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Archive for February, 2009

The original:

naa kisii kii aaNkh kaa nuur huuN, naa kisii ke dil kaa qaraar huuN
jo kisii ke kaam na aa sake, maiN vo ek musht-e-gubaar huuN

main nahin huun naghma-e-jaaN feza, koii sun ke mujh ko karega kya
main baRe birog ki huuN sada, maiN baRe dukhoN ki pukaar huun

meraa rang ruup bigaR gayaa, meraa yaar mujh se bichaR gayaa
jo chaman khizaaN se ujaR gayaa, main usi ki fasl-e-bahaar huun

naa to maiN kisii kaa habiib huuN, naa to maiN kisii kaa raqiib huuN,
jo bigaR gayaa vo nasiib huun, jo ujaR gayaa vo dayaar huun.

pae faatihaa koi aae kyuuN, koi chaar phuul chaRhaae kyuuN?
koi aake shamaa jalaae kyuuN, maiN vo bekasi kaa mazaar huuN

An English translation:

I’m the light of no one’s eye,
The rest of no one’s heart am I.

That which can be of use to none
-Just a handful of dust am I.

Why should they come to visit my grave
And waste upon my dust a wreath?

Why should they light a lamp at night?
The grave of helplessness am I.

I am not a soulful tune,
Why should anyone listen to it?

I’m the cry of a stricken soul,
The pain of a broken heart am I.

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Today I started a day treatment program at the suggestion of my psychiatrist for depression and other assorted issues of my life. It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. In fact, it’s good. Group therapy, psychoeducational groups, eventually meeting a therapist and psychiatrist there too. And structure in my life. 9 AM to 3:15 PM every day.

Why did no one tell me about this option earlier? I wasted a lot of time hiding and escaping into my own world.

I watched my tendency to want to help others, help people who are in group there, as usual forgetting that I myself am there to make some changes in my life.

We did a SoulCollage session, I liked it, will upload a photo of mine soon.

One little step to move toward a life of my own.

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And as I gently toss and turn your words inside my head,
I see a thousand shades of hue.
A silken thread of thought, moving straight ahead, swoons around
and splits into two.
The enmeshed twigs of a magnolia,
your fingers intertwined in mine.
Two rivulets swirling together,
in an ocean of endless time.

Who wrote this? Do you know? Can you tell me?

Someone sent it to me a few years ago, and I didn’t ask him then. We went our separate ways since, and

now I can’t ask him.

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