जीवन — Life | Alokmani.com

हिंदी

कर्म का अभ्यास
भगवान की आस
बढ़ती प्यास
करता नमन
फिर भी उदास

अपार कृपया की
बढ़ती चाह
हर मोड़ पर
मिलती नई राह

भ्रम का संकेत
मस्तिक का आवेग
दिशाहिन् होता
लक्ष्यविहीन

अल्प वृत की चाह
थका देती
तन को
मन को

अधूरे कर्म
सपनो की साथ
जलता शरीर
लपटों के बाद

बचे अवशेष
धूल बनकर उड़ रहे
भीगे नयन, सूखे पड़े
यादे मिटती, समय के साथ ||

— अलोक मणि त्रिपाठी

English

The practice of actions (Karma),
Hope placed in God,
A thirst ever-growing,
Bowing in reverence,
Yet, still filled with sadness.

An increasing desire
For boundless grace,
At every turn,
A new path appears.

A sign of illusion,
The mind's impulse,
Becoming directionless,
Devoid of aim.

The longing for the small circle,
It tires out
The body,
The mind.

Incomplete deeds,
Accompanied by dreams,
The body burns,
After the flames.

The remains left behind,
Turning to dust, they fly away.
Tear-filled eyes, now dried,
Memories fade, with time.

— Alok Mani Tripathi

A Reading of the Poem

I. The Cycle of Action and Hope

The poem opens with the human condition in its most earnest form — constant effort (Karma), faith placed in something higher, and devotion expressed through reverence. Yet despite all of this, a quiet sadness persists. The striving and the longing exist simultaneously, unresolved.

II. The Path That Keeps Turning

Life offers new directions at every bend — not as gifts, but as reflections of the seeker's confusion. The mind's impulses pull without clarity, and the soul drifts without a fixed aim. The path multiplies even as the destination remains elusive.

III. The Exhaustion of Small Desires

The pursuit of the limited and the temporary — the alp vrit, the small circle — wears down both body and mind. It is not grand ambition that destroys, but the relentless accumulation of small, unfinished longings, carried alongside dreams that never quite arrive.

IV. Mortality and the Quiet Fading

The final stanzas are stark and honest. The body returns to ash. Eyes that once overflowed eventually dry. And memory — which feels so permanent — slowly dissolves with the passage of time. The poem does not mourn this. It simply observes it, with the stillness of someone who has looked long enough to see clearly.