If the cracks
Left in the trap doors
Of the dungeon of your being
Are punitive enticements –
Fanning your crave
To be out there in the open –
Then you sure make a tryst
Of a heart, letting the rays
Of a love feel their way in.
The larger scheme to contain
Thus, is all vain.
We had nothing much
Except for a seed,
Soiled deep in our chests
It never grew into a shade.
In the universal drought
Of light, the weather took lives
We have nothing much
Except for a fruit
We are never meant to taste.
Fill. Condensed of a sound. Reacting to a cosmos. Like crashing bound. Rotate. Circle. Crash. Lift. Back. Slow, softly, cross over, walk over the high bridge, where falling in to cold drops a part of the gossamer or substance. Leading trail. Leaving no trace. Dips in, tender. Arise, floating. Above seeks a sign.
.is never a hush. Never can be. Arms out open to something unseen, is quick. Relate, recover, recall, quick. Collect. Quicker. Hands down Charlie. Hands down.
Namaz is maqbool poetry;
the traits of a considerate Allah
have somehow stalled to trickle
to a heart that wouldn’t listen
to the poems I observe
in the night long vigils.
Yet when I stand before the Lord
or when I prostrate,
an image gets vivid,
adding to the metaphor,
so much so
to be the theme of the poem.
Below here is my first experiment with something of a ghazal form in English; I am not much aware of the nuances of ghazal writing in English but am excited about it being the first draft :)
What is wrong with your memory O’ Mardan
You’ve ceased to be my sanctuary O’ Mardan
I, the frost-bitten of a heart am often numb
Your warmth is my therapy O’ Mardan
Your ruins define you more than your buildings
Would you please change your story O’ Mardan
Your days are dour and blinding dusty
Yet your nights are twinkling starry O’ Mardan
Your bazaars hammer me with cacophony
For my heart you are a tranquil melody O’ Mardan