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 …