Vanished Romance

When the moon feeds
on the residue
of a dying fireball,

I replenish my thoughts
with the wicks of a zillion candles–
extending from the canopy
of a dark night

before the moon is blindfolded
by the beams of a rising sun,

and my dreams, crumble
in the working hours,
snuffed by heavy feet,
rushing to make ends meet.

Pushto Hykos In Translation

Original In Pushto By Rahim Khan Majrooh

Translated By Syed Aadil Omer


True; the threats of floods are there

But I’ll keep planting flowers by the river

For, who’s relinquished life in fright of death?


Just to keep my feel alive

I wash my wounds with salty water,

Lest, who’d choose to inflict pain upon oneself!


Peace grows not like the wild seeds of mustard

On each the barren land

It needs the moisture of Justice with a thorough sprinkle


Why do you hurl stones at the mirror

Upon seeing the strands of gray in your locks

Time’s not like Rahim Khan, O’ my naïve dear!

The Old Lament — The Writers Block

Boundaries appear
and great walls stand tall
around my thoughts
to confine me from preying on words
and feeding the white sheets
for my survival

Unable to fetch
fresh food for thought
I’ll keep munching on
cliched words and phrases
scribbling the old lament —
the writers block,
hoping for the walls
to crumble, waiting
to inhale the air
rich in newer ideas
and write till the end.

Ghalib …

سب کہاں کچھ لالہ و گل میں نمایاں ہو گئیں

خاک میں کیا صورتیں ہوں گی جو پنہاں ہوگئیں

یاد تھیں ہم کو بھی رنگا رنگ بزم آرائیاں

لیکن اب نقش و نگار طاق نسیاں ہو گئیں

Not all but some have reappeared in Tulips and (other) flowers

What (grand) faces those would have been, which are buried in mud!

Remembered, we too, (being part of) the colorful gatherings (of yore)

Which now have become the decorative embroidery of the shelf of forgetfulness

Honest Scrap Award

They call it an a w a r d which to me is an investigation, instigation rather, to make you reveal the aspects of your personality that lie somehow hidden from the eyes of the world. Whatever, I’ll take it for the mere name of it and more so for the nicety of Cavaliere who bestowed it upon my blog 🙂


The Rules:

  • Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.
  • Show the 7 winners’ names on your blog & leave a comment informing them that they have been awarded Honest Scrap.
  • List at least 10 honest things about yourself.

10 Honest Things About Aadil:

  1. Aadil’s a pathetic procrastinator
  2. He’s childish for which he’s often mocked by his friends
  3. He’s an idealist who’s finding it very hard to cope with a real world
  4. He can’t be in a love relationship for he’s too much an extremist and he fears once indulged he might lose his love for his siblings and his mother
  5. He’s very possessive
  6. He abhors racists
  7. He can’t forgive himself for being an irresponsible child to his late father.
  8. He isn’t that social and prefers loneliness
  9. He’s unsuccessful and very much frustrated with his present professional status
  10. He loves Pakistan from the core of his heart

I’m afraid I won’t act upon the third rule of this tag because most of my friends have already been awarded by the good Cav. Every random visitor may consider himself awarded, though.

Cherish, Not Consume

In obedience of a caprice
you tore apart the wrappings
(textured with dreams)
and got hold of the essence;
a red, throbbing, present
that I sent you
quivered with fear.

Your erstwhile slender fingers
(that often mingled with mine)
shaped into piercing claws
as they clenched my heart
and held it to the Vampirish teeth,
(smiling, symmetrical)
which sucked it in your gluttony.

The urge to feed on love
manipulates your lovely features
as you move from sanity to craze
and crave to devour more.

Gifts are to cherish, not consume
for the reservoir might run dry.
Preying on others’ emotions,
to satiate your self-inflicted hunger
may weaken you within
and I don’t want you to crumble.