सोचा तुम पे लिखूँ कविता

सोचा तुम पे लिखूँ कविता
पर शब्द नही मिलते हैैं।
वो सूर्योदय सा तेजस,
जो तुम्हारे चेहरे से छलक रहा था,
उसे अपनी मन की आँखों से
निहार रही हूँ ।
कैसा अनुभव था वह
जिसे मैं व्यक्त नही कर पा रही हूँ?
शायद मेरी कल्पना की आंच
तुम्हारी उस उज्जवलता के सामने
धीमी पड़ गई है।
सोचा तुम पे लिखूँ कविता
पर शब्द ही नही मिलते हैं…

© Vidya Venkat

ज़िंन्दा हूँ

मेरी कविताओं को केवल कविताएँ मत समझो।
ये इस बात का सबूत है कि साँसें चल रही हैं,
रगों में खून दौड़ रहा है, और धड़कनेें बरकरार हैं ।
मान लो लिख रही हूँ तो ज़िंन्दा हूँ ।
अगर इस कलम का सहारा ना होता
तो ना जाने क्या होता… 

© Vidya Venkat (2020)


रूठकर चाँद यूँ फलक में कहीं खो बैठा,
जैसे नादान परिंदे
छुपे रहते हैैं दरख्त शखों पर।
जितना भी कर लो जतन अब इन्हे रिझाने में,
पोशीदा रहना ही गुस्ताख चाँद की खूबी है।

© Vidya Venkat (2021)

The Invasion

On a January morn, news arrives
of an impending storm.
There could be snowfall too.
I lock the doors and windows tight
lest the cold blast creeps through.
I stock up on the groceries too.
It is all good, alright.

Last year when such a storm had passed by,
it caught me unawares.
The house was such a shabby mess
that I spent several nights
clearing the wilted leaves and grime,
the wind had delivered,
stuck stubbornly on the moist carpet
lining the wooden floor.

And forget leaving the house this time.
Once when I had ventured out into a snowstorm,
thinking it could be fun,
wellies on, and fur coat buttoned up till the chin,
I had returned home a war-ravaged civilian,
hair matted coarse, red-nosed, in a sneezing fit,
and spent hours scraping the mud,
mixed with snow and grass, off the bottom of my boots.

So this time, I stay tucked in my feather bed,
a handbound book of poems, and a steaming cup of hot chocolate
by my side,
waiting for the dreaded day to pass.
Until, the invasion starts…

First, I hear the front door creak
as the fierce gale presses against its surface,
trying its strength.
The glass windows rattle and squeak
as the icy shower grazes with its teeth.
I watch my cherubic neighbourhood kids squeal
as they leap into the storm, arms stretched out,
trying to catch the snowflakes.
Then, there is the never-ending whooshing of the wind,
circling above my head like an assault of uninvited memories,
all day long.
I cannot shut these out!

And lastly, the heating, is it ever enough?
Though I draw my Jaipuri satin quilt right up till my nose,
I tremble through the night…

 © Vidya Venkat (2021)