#zigzag

6 posts
  • akratitripathi 163w

    Happiness and misery moves in a zigzag manner in our lives.

    It's our mind which collide to the respective one at the moment!

    ©akratitripathi

  • writers_point_ 194w

    Being myself

    Life is a zig zag but every day,
    you see the new version of me.

    ©writers_point_

  • rudrankitsharma 206w

    एक वादा जो कर दिया था उनसे, ख़ुदसे,
    कि ज़िक्र नहीं करेंगे अब तुम्हारा कभी।

    #absence #love #peace #zigzag #life #sunrise #sunset #majormissing #happiness @writersnetwork @mirakeeworld

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    ज़िक्र

    काफ़ी अरसे बाद,
    आज एक साथी मिले तो पूछा उन्होंने,
    क्या बात है?
    आजकल आप मुशायरों में नज़र नहीं आते।

    बड़ी सादगी से जवाब दिया हमने,
    कि, मुशायरों में आते हैं हम,
    पर अब सिर्फ सुन कर लौट आते हैं,
    एक वादा जो कर दिया था उनसे, ख़ुदसे,
    कि ज़िक्र नहीं करेंगे अब तुम्हारा कभी।

    तो पूछा उन्होंने,
    कि इसका मुशायरे में मशरूफ़ ना होने से क्या ताल्लुक़?
    कहा हमने,
    तो शायद आप मौजूद नहीं रहे होंगे,
    जब हम सेर अर्ज़ किया करते थे।
    क्योंकि, हम कुछ पढ़ें न पढ़ें, लोग उससे पहले,
    हमारी आंखों में उन्हें, पढ़ लेते थे।
    और फिर शब्दों की ज़रूरत ही कहां पड़ती थी ज़नाब।
    ज़िक्र उनका तो हमारी शख्शियत-ए-बयां था।
    इसीलिए अब,
    गुमनानी के अंधेरों में अपनी पहचान को छुपा दिया है हमने,
    ग़र मशहूर हुए,
    तो कहीं वो फिर से बदनाम ना हो जाएं।

    समझे जनाब,
    मुशायरों में आज भी जाते हैं हम,
    पर अब सिर्फ सुन कर लौट आते हैं।
    एक वादा जो कर दिया था उनसे, ख़ुदसे,
    कि ज़िक्र नहीं करेंगे अब तुम्हारा कभी।

    ©rudrankitsharma

  • hopelesssromantic 219w

    वो तारे

    कुछ तो आसमाँ के तारों को भी टूटना ही पड़ता है वरना कायनात की खूबसूरती से ये जहाँ कैसे रूबरू होगा।
    ©thewaiter

  • navoneil 226w

    Poet Zigzag

    Even as a child,
    I used to write in long paragraphs that no one could understand
    or read in one breath.
    Thomas Hardy and Dickens did that to me.
    They wrapped themselves up in colorful red jackets
    and f***ed with my mind.
    So I grew up without friends.

    As a lover,
    I penned ecstasy in ink that ran blue and black all over my skin
    but she asked to keep it short.
    Exams were barely a week away and we had a movie to fit in
    and chicken momos afterwards.
    One hundred and forty should be enough letters for a dream.
    So I learnt to abbreviate my thoughts.

    I went through
    four years of hostel life in a place
    where madarch*d was a term of endearment
    without ever cussing once.
    Now I'm told invective is necessary
    for that razor-sharp edge in my work.
    So f***ing became the adjective I abuse most often.

    I lived through marriage
    and divorce
    and love and guilt
    and abuse
    and depression
    and the need to learn to walk again
    and the hope to want to love again.
    I went from being an early morning riser
    to waiting for the dawn before I could hope to sleep
    in an effort to deal with them.
    I taught myself to forget.
    Now they say I must mine the worst -
    they're the only truths that shine.
    So I try with all my heart to put aside
    the laughter in between
    and focus on the blues.

    I wonder what Tagore and Chaplin would say.
    I think my hostel friends would be proud.
    I think my lovers would read my work.
    I think my childhood would want to be my friend at last.
    I think my dreams would give up on me
    or hand me over to wishes like a relay baton.
    I think if I were to show up at an open mic
    and say all this out loud,
    there would be at least one thumb and finger
    that would snap.

    ©navoneil