Few Moments to live (poem)

They say

cities never sleep,

But the people of the city

are in deep slumber.

They shut the windows

and turn on the AC,

Sitting on the sofa,

Staring at their PC.

The kids don’t chat,

eating apples with butter.

Their bottoms aches with rest,

their minds run till midnight – unrest.

They haven’t seen the sun red,

Neither walked on the grass-bed.

They know so little about the moon,

They’ll forget about the stars soon.

They talk like that of a cartoon they watched,

they prefer to draw a butterfly, than to catch.

Still, when they’re free

their eyes search for a far away tree,

to watch their leaves dance in harmony.

A glimpse of a flying bird makes their day

This is the price they have to pay,

For God knows what?

To live a life,

with very few moments to live.

©®Sana Mahin.

Dreams

A letter to my home.

Dear home,

I never thought I would miss you this much. Though it was very clear that one day I’m gonna leave you after getting married.

It’s not your walls or your spacious veranda that’s making me home sick. It’s those visible stains of my childhood on your walls and the soothing sunlight which makes my stomach churn with nostalgia. At times, it’s so intense that it pricks my eyes.

Almost everything is same here, from sunrise to sunsets. But I don’t witness them very often. Thanks to all the tall buildings and the veranda-less houses. Though, occasionally I run upstairs to the terrace and let the sun rays play on my skin.

There is also a tiny east-faced window in the kitchen which has became my friend. My mother-in-law always let it open partially obstructing the view from outside. But I can see all the happenings on the road while cooking.

The road hosts a lot of real dramas — auto-drivers sleeping in their autos beside the no-parking sign board, energetic baraatis passing by with a dull bride-groom and some oldies taking their dogs out for a walk. The city seems to be very much home for almost all of them. They roam freely and chatter unthinkingly about almost anything.

Although there is no rule for me to not chatter and there are no restrictions on me going anywhere. Still, I watch my words and actions. Because, it’s not my home. Actually it is. It is very much my home legally and I really believe it is. May be, my  heart needs some more time to feel like home.

No, no. I’m happy. I’m happily married to a man much better than my dreams. My heart has found it’s home in him and my physical being has also got a nice place to live. It’s the other people of the house who are very distant to me, my heart.

I sometimes feel marriage is a gift. It gifts you a soulmate which usually comes with unnecessary colorful wrappings which looks decorative at first and irritating after a while. But you’ll try to keep all of them out of some untold patriarchial duties. In my case, it’s them, my not-so-friendly in-laws.

I try to ignore them by reminiscing the days spent with you till my man comes back and switch on the fairy lights of my life.

Dear home, you’ll always be my home as somebody rightly said, “the home is where the heart is.”

Your distant inhabitant,
Sana.

This is my baby plant, happily growing in water.

Things required to Love.

Life.

I’m Not That “She” (Poetry)

Dare you never

To control,

Nor convince,

Neither force me.

I can’t entertain your wishes —

I’m not that she.

Still you want me to follow?

Fix this thing in your mind shallow.

My soul is mine.

My choice is fine.

I’m not the bird – you can cage.

I’m a butterfly,

I wander as per my taste.

I sit on beauties which reflect respect.

I’ll stay where the smell of love is felt.

‐Sana Mahin. (Copyright reserved)

Abandoned daughter (poetry)

I hardly weigh 10 pounds

Still I’m like a burden for some.

Unlike other kids, I’m not loved

I got abandoned

Along with my mother

By my so-called father,

For whom marriage was just a game,

Least he had any shame.

.

I feel mother is luckier than me,

Many are ready to accept her,

Still she hold a charm in her,

People say, she’s of some use.

.

But I became a stone in her path,

To get a new light in her life.

Though I can’t walk

And hardly can talk.

.

Some men don’t want a ready-made daughter,

For them, their genetic share matters.

Some men fear about expenses.

I didn’t even got all my milky teeth

I feed on milk, little oxygen I breath.

.

Someday mom may get married again,

Aunties won’t let her live in pain.

After which, I’ll be totally alone,

My right to be called as her daughter will be gone.

Her new husband may not want a ready-made daughter,

My story will be shared in parties with hidden laughter.

After all, I’m an abandoned daughter,

No one wants me, because genetic share matters..

©® Sana Mahin..

Written with a heavy heart..

What’s the biggest sin?

Heeyyy guys! How are you all? I haven’t been posting here for so long.. No, I was not busy but don’t know I wasn’t feeling like posting anything or say I’ve been procrastinating.

You know what, I have something amazing to share with you and I’m sure you gonna love this too. It’s a lesson I learnt from one of my favorite book “The kite runner” by Khaled Hosseini. I can’t tell you how much I loved this book.

The plot revolves around the friendship of two boys Amir and Hasan battling their lives in war tormented country, Afghanistan. The story is all about love, loss and betrayal. The most important thing I like about this book is it shows us why we shouldn’t judge people by their past especially when they are fighting their own souls not to repeat that again.

And here comes my favorite part of the book.

“Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft. When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir”

I can’t agree more on these lines. Isn’t stealing the most criminal act? And I think we can add few more lines to it.

When you tell someone that they are wrong or their opinion is wrong, you’re stealing their right to have an opinion. Everyone on this planet has the right to live an independent life, we don’t have any right to steal their freedom unless it’s hurting others either physically or emotionally.

But, certain people let their emotions attach with others. For some people the way others wear clothes also hurts, the way others pray also hurts and they do all to stop them from doing that, and it’s also a variation of theft. You can’t steal someone’s right to be just the way they are. It’s a crime.

My ratings : 4.5/5

Comment below if you’ve read the book and what you liked about this most.

Signing off

Ba bye..

Can I still be called patriot?

O’ lord,

You created a huge piece of land,

As a gift for mankind..

Decorated with ribbons

Of five huge oceans,

We draw few lines

And kept extending it..

Dividing your beautiful gift

Nations we split..

We are taught to love

Only our part of land

Where we born..

O’ lord,

Is this why you created earth?

To draw lines

And fight wars?

Can’t we love the total gift?

And still be called patriot?

©®Sana Mahin..

I love my country and I don’t need to prove this.. I feel loving your country is an obvious emotion, you don’t need to develop it..

Sometimes I feel either we are Indian, American, European.. We should be Earthian first..

Thank you for reading..

Mystery of Rainfall..

The falling of rain is a mystery,

Some thought the drops dancing,

Enjoying their chemistry..

Some feel it’s crying,

As they left the cemetery..

.

For me, it reveals history

Of being abandoned by the clouds..

Showing no signs of injury,

Falling with liberty breaking all bonds,

It symbolizes victory..!

©®Sana Mahin..

I think we should all learn this from rain..

Thank you..