PURNAMIDAM - mindlessly mindful

image courtesy: Pinterest She woke up with a gloom. Sat in the bed for a while. Then climbed down from their cosy loft and went into the kitchen. He wasn't around. She wrapped a shawl and stepped out of their small cabin and slowly walked towards the woodwork shelter. He was there spinning the wooden blocks on the knob, turning them into beautiful beads. She weakly walked towards him and planted herself on a stump in front. He glanced at her through his protective glasses and gave that 'grumpy oldman looking through a bifocal' kind of funny look. She just stared blankly back at him. By now he knew, that a frown was easy to tackle, the absence of smile was easily reversible, but her poker blank face with her wide eyes fixed numbingly into his, meant something was really wrong. She wasn't the kind who expressed pain very openly. "What's the matter?" he asked looking back at his wooden beads. "I don't know", she murmured in melancholy. "I d

वो ओस की बूंदें भी उस पत्ते की नहीं, जिसने रातभर दिया उनको सहारा अपनी पलकों पर। वो तो बह गए सवेरा होते ही उस रेत की आगोश में। वो पानी भी उस चोटी का नहीं जिसने पथरीली ठंड में आसरा दिया उस बर्फ़ को। वो तो बसंत की धूप में पिघल कर दौड़ गई किसी और के खेत हरे लहराने को। वो फ़ल भी उस मिट्टी का नहीं जिसके सांचे में पला बढ़ा वो फ़लधारी पेड़। वो तो मौसम के आते ही चल दिया टपककर किसी और की झोली में। क्या करें है तूं, 'मेरा मेरा' ऐ इनसान?  जब तेरा यह देह भी तेरा नहीं।  वो तो काल संग रच के खेल, छोड़ देगा तेरी रूह को, जिसने जिंदगी भर मर मर के फुंकी दिलदारी तेरे होने में।