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Soul

By Bhoomi Shah


बेबस डरावनी एक राह मुझे एक रूह तक खींच लाई थी,

न जाने उस रूह ने, उसे कौनसी कहानी सुनाई थी।


खौफ नहीं था उस रूह का मुझे, बस यूं ही खामोशी छाई थी,

क्युं आई हो इस राह पर, इस सवाल में ना जाने कितनी गहराई थी।


मंज़िल नहीं थी उस राह के अंत में, जानकर भी उस रूह की तरह भटकना था,

अंजान बनकर उस वक्त मुझे बस उसी रूह के साथ चलना था।


वापस लौट जा, हो सारे ईसान जहां रूह ने मुझे समजाया था,

नहीं चलना था उस रास्ते पर जहां चलकर सबने पैरों को जलाया था।


छूट गया था लिबाज़ बदन सा, फिर भी इंसानियत उसमें बाकी थी,

हजारो कोशिशों बाद भी, प्यार की तलब उसमें बाकी थी।


तनहा थी वो, लाचार भी थी, फिर भी साथ ख़डी थी मेरे,

ना जाने कितने राज़ छूपें थे, फिर भी हमदर्द बनी थी मेरे।


बरसों से लापता , बेसहारा घुम रही, वो आज घर को लौटी थी,

क्यों ना आए अहसास उसपर, रूह मेरी ही जान से छूटी थी।


तिनका तिनका ख्वाहिशों को जोडकर एक लंबी राह बनायी थी,

मिट्टी जहां पर सपनों की थी और कंटक से मतवालो ने उसे सजाई थी।


कदमों से बनी कहानियां छुपाए, खामोश आंसु से फूल खिलाये थे ,

बेबस डरावनी उस राह को, रूह ने मेरे ही किस्से सुनाए थे।

बस मेरे ही किस्से सुनाए थे।





English Translation:


Soul



A path of helpless horror had drawn me to a soul,

Don't know, what story that spirit had told him.



I was not afraid of that soul, silence was spread everywhere without any reason,

Why have you come on this path, don't know how much depth was there in this question.



Knowing that there was no destination at the end of that path, I had to wander like that soul,

At that time, being a stranger, I just had to walk with the same spirit.



You, go back to where all humans are… the soul had made me understand,

I didn't want to walk on the path where everyone had burnt their feet by walking.



Attire was left like the body, still humanity was left in it,

Even after thousands of attempts, the yearning for love was left in him.



She was lonely, she was helpless, yet she stood by my side,

Don't know how many secrets were hidden, sympathizer still she became mine.


Missing for years, wandering destitute, she had returned home today.

Why won’t one feel for her, the soul was freed from my life only.



A long road was made by connecting straws of wishes,

The soil, where dreams were made and drunkards had decorated it with thorns.


Flowers were fed with silent tears, hiding the stories made of steps.

To helpless horror on that path, the soul had narrated my own stories.

Only my stories were told.


By Bhoomi Shah



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