अश्वत्थामा kavita

Photo by Frank Lindecke

कालांतर के झरोखों से
पलटे हैं पन्ने स्मृतियों के
होता है अनायास ही विस्मरण
छूट गए थे जो मील के पत्थर
समय की निरंतरता से पीछे
आज बने हैं स्तंभ विस्मृतियों के
हौले से आकर जो आभास कराते हैं
कभी स्वप्न में कभी यादों में
तुम तो बढ़ गए सवार होकर
समय के रथ चक्र पर
भटक रहा है वह आज भी
इस निषाद वन में
उन विस्मृतियों के साए में
भटकाव ही होगा अंतिम आश्रय
इस अश्वत्थामा का
वह तो शापित था
पुत्र वध में द्रौपदी के
ज्ञात था उसे भटकाव का
भटक रहा है आज भी
अतीत के झंझावात में उलझा
कारणों की तालाश में
आज का अश्वत्थामा।

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Nelaksh Shukla

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
what is your always be your what isn't it would never be doesn't matter how hard you are...
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

3 Comments on "अश्वत्थामा"

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest
anu mishra

grt views ………………..write few more abut asatthama .


What’s The Difference?

Whats The Difference? long poem

The legato of language and lingo, The dance of diction and dialect — Have you ever considered the difference A little letter or two can effect? Texture of tense, Savor of sense, The nuance in a sentence — What’s really

U.f. Joe

U.f. Joe long poem

Meet Zask and Zisk, See them venture forth — They know little About the destination, Only that it’s an energy station On a big blue world Known to locals as Earth. “Look at that!” Exclaims Zask, “We are in luck

From My Journals ‘love’

From My Journals love short poem

The very essence of love is uncertain, A relentless thumping of the heart. I must speak to you by such means as they are within my reach. He pierces my soul driving me into madness. I am half agony, half

From My Journals ‘anxiety’

From My Journals anxiety prose poem

The moon awaits eagerly in the same pedestal it ignited my passion. What lips, my lips have kissed, are long forgotten. The memories easily quickened as a few puddles along the way I voluntarily stepped in. What arms have lain

From My Journals ‘cinnamon’

From My Journals cinnamon prose poem

He saw things in a way that others did not, he was the only one that saw my dreams differently, I became beautiful with the light of his smiling eyes. There my soul drifted render in angle to give the