Sunday, June 11, 2017

A sculptor


Gently strikes his hammer-
And dusts off-
Coughs and clears his throat.
Some pieces of rock!
When his fate itself deludes!
Their fates, he assigns!
Some as angels!
Some as Gods!
Some shall remain as it!
Some shall not!
Beautifully, he crafts-
Each piece that shall be-
That faith to many!
Many shall bow on the knees
And beg for life!
Luck!
Love!
And money!

As he walks through the lanes-
In between the crowds-
Noticed, he barely gets.
In his worn out rugs-
And his charred hands!
Holding an idol!
He sells-
This faith…
To which-


Many shall bow…again!




Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photo credit: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/5f/53/59/5f535933215737385b988069bb117e71.jpg

Monday, April 17, 2017

The cost of war?


How hard is it, to know- 
The cost of war?
When you have gallons of oils…
And piles of money at one end,
And a dying mother at another-
And we still chose the former,
As the latter, only gave us this life!

When you walk-
Walk amidst the fumes of grenades-
And you see an infant suckling-
Suckling a mutilated mother!
Dead and frozen!
Amongst her thousand dreams!
Buried under her breathless body!
That child will never know-
Who and what took away the warmth!
The warmth of love from him!
Those grenades?
Or, that thirst for power?
When thousand such mothers die-
Leaving behind the ugly truth and orphan dreams!
Knowing the cost of the war- is a tough choice!

And you walk,
Walk amidst the pool of blood-
Splashing your leather boots!
The same pool, where a soldier fell down-
Down, deep and dead!
Quaking his mother’s heart!
The heart that awaited!
Awaited on the threshold of their hamlet!
Awaited to see him return!
Return with a flag of glory-
Now lost in the void- of lost dreams…
When thousand such sons die!
Leaving behind their unfinished stories and love!
Knowing the cost of the war- is a tough choice!

When all those emotions-
Get destroyed for the hunger!
Hunger for power!
A father with his dead child-
Lovers buried under the rubble!
A kid who shall never babble again!
Well, the price- that no one can ever pay!
Still, we dare-
Dare not to stop the war!
For-
We know that cost of war is something-
We fail to pay!
But still, what matter to us-
Are those piles of filthy papers!
So war must go on!


Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photo credits:
1. http://img07.deviantart.net/a63d/i/2014/009/0/1/desert_war___north_africa_ww2_by_mitchellnolte-d71hioc.jpg
2. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/56d09a6ce321405d93219eb8/56dfab5960b5e90acb2176c4/56e65d2df8baf38bbe2b9033/1458871347823/Dead+soldier.JPG?format=500w

Thursday, April 6, 2017

A woman with a dandelion...


I saw a woman with a dandelion-

In my dream-

She was covered in dirt-

But her aura never concealed!

Forgotten, must be!

She blossomed every month!

That bud of life,

A canvas in her-

Painted in red…

And struck with the pain,

Vibrant, she walked still…

Shackled her legs, might be

But, her spirit?

Well, as free as, a dandelion!

Traversing all the odds of life-

Rested on her destiny-

The journey?

No men can feel!

Yes, I saw a woman with a dandelion-

In my dream!

Puffing the downy tufts!



Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photocredits: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/366199013427635785/
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9d/bc/7e/9dbc7e6afcb57ddedf2ecb4b43a6c05e.jpg

Friday, January 20, 2017

The last flight...



They flew…
Swiftly, whirling together,
Their silhouettes-
Those slithering reflection on the vast sea!

She beheld-
Parking her dying soul,
On the old rugs of memories
She dusted her wings,
She once promised-
Of kissing those limitless horizons…
She beheld-
The fading sun,
The silent shores,
And those fallen flowers…
From behind the bar-less cage.
Something was missing in her,
Missing around her,
Deep in her, rested-
That fathomless void;
Shackling her spirit.

Those withered feathers,
Blame no wind-
Her cascading tears-
Shall meet that destiny!
For, she knew somewhere,
That hope shall bloom again-
From that abyss in her!
And she shall fly,
That day,

To that blank…


Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photo credits:
http://cdn.pcwallart.com/images/flying-pelican-silhouette-wallpaper-3.jpg
https://wingsofwonder.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/geese-girl-watercolor.jpg

Friday, October 28, 2016

An unsung melancholia...



That  ghetto of thoughts...
Stinks with the unwashed-
emotional lesions,
Spread around the darkness-
Deep in that dying heart.
The walls of veins-
all scratched and tattered.
An urge. 
For the freedom from self.
Coyly smiling at the pain-
That assaulted the tears.
Who is butchering the light?
A hope that once existed!
When all beings rise up 
With that rising sun.
 A fear hides behind that corner.
In that isolated-
Ghetto of thoughts.


Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Pictures credit:
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/08/be/c0/08bec012215319df438f06f5a1d58b03.jpg
http://41.media.tumblr.com/8e928bb4dfdc49912c83e655fd0d02ce/tumblr_nrp9ejMPgD1ssite1o1_250.jpg

Friday, October 21, 2016

Reading your mind!



How narrow a mind can be?
When you are worried about a few droplets,
In front of that enormous sea!
And secretly, keep a coin in that pocket-
Inside the vaults of gold ingots, till your knee! 
Still! You complain of no good sleep-
On that bed of linens, warm and cozy!
That discomfort you grow, in that coffin,
Of that narrowness inside you- blur and hazy!
You faked your life-
Of being broad, a sucking flea!
Yes, how narrow a mind can be?
To trespass that narrowed lane.
And boast of being free!
Trapped in that insanity of being sane!
Well, how narrow a mind can be.
When a thread of thousand thoughts gets stuck!
And the vast Universe passes free!


Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Photocredit:
http://images.fineartamerica.com/images/artworkimages/mediumlarge/1/bounded-and-the-blinded-m-jf.jpg
http://www.cuded.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/1-Watercolor-Painting_by_adelenta.jpg

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

ಭಾಷೆ (Language): A Kannada Poem



“ಅಮ್ಮ”!
ಎಡವಿದ ನಂತರ ಬರುವ ಮೊದಲ ಶಬ್ಧ
ಈ ಒಂದು ಶಬ್ಧ
ಎಂತ ನೋವನ್ನು ಗುಣ ಮಾಡುತ್ತೆ…
ಯಾವ ದೇಶ ಬೇಕಾದ್ರೂ ಸುತ್ತಿ ಬನ್ನಿ, ಓ ಗೆಳಯರೇ,
ಆ ನೀಲಿ ಬಾನಿನ ಕೆಳಗೆ,
ಈ ಬೀಸುವ ತಂಗಾಳಿನಲ್ಲಿ
ಬೆವರು ಒಣಗಿದರೂ…
ಆ ಪ್ರೇಮ ಸಿಗಲ್ಲ…
ನಿಮ್ಮ ಜೀವನದ ಒಂದು ದಿನ- ವೇದೇಶದಲ್ಲಿ,
ಕುಳಿತು ಯೋಚನೆ ಮಾಡಿ
ಆ ಶಬ್ಧ
 “ಅಮ್ಮ” ಎಂದ್ರರೇ
ಬದಲಿಸಲು ಸಾಧ್ಯವಾಗದ 
ಆ ಸ್ನೇಹ 
ಈ ಪದದಲ್ಲಿ ಇದೆ 
ಈ ಮಣ್ಣಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಇದೆ..
ನಿಮ್ಮ ಹೃದ್ಯದಲ್ಲಿ ಇದೆ…
ಅದಕ್ಕೆ ಮನಬಿಚ್ಚಿ ಉಚ್ಚರಿಸಿ
ನಿಮ್ಮ ಮುಖದಲ್ಲಿನ ಆ ಮಂದಹಾಸ
ನೋಡಿದ ನಂತರ
ಅಮ್ಮನ ಹೃದ್ಯಕ್ಕೆ ತೃಪ್ತಿ ಆಗುತ್ತೆ…
ಇನ್ನೂ ಏನು ಯೋಚನೆ ಮಾಡ್ತಿದೀರಾ, ಓ ಗೆಳಯರೇ?
ಮನ ಬಿಚ್ಚಿ ಮಾತಾಡಿ!
ನಿಮ್ಮದೇ ಭಾಷೆಯಲ್ಲಿ!

ಸಂಜೀತ ಶರ್ಮ ಪೊಖರೆಲ್ "ಹೃದಯಾನಿನದಿನಿ"

Translation:

“Mom!"
When you hit that hurdle and fall-
This single word
Cures all the painful aches!
Go around the world, oh my folks….
Under this blue sky,
When the breeze of this land-
Dries up your sweats!
You won't find this love…
One day in your life, in that foreign land,
Park and ponder about…
This word-
“Mother”
Nothing can replace it!
This affection-
This language has…
This soil has…
Your heart has…
So, open it up-
That adorable smile on your face-
Shall adorn-
Happiness in your  mother's heart!
What  are you thinking, oh my folks?
Speak up!
In your own language!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"



Photocredit:
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5e/15/db/5e15db2686448487be88f71199bc7b3b.jpg



Tuesday, April 19, 2016

To the land where no drops fall!

“A drop- 
Falls from the distant blue-
Whirling and twirling-
Hits that window-pane…
And another follows- its rule-
And hits again that window-pane,
And finally, many of them fall-
Like the tap-dancers in the rhythm tap!
And washes the blemish in that window-pane!
She observes the drops sliding down the glass!

Holding that china-cup-
And freshly brewed coffee in it!
She blushes-
After smelling the wild fragrance of the mud!
As many of those droplets
Hit that window pane…
That window pane made up-
Of the crystals- so brilliant and precious…
After all- 
It is this first rain-
That visited her mansion!
She, again, fell in love!
With those clouds…
Deadly and dark!

Alas—
Once they shall fly-
Fly as far and as high-
Beyond the walls of her mansion,
And across this city of price-tags!
Following the road of shimmering lights,
That shall-
Reach far beyond the comfort,
They shall meet
This land-
Of the tiny huts and hamlets.
The harshness peeps in through-
The roofs that used to leak-
The charred land-
Where once…
The gush of winds played…
With the verdant contentment!
Lies dead and dried!
Their parched lips and throats!
And hearts-
Cannot barely blush under the blazing heat!
No drops fall here-
And hit the window pane!
The ragged curtains convey the dust-
And only dust!
When the dried hot wind traverses…
Through them…!

When those clouds shall reach here!
I fear-
If these hamlets will have the souls in it!
Buried in the hunger and thirsts,
Their existence will be forever concealed!

Whilst-
She still enjoys the rain!
A drop!
Stumbling down from the petal-
In her posh backyard…
Awaits for her love to come home!
Sigh!
There are few who ended up their lives-
With a promise to never return!
To the land where no drops fall!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"


Photo-credits:
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4b/85/48/4b85486335ab36fedeb79632f9291436.jpg


Sunday, February 14, 2016

She is real...

The white curtains with feather-prints on them flutter like a dove, a symbol of freedom, as this morning breeze gently traversed through them. The rain has stopped by now. Another dawn of contentment filled with splendour. The aroma of dampened soil makes the air- worth breathing. In the northern corner of this wonderful small house- sleeps a princess. A princess of many worth.  As always- she got up when that first beam of the sun hit that windowpane in her backyard. The backyard- where lies a row of bud vases with stunning flowers in them. She softly keeps her blanket aside. Her lovely hair meanders over her shoulder; the perfect tributaries over her mesmerizing dark-dusky skin as cavernous as the soil of this earth. Those feel of being a mother earth. She tenderly gathers them together. And stretches her arms up, along with her arms- stretches her most gorgeous lips and brings in that most beautiful smile. Her morning is here! She is not a woman of a fair-skinned. Neither a woman who love physical dimensions of bodily beauty. She is- who she is. She is a woman who loves herself. And, loves what she does. She looked like a Goddess again, that confidence in her eyes, as she enters to dress-up after the shower. She wraps herself in a deep blue sari and brushes her cascading hair. A tiny blue bindi between her two brows symbolized her beauty. A perfect lady. She walks tall against what people say- odds and adversities. She is a woman. A woman with a heart. A heart that serves other women like her in maternity wards. She is a nurse.  Many women run behind the wagons of cosmetics to look good, to feel dazzling and beautiful. But to her- beauty walks along, like her shadow!  In the race of being beautiful- we forget that the beauty lies in us and in what we do. She is one amongst them who is not lost on her way. She is beautiful, she is perfect and she is real!


Tuesday, January 5, 2016

ಈ ಭೂಮಿಯ ಮಗ… (A son of this land…)

ಪರಿಪೂರ್ಣ ದಿನದಂದು

ಹೊಂಬೆಳಕಿನ…

ಕಾಂತಿ ಹರಡಿತು…

ಎಲೆ ಕೊಂಬೆಗಳಲಿ…

ಚಿಟ್ಟೆಗಳು ಹರಿದಾಡಿದವು…

ಗಾಳಿ ಬಳುಕುತ್ತಾ..

ಧ್ವಜದ ಕೆಳಗಿನ ಆತ್ಮ

ಜೀವಿತವಾಯಿತು

ಆ ದೇಹ ಈ ಭೂಮಿ ಮೇಲೆ!

ಎಲ್ಲಿ ಅವನು ಶೌರ್ಯದಿಂದ ಹೋರಾಡಿದನೋ!

ಆ ಕೊನೆಯ ಉಸಿರಿನ…

ವಿದಾಯದವರೆಗೆ…

ಈ ಭೂಮಿಯ ಮಗ!

ಆದನೀಗ-

ಹುತಾತ್ಮ!

ಸಂಜೀತ ಶರ್ಮ ಪೊಖರೆಲ್ “ಹೃದಯಾನಿನದಿನಿ”



A son of this land…

A perfect day-

A perfect sunshine,

Radiance traversing…

The leaves and the branches,

Butterflies fluttering…

This wind ambling through…

The flag that kept his soul-

Alive!

His body laid on this land…

Where he fought valiantly-

Until his last breath bid him-

Adieu…

A son of this land!

He is-

A martyr!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"




I dedicate this poem to Lt Col Niranjan Kumar and others who fought valiantly in Pathankot attack, India. I salute them on behalf of Nepal. 
Disclaimer:
I tried to write in a local language "Kannada".
Kindly apologize if there are any grammatical errors.
A special thanks to Mrs. Padmavathi Subramani Raju for correcting this poem.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

As the yesteryear wraps itself up…


As the yesteryear wraps itself up-
I walk…
The same lane…
I was on…
Watching each year passing by…
Smiles waving at me…
And grieves clutching my lace…
I saw them all…
An autumn of loneliness…
Clouds of challenges hit my face…
The spring that left me awestruck…
And the winter of love…
I saw them all…
When it rained- of tears…
And drenched me, full…
Apologies begged their pardon…
And sympathy ruled!
I saw them all…
When my mom passed by me…
I held her hand…
As soft as the fur,
She kissed and went her way…
And this farewell,
Mockingly laughed at me…
That silence- hushed at me…
And the pain engraved that pain…
It bleeds of roses…
I saw them all…
Like this moon-
A lone-watcher!
An owl of my night!
A lost wanderer
…I am…
Things went passing by-
Some amused me-
And some made me cry!
Yes, I remember them all-
As I walked tall-
Against all,
That made me fall!
Yes, I saw them all…
And I still walk…
The same lane…
I was on…
With this mild smile…
As my shadow…
Wags its tail…
And,
As the yesteryear wraps itself up…


-Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"