Machis Ki Teeli, Betakaloof Itaraun, Khit-Pit, Contradiction, Penury Cusre. Sold, Traffic Signal,

By Vedika Devendra Karpe

1.Machis ki teeli

Kitna acha hota nahi?

Agar mein machis ki teeli hoti…

Teen chaar centimeter ki manzil aur panch das second ki zindagi hoti.

Khud jalkar doosaron ko roshan…

Arey na na, itna vakht kahan hota mere pass.

Main apni ladhaiyaan suljhane mein uljhi hoti.

Aur maze ki baat ye,

Ki koi jale par zakham samajhkar phunke,

Toh uski sarahane ki nahi bujhane ki marzi hoti.

Kisi ka karz nahi hota mujhpar.

Aur yun koi apne haath mere paas lekar bacha leta mujhe,

Toh upkar nahi,

Voh uski khudgarzi hoti.

Kitna acha hota nahi,

Agar mein machis ki teeli hoti.

2.Betakloof itaraun

Dekho ye toh main manti hun,

Ki khoobsurat kaafi hun,

Par zulphe leherane se,

Nazarein milane se,

Adayein dikhane se ghabarati hun,

Voh ise itrana kehete hain,

Main toh bas katrati hun,

Kyun ki dil janta hain, ki nayab hun.

Dar lagta hain,

Kahi ek jhalak mein na ghayal kar du…

Aur iss marz par mere paas bhi koi dava nahi,

Galtise voh puch le, “ki ab mein kya karu?”

Toh iska bhi koi javab nahi.

Chalo, main koshish bhi kar lu ki kam khoobsurat lagu,

Toh har dafa nakamiyaabi hi pau.

Phir voh guroor samajhle ise,

Toh main ahasaan jatau,

Ki main toh bas unhe ghayal hone se bachau.

Aur phir bhi, phir bhi koi janab jhel payein iss khoobsurati ko,

Toh soch lungi kabhi…

Ki ise betakaloof itaraun.

3.Khit-pit

Nana ji ka dhool khata typewriter,

Jane mujh pe has raha tha…

Soch soch kar thak chuka mein,

Baitha vahi kuch der sochta hua,

Uski, yaa uspar beechi jaal mein phas raha tha.

Kho raha tha utpatang savalon mein,

Aur khit-pit, khit-pit, karti uski avaaz gunjne lagi mere kaano mein.

Khayal aya ajeeb sa,

Ye khit-pit wale chakkar mein,

Delete wala button nahi,

Aur kamal ki baat ye,

Ki galtiyaan sudharne ke liyein,

Whitener ki savedi ke alava koi rang nahi.

Backspace ke zamane mein,

Befikari wali mauj hain,

Do kadam badhte hi, das kadam peeche chalti khayalon ki fauj hain.

Typewriter chalate vakht bhi khoob socha karte honge,

Koshish aisi ki likhe sab sahi,

Phir ho khat kitab yaa zaroori kaam koi.

Main toh sochu das baar likhne se pehle,

Phir voh WhatsApp ka message ho,

Yaa ho zindagi.

Ping karti ghanti baji mere phone ki, toh hosh aya,

Khit-pit wali duniyaan se kheench mujhe bahar laya.

Kya ye sach-much ke saval the, yaa yun hi bekhayal the?

Alvida kehkar typewriter ko,

Chala vahi purani yaa kaho nayi zindagi ki ore,

Meri wali duniyaan mein dhundta phir raha,

Khit-pit, khit-pit ka shor.

4.Penury curse

It was a rugged thrown jacket,

But blessed she was.

In that dusty torn cloth,

She found her warmth.

With a tiny shady sling,

Hanging by her side,

She was exploring the unwritten,

Dreaming of misty heights.

She had lots of balloons,

But none were for her.

Those colours were lightening up millions,

But she stood still, with a grey penury curse.

5. Traffic signal

On the traffic signals,

Where our fast-moving life stops.

They are stood beside our car,

With a flickering hope.

In a short span of thirty seconds,

We, judging them,

Is it he or she?

First, they are humans is what we forget.

Some scared, some angry, some superstitious.

Why all the perceptions are for them?

On the other side, to live,

They are struggling every single day,

Expectations are killed,

Because betrayed are they,

By their own family.

Striving in search of acceptance.

Testing their patience.

Accepted by the nature,

Then why neglected by some of its own creations?

Still with the mundane life,

They too have only thirty seconds.

But they wholeheartedly blessing,

Clapping again and again.

To wake up the inhuman human within us.

They are waiting for theirs and we for our green signal to pave the way.

6. Contradiction

Jumping down the valley,

In search of a parachute.

Blaming the destiny,

Judging your own roots.

Using a sharp knife,

To cure all the wounds.

Thinking, overthinking,

Creating problems, asking for rescue.

Sinking down the ocean,

Using a ruptured lifeboat.

Frowning, cursing the water.

Following the wrong signals, trying to float.

7. Sold

Under is her tolerance,

Saviour is her misunderstanding.

Every day garbed like a new bride,

Believing in fake aggrandizing.

Along with her broken barbie.

She was sold at a tender age.

Where nothing’s like her fairyland,

Shattered inside a never-ending cage.

Trapped between pleasure and pain,

Screaming! Choked is her own voice.

Her eyes in search of dignity and pride.

Bargained in the backyard every night.

By Vedika Devendra Karpe