Sometimes, I think, every obsession is exhausted love, but then big things are achieved with obsessive instinct, just like to follow the path tirelessly without knowing where it is leading to. What really is an achievement? Is there any universal definition of it? Achievement is just like a personal stimulation or collective satisfaction? Achievement is name, fame, money, power, pleasure, bliss, or what? Nothing endures that long. Every name and every fame fade away like momentary dust. What about money? Money is just like faith; a piece of paper, or few digits moving here and there, its exchange value is useful for food, cloth, shelter; not more than that. What else its surplus does? Perhaps, a definition of richness which withers away in the pages of history. World is no more ruled by Rockefeller or Rothschild, and these names may be remembered in a short span of time for whatever reason, but they don't endure that long in the history of Earth, just forget about unknown universe. What else may be described as achievement? Perhaps, life itself is an achievement. It's wonderful to be alive. Achievement is not a distant future. You're an achievement.To coil to be is unreal. Here you're. Feel through senses the amazing phenomenon of Universe. Just be there, once you feel the vibrance of life, becoming would be a futile exercise. I have not seen a plant, desiring to be someone, not a drop of river, shivering in insecurity to protect the ego. Water is shapeless, surrender itself with flow, in trance, just like magic of uncertainty pervades around us. Every desire of accumulation enslaves mind; every desire to be is an insult of being. Being is real, here and now, what else, you'll achieve?
पढ़ता हूँ हर एक दिन एक ही पन्ना, हर दिन हज़ार ये मालूम पड़ते हैं। जबसे होश संभाला है एक ही पन्ना सवांरते आया हूँ, लोग इसे ज़िन्दगी कहते हैं। इसपे लिखे हर एक लब्ज़ जो मेरे मालूम पड़ते हैं, ना जाने कितने जुबां पे चढ़े होंगे। आज हम भी कुछ पल के लिए ही सही इसके सारथी हैं, जाने से पहले कुछ रंग मेरा भी इसपे चढ़ जाए, बस इसीलिए एक ही पन्ना बार बार पलटता रहता हूँ। हर कोई अनजाने किताब की तलाश में बाहर निकलता है, जिसका हर एक पन्ना वो ख़ुद है। जब ख़ुद के रंग को समझ ही ना पाया, तो भला इंद्रधनुषी किताब के क्या मायने हैं? अस्तित्व में ना जाने कितने पन्ने बिखरे पड़े हैं, बस एक से ही अवगत हो जाऊँ, उसके हर एक शब्द को चुनता जाऊँ, कुछ पल के लिये सही, पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का।
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