या शुष्क या वनात ......

पडलो इथे असा हा,
मी शुष्क या वनात.
बघतो म्रुतवत सारे,
मी शुष्क या वनात.

पाखरे कधी न गाती,
ना मयूर-न्रुत्य झाले,
निशब्द गलित पर्ण,
या शुष्क या वनात.

गाऊन पाहिले मी,
जुळले कधी न सूर,
माझाच सूर मजला,
या शुष्क या वनात.

दिसता रन्ग उषेचा,
कधी मी हाक देतो,
आता तरी उठा हो,
आला प्रकाश आहे.

सरता ही सान्ध्यछाया,
देतो कधी मी हाक,
आता तरी उठा हो,
काळोख दाटलाहे.

येतात कानी माझ्या,
माझेच फक्त शब्द,
पडलो इथे असाहा,
मी शुष्क या वनात.

घेऊन कोम्ब उद्याचे,
जगतो मी आज आहे.
होतील व्रुक्ष तयाचे,
या शुष्क या वनात.

भिडतील ते नभाला,
फुलतील पुष्प सारे,
येतील पाखरे ही,
या शुष्क या वनात.

पाहता स्वप्न उद्याचे,
आले भरुन आहे,
पडतील आज धारा,
या शुष्क या वनात

The golden birdy wandered in the endless blue sky,

The golden birdy touched the silver linings,

He filled his heart with the fresh air of freedom,

And smelled the fragrance of heaven.

When the wings were tired and the day looked fading, the tired wings took the path of the deserted branch of the tender pale flower.

By the time the Sun had already set. Warm, golden rays were becoming colder and darker. The chilling wind was about to start the ruthless dance. The tender pale flower was welcoming yet another cold, dark night that concealed the news of rise.

The golden birdy sat on the deserted branch. Shiny eyes of the tender pale flower were glittering with the smile to embrace the cold dark night. Even the crazy wind waited for a while and crawled stealthily to listen to the serene evening.

“Good to see you golden angel!”, said the tender pale flower breaking the silence.

“For the first time I saw fading days so happy and serene. Are they always so? ”, asked the golden birdy tired with the pleasures of the whole day.

The eyes of the tender pale flower glittered.

“Didn’t you ever feel cold in these fading days?” asked the golden birdy.

With the playful laughter, the tender pale flower denied the cold.

Through the playful laughter of the tender pale flower, the wounds were said and were heard.

The mild breeze started blowing singing the melodies of heaven and the news of sunrise.

मी एक गलीत पर्ण....

सान्डून रन्ग सारे, भूमीवरी मी पडलो,
सोडून व्रुक्ष सारे, वारया सवेत फिरालो.

आसमन्ती सान्ध्यछाया, पाहून मूक झालो.
कधी मी चान्दण्याला, चाखून त्रुप्त झालो.

तारुण्य-सौन्दर्याच्या, युगुलात कधी मुरडलो,
कधी मी बालकान्च्या क्रिडान्मध्ये ही रमलो.

कधी मी बारशान्चे, ऐकुन गीत हसलो,
राखेत मर्तिकाच्या लोळून ही मी रडलो.

उत्तुन्ग वैभवाच्या महलावरी मी चढलो,
भग्न मन्दीरान्च्या, चरणी नमून गेलो.

आसक्त तुम्बलेल्या, डबक्यात कधी बुडालो,
सखोल शास्वताच्या पाण्यावरी मी तरलो.

पाहुन चित्र सारी, थोडासा स्तब्ध झालो,
आलो इथे कशाला, उमगून आज गेलो.

वळवाच्या सरीन्नी,

म्रुद्गन्ध जो दिजला,

वर्षाच्या सरीन्च्या,

धारात मिटुन गेला.

आसमन्ती इन्द्राधनुने,
जे सप्तरन्ग भरले,
पसरता नभी प्रकाशी,
क्षणात सरुन गेले.

मायेच्या सावल्याही,

काळानुरुप सरल्या,

निस्प्रुह प्रीतीच्या ही,

खूणाच फक्त उरल्या.

मज स्वप्नस्रुष्टी चे हे,

महाल सर्व झडले,

दु:खासहीत काही,
मनात प्रश्न उरले.

मज जीवन दीनाच्या,

मध्यान्ही असा हा,

मज स्वप्न जीवनाचा,

सुर्यास्त का दिसावा?

मज साद घालणारया,

सुह्रुदान्चे हे तराणे,

होते खरेच का ते,
सारेच हे बहाणे?

हळव्या मनान्च्या या,

अव्यक्त बन्धनान्च्या,
निशब्द भावनाना,

तो अर्थ काय होता?

नात्यान्चे अन मनान्चे,

हे सप्तसुर जुळले,

मग रन्ग मैफीलीचे,

बेसुर का निघाले?

मिटातील रन्ग सारे,

सुटतील सन्ग सारे,

वनवास का मनाचा,

प्रवाह हाच आहे?

On a deserted branch, far from the shelters of leaves and the friendship of blossom grew a tender pale flower.
The tender pale flower welcomed every coming day with a smile.

The unsheltered branch promised scorching heat of the long hot days.
The unsheltered branch promised the freezing dark nights.
The tender pale flower welcomed every coming day with a smile.

The deserted branch promised the stormy winds.
The deserted branch promised the long pouring rains.
The tender pale flower welcomed every coming day with a smile.

The day was dark, sullen and filled with clouds. With no ray of light, it was about to pour and came a little birdy.

The birdy had the golden wings and the melodious tone. Broken by the ruthless world, the birdy sang his heart alone, venting scars of the treacherous world.

The songs dried as the wounds were healed. The birdy saw the tender pale flower.
“Oh, my apologies good flower, I did not notice you”, said the birdy.
“Its fine golden angel, no one notices me” said the flower.
“Did my cries bother you?” asked the birdy.
“Oh no, you have a gift of voice! for the first time ever you showed me the world melodies!”, exclaimed the pale flower.
“Songs are not the jewels of voice, songs are the wounds of heart”, cried little birdy.

The tender pale flower smiled.

“I liked talking to you good flower. With my heart purged, I now see world of the sunny mornings after the rainy dark nights. I like your place, deserted though, away from the treacherous world. Hope to see you soon my friend”, said the little birdy while leaping into the clear bright sky, keeping alive the torturous hope of the melodies.

With petals promising no songs, with pale colour promising no shines, with mild fragrance promising no bees, wounds of the tender pale flower went ever unsaid and ever unheard.

The tender pale flower still welcomes every coming day with a smile, sitting alone on the deserted branch.

The famous sky scrapper was standing tall on the proud streets with stories lined with a Glass.

The Glass was flat, sharp and shining. The glass used to glaze during the day with the light of the Sun, it used to glaze at night with the light of lamps. Shining glaze through out the day and night was something the glass was admired for!

The building had the pillars, husky and dark; standing deep in the mud. The pillars were deep and ever burdened.

One day, the glass could take a look at the pillars. The dull life loaded with burden not theirs came as an unpleasant surprise to the glass. The glass told the pillars, “The life in the mud with burden not yours is not a life! Come up, face the sunshine! Watch the faces admiring our glaze!”. Pillars did not answer.

“How silly! Spoiling one’s own life with burden not theirs! ” uttered the Glass.

Pillars smile for a while at the brittle glaze.

Today, the sky scrapper still stands, with the shining glass laughing at the husky, dark pillars standing deep in the mud, loaded with the burden not theirs!

There was a tree, young but strong, standing with his head high on the bank of a clear stream of water. Winds came and went, storms came and went but the tree was not shattered.

The tree, with the branches spread, was a place for solace for birds. Crows used to sit, talking in the harsh words. Singing birds used to come and sing for each other. Harsh words came and went, songs came and went but the tree was not shattered.

One day came the little birdy, and asked the Tree, "You support these birds, giving solace to their tired hearts, they sing for each other but who sings for you?"

"No one sings for me", said the Tree.

Every evening after that, Little Birdy used to sit on the tree, alone, singing his heart.

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed, Little Birdy continued to sing alone sitting on the branch!

One day, Little Birdy asked the tree, "Have you heard my song?". About to answer the question, the Tree saw little babies of Crow sleeping on his branch. Fearing that his words will steal the sleep from the little eyes, Tree did not utter a word.

Not getting the answer from the Tree, Little Birdy left the branch and never sang again. Little Birdy left the branch and the young, strong Tree was shattered.