My Father

My Father died

a few months back.

Stage 4 cancer, kaafi time se pata tha,

wo zyada lamba nahi jee paayenge.

Ab yahan aaya hoon apne dil ka gubaar bayan karne.

Abhi main, bas

shant hoon,

waise wali shanti

jab samundar ke upar

kaale, ghane baadal

bas… ghumad rahe hon.

Toofan se pehle wali shanti.

Pita ji chale gaye, uska itna dukh nahi,

he wasn't present for more than half my life,

toh kabhi unse sahej hi nahi ho paaya.

Dard toh uske liye lagta hai

jinhone hume janam diya.

Aap jaante hain,

jab tak wo shareer jalna nahi lagta,

tab tak mann mein ek hi khayal rehta hai

ki arre yeh toh bas so rahe hain,

abhi uthenge,

hasenge, hasaayenge,

aur abhi muskuraayenge.

Apno ki rundhai hui cheekhein

abhi bhi kaanon mein goonjti hain.

Pita ji ka mrit chehra aankhon mein

abhi tak jala hua hai.

Staring into the pyre, as the flames rage to engulf,

going back there the next day

to collect half-burnt bones.

Mann tab tak shant ho chuka hota hai,

saari bhavnaayein 

agni ke dhue ke saath ud chuki hoti hain.

Asthiyaan kal ki agni se abhi bhi garm hoti hain.

Par

dil toh tab rukta hai

jab tum itne bhaari insaan ko bas

ek chhote se matke mein paate ho.

Slowly, with time, all the rituals end.

All the rites end.

Slowly, everyone leaves.

And the house lies bare,

full of memories of the dead,

filled with a dark fog that stays.

A.V