. ”

“He made me feel like a woman again. Appreciated my intellect, my passion for life, my insatiable wish to be alive and live life to the fullest. I found my reason to live in his affection and caring For it is true that love can not be given on demand, it descends in our hearts by some unknown will of God. I tried to love the man I married in the name of Law but in vain. My beloved helped me break my bondage without getting hurt, he helped me untie my wings and taught me to fly. I heard the echoes of my thoughts and dreams in him. There was a connection I could not explain. We live in an age where distances do not matter when you have a will to connect. ” She spoke in honeyed voice filled with gratitude and affection.

I did not ask her how they communicate if they do not meet, the question burned in my heart but I refrained from asking. She was already telling enough to label her as an unfaithful wife in the name of society seeped in ignorance and hypocrisy. I saw her glow with sincere, honest , undying love, a reflection of what she got from her beloved.

He was her muse, the man who inspired her to dip her heart in colors and paint beautiful pictures through her verses, stories, songs. Sitting on the wings of hope and joy together they took a flight into the unknown, confident of the unbreakable bond between them.

She was not afraid of the end for the beginning was far more beautiful than she could ever imagine. Though each suffered the miseries written by fate in their account , their hearts warmed up towards one another. No walls of pretensions and falsehood stood between them.

She loved him unconditionally and revered him for reviving the woman buried inside her. For love, understanding, support and warmth of care.

He helped her take that first step towards freedom, towards life. He revealed to her the secrets of the heart by rekindling the fire of passion in her. His appreciation and encouragement led her to weave the most beautiful yarns of life through her words. He brought back music into her dull and mundane life. She began to love herself, the woman in her for him. Every moment was an unreplacable miracle full of hope and a want to soar. She worshiped the man who had in just a matter of time changed her fate. In the empty spaces of her heart he placed little bundles full of surprises. She beacme a child woman once more forgetting all her pain and took all her hardships face on. Love made her courageous and strong.

She on the other hand gave herself to him completely with a honest promise of love and caring and all that is hers. An absolute devotion, sharing his pain and sorrows as her own. healing him of his miseries ( at least trying to). She did her best to bring joy and peace to his life knowing all his weaknesses and turmoil of everyday life.

She found solace in his being and not being, silence and reciprocation, togetherness and absence, knowing that he will be there wherever, whenever she needs him just as she will stand by him till her last breath.

Ii was a rough pathway they had carved for themselves not knowing where it will lead them and I hoped and prayed that this love should continue to blossom eternally like the moon and the stars, blessed by the forces of the universe.

I watched as she stood proud and content beaming with joy in her new found self and said a silent prayer for the man who changed the course of life for at least one woman, freeing her from her cage and giving her wings , hoping that he would one day feel her love for him through me and be receptive of what the divinity had bestowed on him

Ek Chadar maili si


Apni zindagi me jhanka to beete huye salon se bhari huyi kitab ke panne bikharte chale gaye. vyaktigat sangharsh ke dauran apne ko kahin door chor diya aur rookne ka vaqt hi nahi mila. Khudko samjhne ka, sarahne ka aur khilne ka.

Aaj ek kasmasahat hai. Apne se sambandh toota hua lagta haiMann ki dehleez par kayi sapne , kayi vichar khade hain. Kuch purani pehchan hai unse.
Jivan ek tarfa sa ho gaya tha, mere andar ki kalakar, likhika, nari, nartaki, jayika aur ped, paudho se pyar karne wali malin, barish ki phuhar me sahaj hansnewali aurat aur sath hi aurat hone ka ehsas ,sabhi kuch ek purane kapdo ki gathari me bandh kar mann ke kisi kone me phenk diya tha. apni nayi seemayon me main aisi bandhi ki sare shringar choot gaye aur ek sookhepan ki chadar ordh lee.

Zimmedarion ki ye chadar ab ghisne lagi hai.
Ise uthar dena chahti hun.. ek rahat ,ek aazadi ka ehsas mehsoos karna chahti hun.. ek nayi chadar odhne ka..shayd aadat si ho gayi hai chadar odhne ki..ek suraksha ka ehsas milta tha, garmahat ka bhi. Chadar hi mera astitva ban kar reh gayi thi.. meri pehchan.

Kaun hai es chadar ke neeche, kiska jism hai, kaisa hai, kis rang kahai, kaisa dikhta hai ye jism ..sab bhool gayi thi main.
aaj phir wo jism chadar tale karvaten le raha hai ..khle aakash me pankh lagakar udna chahta hai .. khwab dekhna chahta hai, unhe sakar karna chahta hai.. chadar ki garmahat se nikal kar insani garmahat ko mehsoos karna chahta hai..

us naadi ki tarah behna chahta hai .jo apna rasta khud banati hai ..virodh me tod kar nikalna chahta ..talab ban kar thaharna nahi chahta ..bandhna nahi chahta .mukt hona chahta hai.
pane ko dekhna chahta hai paas se ..apne me sabko samana chahta hai.
Jana chahta hai us sansar ki aur jo usme hai ..mujhme hai.hawa, khushboo, samudra, badal sab banana chahta hai ..ek bhasha ek parivesh nahi ..sab kuch.

is maili si ghisi chadar ko utar aaj maine pehli bar khud se mulaqat ki ..apne andar ki sundar nari se do baaat ki ..
sab bandhan , sab zanjeeren tod de. aaj apne ko sahi mayne me muqt kiya ..

Ab main khud apni pehchan hun ..

samay aa gaya hai apne se judne ka… jeene ka .. apni abhivyaqtiyon ke dwar kholne ka.. jeevan me rang bharne ka .

Samay aa gaya hai  sadiyon se bari khamoshi ko todne ka ..apne sapno apne adhikaron ko aawaz dene ka..