By Swayam Nerkar
“Bewajah Zinda” reads like a quiet confession. In simple, aching lines it captures the slow, hollow aftershock of a love that has turned absent — not violently ended, but emptied. The speaker’s heart still beats, but the life inside that rhythm has become purposeless; breaths feel heavy, smiles are rehearsed, and memories linger like unfinished sentences. The poem’s voice is intimate and conversational, moving between direct questions to the self and small, vivid images (tired eyes, a stopped glance, a lone night) that make the emotional loss feel immediate and human.
Dil ne phir aaj raato se pucha —
“Main dhadak kyun raha hoon… jab saans bhi boojh lagti hai?”
Khwabon ka toh kya hi kehna,
Woh toh ud gaye… jab tumne mud kar dekhna hi chhod diya.
Meri muskurahat ab sirf ek acting ban gayi hai,
Aankhon ke neeche ki thakaan sab sach bayaan karti hai.
Main hansta hoon… par rooh andar se cheekh uthti hai,
Khushi ki awaaz dab jati hai… jab tanhaai se takraati hai.
Tumhare bina raat lambi nahi hoti… balki khaali hoti hai,
Pal pal mein ek qayamat si tootti hai.
Kabhi main zinda tha umiidon ka sahara lekar,
Aaj bewajah chal raha hoon… bas dhadkan ko sazaa dekar.
Agar kabhi meri yaad kisi liner jaise tumhari nazar se guzre,
Toh ek pal rok lena… ye samajhne ke liye —
Ki main khud ko khona nahi chahta tha…
Bas tumhe sambhalte sambhalte, main hi bikhar gaya.
“Bewajah Zinda” is a restrained, heartfelt meditation on surviving when survival has lost its meaning. It’s less about dramatic endings and more about the small erosions that follow when love or attention fades: smiles that are only acting, nights that feel hollow, and a self that slips away while caring for another. The poem’s power lies in its honesty and the everyday images it uses to make loss tangible. Readers come to it for recognition, for the quiet company of a voice that names their tiredness, and for the consolation that their muted grief is seen and understood.
