Poetry

By Dr. Hari Mohan Saxena दादी और पोती की झकझक शुरू सुबह से चले रात तक, अपनी ही बातें मनवाने जुट जाते ताकत अजमाने। दादी का प्राचीन ज़माना पोती देखे नया ज़माना, ना पोती ने उनका माना ना दादी ने उसको जाना। राग पुरातन दादी गातीं बीती बातें उसे सुनतीं, पोती को वे रास न आतीं फिर भी चुप कर सुनती जाती। दादी अनुशासन की पक्की पोती उन्हें समझती झक्की, नियम कायदे से वे चलतीं पर पोती पे दाल न गलती। आलस और कामचोरी से दादी को काफी नफरत थी, पोती मगर सुधर न पाई उसकी ये पक्की आदत थीं। दादी सुबह भ

By Dr. Hari Mohan Saxena खुली पड़ौस में नई दुकान जिसमें सजे सभी मिष्ठान्न, हलवाई से कर ली यारी चखी मिठाई मैंने सारी। बूँदी के लड्डू बनवाकर रखा थाल में उन्हें सजाकर, मैंने जब वह लड्डू खाया खाकर तृप्त स्वयँ को पाया। गरमा गरम जलेबी आई बड़े शौक से हमने खाई, मीठे रस में डूबी आई हमने देख लार टपकाई। बर्फी रँग बिरँगी देखी सभी स्वाद में बड़ी अनोखी, मावे में मेवा था डाला स्वाद बन गया बड़ा निराला। रसगुल्ला भी जमकर खाया गोल मटोल, मधुर रस भाया, छेने से था उसे बनाया मधुर चाशनी में तैराया। रसमल

By Dr. Hari Mohan Saxena सच और झूठ की विकट लड़ाई आदि काल से चलती आई, जीत अंत में सच की होती मगर झूठ को समझ न आई। झूठ शुरू में मोहक लगता करके खूब रंगाई पुताई, कच्चे रंग कहाँ टिकते हैं हों बदरँग जब होए धुलाई। मीठी मीठी बातें करके झूठ फरेब अनेकों करते, कुछ दिन झूठ भले चल जाए भेद खुले तब वह फँस जाए। क्षणिक लोभ और लाभ की खातिर अपराधी बन जाते शातिर, अपनी इज़्ज़त दाँव लगाते देर सबेर वो पकड़े जाते। सत्य शुरू में कड़वा लगता किन्तु अहित नहीं वह करता, सत्य मनुज को निर्भय करता कठिन परीक्षा से

By Dr. Hari Mohan Saxena क्या है माया, मोक्ष का चक्कर ? भटक रहे सब जन्म जन्मांतर, गुरु से पूछा शिष्य ने आकर गुरु ने खोला भेद, बताकर। बुद्धि माया के वश जब आती जीवन में अँधियारा लाती, पाप पुण्य की समझ न आती सच परदे में रख बहकाती। माया के हैं रूप अनेकों ज्ञान चक्षु से देखो, परखो, माया अहँकार पनपाती स्वजनों से ये दूर कराती। धन दौलत माया कहलाती आकर नर को यह भटकाती, चाँदी का दर्पण है माया खुद को लखे न दिखे पराया। ऊँचा पद अहम् को लाया विनम्रता को तब ठुकराया, चले गर्व से ताने सीना...

By C.R. Doolan My body is a capsizing vessel, Down, down, down,  I sink into the depths. Inky blackness greets me,  With endless promises,  And careful threats,  So I let it take me, Down, down, down, Because it is what I deserve.  I let it pull me further and further, And listen when it warns me,  To never look up. So I stay there,  Down, down, down, While the whole world twinkles above. But I don't look,  Instead I choose to forget about it, And let the darkness become my h

By C.R. Doolan At night I hear whispers, And flickers of flames, The witching hour, It comes once again. So find me in the meadow, In the heaviest of rain, The darkest of dark, To hide all my pain. The devil he speaks to me,  And knows me by name, His breath tickles my ear, As he poisons my brain. I scream till I’m hollow, Until I’m never the same, They walk past me whispering,  “Oh, she’s just insane.” By C.R. Doolan

By C.R. Doolan A tree starts it’s journey in the ground,  Curled up against cold, damp soil. Tucked so tightly it fears it may burst,  And it does. It cracks around the edges, And it shoots from the ground. And though it had felt like it was dying, It was only being born. And without bursting, it would have stayed tucked up in soil, For the rest of it’s endless life, Instead of simply growing  from the ruins. And then it begins to grow on two different sides. One side stretch

By C.R. Doolan The moon is an old friend of mine, She has always watched over me, Through countless nights as I toss and turn, As I dip in and out of sleeps cruel embrace. She who has always kept me company, While I struggle to find relief in sleep, When I wake delirious from lingering nightmares, Unable to tell fact and fiction apart as they mesh into one. She who has provided me with light, On nights I become fearful of the dark, Of the creeping creatures that reside within

By C.R. Doolan I'm sorry that I gave up, On chasing all your dreams,  I'm sorry that they called you names, Kids can be so mean.   I'm sorry you had to grow up, And that they lie about the fun, I'm sorry about the bad times,  But there are better things to come. I wish we could meet up, And I'd talk you through our life, How being mean makes money,  But it's better to be nice.  I wish that you'd hear this, And heed my advice,  All I ever wanted for us,  Was to have a good lif

By C.R. Doolan He was a fire, With eyes like dancing flames. He had a way of approaching silently,  Creeping in through the cracks in the doors, Slowly increasing the heat. I didn’t start sweating until a couple months in, But I couldn’t see any smoke in the air, So I stayed, Without realising I was already trapped. He was a fire, Burning everything in his path, Sucking the air from everyone he encountered. And every time I thought I’d stopped breathing,  He would restrain hi

By C.R. Doolan There once was a girl, Who lived in pain, Her dreams wanted sunshine, But her reality was rain. And she was very beautiful, With soft brown hair, But she was never told that, So she thought no one cared. But they all thought that she was, Hell, they all thought that she knew! But she didn’t think, That could possibly be true. And she always felt alone, So over time, Those beautiful brown eyes of hers, Lost their shine. Her smile started fading, Her shirt sleeve

By C.R. Doolan Silence has a strange way of conducting noise. The soft ticking of a clock turning into a sad ballad about the fear of wasting time. The unheard beat of a heart increasing in tempo as it thumps anxiously alongside tapping fingers. The air that usually fills and empties your lungs  catching in your throat as your breathing  becomes an inconsistent instrument in a lonely  orchestra. How can these sounds become so intense that you fear your ears may burst and blee

By C.R. Doolan I was born a porcelain vase  Beautiful, yet fragile  And though I looked strong, put together  I was always intended to break  I was made  to break  So I did Over and over  I broke with every raised voice, every disciplinary action, every called name  I broke in loud ways and silent ones  The silent ones always hurt the most  But the loud ones brought the embarrassment  The shame, the guilt  I spent my childhood doing arts and crafts Like any other child  But i

By Lydia Lim backlit by neon lights and syrup-sweet haze, belly laughing bashful-like and  lightning-struck into the backdrop, blank-faced. in the diner, we slide into red cushioned booths  and smoke cigarettes, breathing out smoke like ghosts on the circus floor. i steal a fry  off your plate, and your knee knocks  against mine. we smile and shed our jackets, dropping them  into the backseat. you know what i want,  i really want waffles right now. at 11p.m? yeah.  get your s

By Lydia Lim I remember the smile of a man too old for me and who I do not want in any way but for the warmth in his eyes and approval in his soft, curled words. I remember the taste of strawberry mints in the glistening heat of the afternoon as the fan churned somewhere above. Is this all that will be left of these two years, a remnant, futile, crashing fear? I am just some wide-eyed Bambi locked up inside a human’s skin, trembling in the back of this cage. But we recognise

By Lydia Lim Every dog barks but I whine. Primal, the distance sets in, me with the cage, the burn of cold iron. Every violent wind blows out of its socket. With a bone, and a ball, I wag my tail. Throw me a stick, and I’ll fetch it. You can remove the canine from the dog, but can you remove the yowling from the animal? Good boy!  Every admonishment flinches harsh, the quick sallow swallow stuck in a throat. When you come back, I’ll wait in the hallway, pacing a hole into the

By Lydia Lim twist the shirt, damp with saliva.  chew it up like a dog gnawing on a discarded bone, greyed-out,  and hollowed.  overhead, the willows droop, and  weep, and drip their heavy leaves.  cling onto the bark, rough, and raw,  the voice of a dog that has often been ignored. roll over, and acquiesce.  underneath, buried in the soil,  is that old rubber ball the dog used to play fetch with.  dried out, the wind howls, whipping shredded tatters of the old shirt onto the

By Lydia Lim Jealous as a rotten wound,  I could take your hand, and continue This drive uptown where the Road flies smooth. And we’re Eighteen again, and barely legal, Tumbling on seeded grass, and  Out of this sedan onto the concrete With scars on one hand, and  Bruises on another, cigarettes  Dripping smoke as we burn the  Night sky together. And what does it matter?  All this ice melting, and all this Liquor burning, and perhaps we Could be nine, and competing To see who

By Lydia Lim i love falling into my bed and tucking myself up to my chin, rolling onto my side and clutching a well-worn stuffed toy. i love the way i puff out my cheeks while mulling over a problem, my hands flailing off kilter as i peer into the sky. i love every awful caption i’ve ever written, every filtered photo of myself i took when i was in p3, and so what if i’m now seventeen? i’ll still buy myself stickers like i’m seven again, pockets spilling with glitter and othe

By Lydia Lim stubbornness set in a line that rises with the sun and never dips into the horizon.  a pulse faintly beating even as death bangs on the door, raising  a wizened grey hand with a vice-like grip on this last plate of fruits, bursting at the seams.  incense spiralling into the distance like the way we crack open bottles of Fanta orange and then leave. 乖吗 1 ？ 乖 2 。 听话一点哦 3 。 these lines settle into the armchair, unvaried yet aching.  stumbling back home at 2a.m one n