Kitabein jhankti hai band almari ke sishon se,
badi hasrat se takti hai ye,
mahino ab mulakatein nahi hoti.
Books peering wistfully through the glass windows
Its been months since we last met
Jo shamein unki shahubat mein kata karti thi
Ab aksar guzar jati hai computer ke pardon par
Badi bechain rehti hai ye kitabein,
unhe ab neend mein chalne ki aadat ho gayi hai.
Those evenings ,spent in their company once
Are now spent glued to the computer screen.
Those books are now growing restless
And have begun sleep walking …
Jo kadre wo sunati thi,
ki jinkein cell kabhi marte nahi the,
Jo rishtey wo sunate thi
wo saare udhre udhre hai
The insights that they used to share,
with cells that never died on us
The bonds that they shared
are now threadbare
Koi safa palat-ta hun toh ek siski nikalti hai,
Kai lafzon ke maane gir pade hai.
Bina patton ke sukhen tund lagte hai woh sab alfaz,
Jin par ab koi mane nai ugte
Now when I flip a page, a sob escapes
Many words scattered, and hollow
Looking like withered stubs
Upon which another leaf might never sprout
Zabaan pe zaika aata tha jo woh safa palatne ka,
Ab ungli click karne se bas ek jhapki gujarti hai.
Bahut kuch tay batay khulta chala jata hai parde par.
Kitabon se jo ek jyaati raabta tha, kat gaya hai.
The flavour that used to linger on the tongue
As one flipped the pages
Now all it takes is just a click
In the blink of an eye
Much said, and much more revealed on the screen.
That familiar connect is now broken -
Kabhi seene pe rakh kar let jaate the,
kabhi godi mein lete the, kabhi ghutnon ko apne rehal ki soorat bana kar,
neem sajdheymein padha karte the.
Chute the zameen se.
Reclining with the book
stretched across the bosom,
sometimes nestled on one’s lap,
sometimes resting on one’s knees-
doubling up as a book rest
grazing the earth, Half- bowed in prayer …
Woh saara illm toh milta rahega aainda bhi,
magar woh jo kitabon mein mila karte the sukhen phool aur mehken hue roke
Kitabein mangne, girne, uthane ke bahane rishtey bantey the, unka kya hoga?
Woh sayad ab nahi honge…"
All that learning shall continue
but those dry pressed flowers, the fragrant notes
those relationships that were forged
amid borrowing, dropping and picking of books?
That perhaps may happen no more …