Mir Taqi Mir’s poetry has always made fascinating reading for me. He wrote short couplets, used simple words but provided extremely sensitive portrayal almost as fragile as glass. Living in extreme penury in Lucknow of the last century, Mir harboured a robust self, which brooked no begging of favours from the powers that be as was the wont of his contemporary poets. As a result, he hardly ever enjoyed a good meal, let alone life. Misery bleached his life. His poetry holds mirror to the tragedy the life was for him. Creature of the age that he was, and blessed with a daughter, dowry for her marriage was a nagging concern for the penury-stricken poet. Mir gifted her all that could be conceived, as much as his savings and borrowings could buy. Being the lone daughter, parting was painful for both the doting father and the daughter who had been witness to the father’s ordeal. So intense was the sorrow that the bride could not take it any more. Off on the palanquin, she sobbed inconsolably and developed hiccups. She breathed her last around midnight on reaching her bridal home in a nearby village. Shocked, the susral folk dispatched a messenger with the sad news to the agonised father. Messenger’s knock at the door at the unearthly hour of night sent a chill down Mir’s spine. He thought it must be a call to fulfill some vital deficiency. “My Lord, Did I forget anything”, he thought and asked the messenger to spell out the demand to be fulfilled the next morning. But to his utter disbelief, the messenger conveyed the sad news of daughter’s death. Later arriving at the bridegroom’s home, Mir found the body of the bride laid out amid the huge pile of dowry articles. Awash in red bridal clothes, for Mir Taqi Mir, the sorrow filled ambience had a touch of irony.
Victim of greed and grief, Mir Taqi Mir was never the same again. Hope the Mir’s tragedy will have enough lessons for the youth.
The aura on your face I wonder the scintillation That shower on your demure So valvety, vivid and voracious.
The moon sometimes envy you Oh beloved! Loving you was my blessings, Wish our endearment lasted forever. Today the moon is crying as well, And the sunflower watching in despair. For you are the angel walking With you periwinkle dance in air And moon smile And the sun smirk. For the love that kindled Was trampled under the flim flam.
My House that Was painted Blue and studded with glitters of gloom, Epitaphs Of lost love And few epiphanic scars Is christening me for the world I love every ounce of memories I thrive there for I write my poesy.
Time travels like a time,
I cannot fathom,
what actually it is?
But it is like a circle
With the one center
And we all are
This long span of our togetherness
Trailing behind this time,
Passed in a jiffy.
I wanted to re-live that forever.
With your beady eyes
Looking at me – transfixed.
Your balmy breath
Your confused expressions:
I want to steal those.
Ah! But this strange
Your hazy image- disintegrating
Time surely taught me the lesson.
It took away ‘you’ from ‘me’;
My only tranquility.
I count on my fingers each second
for one day I will meet you
And again shall we travail
this ocean of life together.
Sowing seeds, from them
Our enigmatic memories will born.
I will then collect all the sparkles
Of life in jars and will preserve them.
This time I have learnt my lesson
For the time surely is a teacher
And we are nothing but
The product of the time.