Sometimes, men write poetry. Sometimes, poetry writes men.
I wrote a poem long long ago - perhaps the only one which was about me, for me, and by me. That poem seemed true to me back then and that poem seems truer to me today. It had some lines like
इन्किलाबो-जुनूँ से भरा इक जवाँ
कैसे टूटा थका आदमी रह गया
I wrote it in a very different spirit - at a very spiritual level. The philosophical meaning was true much before the words were written but now, the poetic thought has become truer so much so to decide my fate and thoughts.
Similarly, one of my poems ends with
रुपहली हो चली उस ज़ुल्फ़ की रंगत,
घटा से चाँद भी कुछ निकला आता है
I had written these lines for some 30 years later for my retirement day but once written, the words decided to be the truth some 30 years too early.
The irony is not limited to yours truly. It extended to relationships. When I wrote
कम से कम अपनी बेरुखी से मुझे,
अपनी नफ़रत से महरूँ न करो
or this
बिना किसी भी सवाली-जवाबी गफ़लत के
ज़िन्दगी भर को
गैर कर देना
She did not disappoint these lines. She bestowed her hatred and estranged me... forever!!
Thankfully, my poems had some good thoughts too.
For Gulzar, I had written
कहीं मिल जाये वो
तो हाथ ही बस
चूम लूँ उसके
and when I did meet him, I did (well, not exactly kissed his hands but shook hands and then he hugged me... so soft and so sweet and so simple he is :) )
And a hope with these lines
मेरे कमरे में धूप की मानिन्द
आओ तुम रौशनी खुशबू
हरारतें लेकर
but I am scared too... what if these lines come true before other lines
रात कल
रात की रग
सुनते हुए
अपनी रग काट
सो गया है
वो!!
That may sound like a problem but well... it would solve a lot of other problems!
