Tag Archives: hurt

Widowed Souls

There is a piece of land between the railway tracks and the main road which takes me home. Its unkempt, stark and strewn with weeds. Although a pathway runs below the tracks leading to the other side of the road, the barrenness of this no man’s land, meant that it was not used by pedestrians. This week I noticed the widowed and utterly ignored space been adopted by vegetables vendors, adding vibrancy and attracting those heading home just like me.

It led to me think how uninhabited spaces get adopted into ghettos, slums, bazaars and markets, that we eventually forget how cold and unwanted that place was in the first place.

In the colorful montage of life as it surrounds us today, the white veil of widowed spaces and souls surrounds us, paradoxically wrapped in the most vibrant colors. Look past the garb and her eyes tell you of the story of betrayal. The tale of her first love, made companion, who no longer is the person she loved when she was 19, yet married to him now, the father of her child.

The hurt of abandonment emerges and lays bare the pain caused sometimes by a trusted parent or loyal friend now a stranger or a sibling now estranged.

The late Leonard Cohen who through his music soothingly embraced all of humanity’s corruption, in one of his songs says that a crack in everything is how the light gets in.

Paige O’hara Sculpture

But if not all humanity is created equally (in terms of mental strength at least), then what is the price we pay for the cracks we endure?

No matter how much we take hurdles in our stride, cracks show up and create a shadow of souls widowed, and tugs at my heart to see it unable to trust too quickly, love unabashedly or give another chance to friendships that beckon.

We are never the same at the other bank of the river. Fighting the river that we thought would carry us ashore but unexpectedly tried to drown us leaves gasping with disbelief.

But Oh widowed soul
Do you know that love pleads for another chance?
Do you not feel the strings of intimacy playing your tune?
Does the beating drum not fire your loins with passion?

Why not let the wind shatter the wall of disillusionment
Give the chimes of hope a chance to dance in the rain
Allow chirping giggles to overcome the deafening silence you endure
Or simply try giving your widowed soul a chance to bloom again…

There is an amazing illustration by Zen Pencils on Love….sharing it here:2013-02-12-lewis.jpg

This week’s poem by Parveen Shakir named Barish hui to phoolon ke tan chak ho gaye.


Barish hui to phoolon ke tan chak ho gaye
mausam ke hath bhig ke saffak ho gaye

baadal ko kya khabar ki barish ke chah mein
kitne buland-o-bala shajar khak ho gaye

Juganu ko din ke vaqt pakadne ki zid karen
bache hamare ahad ke chalak ho gaye

jab bhi garib-e-shahar se kuch guftagu hui
lahaje hava-e-sham ke namnaak ho gaye

lahara rahi hai barf ke chadar hata ke ghas
suraj ke shah pe tinake bhi bebak ho gaye

sahil pe jitne aab-gazeeda the sab ke sab
dariya ke rukh badalate hi tairak ho gaye


As it rained the flowers had holes in their bodies made
The weather now drenched became a tyrant

How would the clouds know that while waiting for rain
So many tall and mighty trees had turned to ashes

They insist on testing the firefly in the daylight
Children of today have become so bright

Whenever a conversation with those away from home rose
The evening breeze with their words grew moist

Unveiling the cover of snow, the grass now sways
Egged by the sun the straws are now fearless

All those who would out of fear the water shunned
Became swimmers as the river changed its course.

Ending with Mr. Cohen and his amazing voice.




On a day filled with warm chai and hearty laughter, a day which extends its arms into the night right past midnight and into the wee hours of the next; you find yourself happy and exhausted with all the smiles, hugs, pranks and secrets shared.

Why then does it creep up on you like a dark cloud?

It would fit right on a lonely, event less, cold rainy day, with nobody around to swap stories with or share that samosa with.

Why at the end of a boisterous day like this you ask?

Some part of the mind has unexpectedly wandered off, thinking of those who might have been here right now, sipping that lal chai sold behind the railway station under the lamppost in the wee hours of the night.  Driving aimlessly in silence, listening to rain fall on the roof of the car on a deserted highway, they would have breathed in that moment with you.

Why imagine this when surrounded by loud music, bright lights and cheerful laughter?

Some who have moved away,
Some you have pushed away,
Some who are unaware how much they are missed &
Some who can’t, even if they want to.
Many reasons, same vacuum.

This week’s poem encompassing the emotion of longing and vacuums, is an ode from Gulzar to his friend Pancham. R D Burman the composer and Gulzar the writer.

The emotions in his lines written for his beloved friend swept me away. How simple the words, how haunting the imagery and how deep the hurt at the loss of a soulmate.

Capturing the hurt and loss of a friend, a vacantness that is never going to be filled, are his words in this poem called: Pancham.



Yaad hai baarishon ka din Pancham,
Jab pahadi ke neeche waadi mein
dhundh se jhaank kar nikalti hui
rail ki patriyaan guzarti thi.

dhundh mein aise lag rahe the hum ,
jaise do paudhe saath baithe ho
hum bahut der tak wahan baithe
us musaafir ka zikr karte rahe
jisko aana tha pichle shab lekin ,
jiske aumad ka waqt talta raha.

der tak patriyon par baithe hue
Train ka intezaar karte rahe
Train aayi na uska waqt hua ,
aur tum yun hi do kadam chalkar
dhundh par paanv rakh ke chal bhi diye

Main akela hoon dhundh mein pancham……

by Pavan Verma

Pancham, you remember
those monsoon days,
when in the valley below the mountains,
rail tracks made their way
emerging out of the mist…

And in the mist we appeared
like two saplings planted together
We sat there for eternity
Talking about the traveler
Who was to have traveled the night before,
But never did.

For long we sat on the tracks
Waiting for the train to come
The train arrived though it wasn’t its time
But you simply walked a few steps, into the mist, and melted away.

I remain here alone in that mist, Pancham.