Me

I’m a breathing corpse

buried

under

a smoldering pyre

of dreams.

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The death of word, verse and dream

The malaise sat into my senses and trickled exactly into the lacunae left by the departed dreams. Now I feel I’d shortly bid adieu to whatever remaining links I have with the world. I feel like I have been living whatever Mr. Moeen Nizami said in the words below;

Hamaray lafz

aaghaz e marasim may tau kuch ma’soom say logo’n ko

bayhad achay lagtay thay

na janay in may kya kya tha, buhut mashoor kun thay woh

magar woh lafz jhootay thay, unhay tauqeer kya milti.

Hamaray shaer aaghaz e marasim may tau kuch ma’soom say logo’n ko

bayhad achay lagtay thay

woh dil darya kay mauti thay, adab may ghair mamooli izafa thay

magar woh shaer khotay thay, inhay ta’seer kya milti.

Hamaray khawb, aaghaz e marasim may tau kuch ma’soom say logon ko

bayhad achay lagtay thay

magary woh khawb andhay thay

inhay ta’beer kya milti.

Yeh anjam e marasim kay marahil hai’n

shikast e lafz o shaer o khawb kay yeh dil garifta aayeenay dil kay muqabil hai’n

An Exercise III

Here the theme is Parallax with I having all the liberty in the world to use whatever words I can. But all I am able to conjure are these ordinary lines below. I’ve promised to myself to try out the theme with some other interpretation, but for now I have all it is.

what was the point, then
to lionize

my pale,frail,filthy frame

to that of a man
for all the seasons
of love

when you gazed upon me
from a point of no return
through the scarlet
shades of what
ran in your veins,

only to distance to
a place where all
that were sought were
golden returns,
by investing sentiments.

Distances sure make
one require lenses to see;
gilded in your case.

An Exercise

Cav is generous in help and I’m indebted for his gesture. He gave me a theme of ‘memory’ with words like ‘grove’ ‘midgets/midges’ ‘tingle’ ‘dusk’ and ‘window’ to be used in the development of a concept. I tried it abliet with a frozen mind resisting to unshackle and came up with a raw, rushed up (I wasn’t hastened, though) story. Here it is. It will be shaped, reshaped and even written off, in light of you people’s suggestions.

Sitting poles apart

in his cozy room

he would crave to be

a part of the scence

when he’d watch

on his tv screen,

the glistening Himalayan peaks

kissing the Indus-blue cheeks

of the sky that would blush

into all the possible hues.

As if a speck of a mettle

enchanted towards a gigantic magnet

he found himself moving

towards the mountaneous range.

Standing at the feet

of the Nanga Purbut

he was a midget

filled with the naivete

to surmount love.

Pinching the body

of the slumbering beast

he crawled up

unaware of the pitfalls

waiting under the sheets

of white snow.

The arrival of dusk

emboldened the air

that lanced through

his mountaineering gear

as he was tingled

before being gobbled

by a cavernous hole.

It all happened in a trice;

his body writhed like a fish

in protest of decption,

his heart blissed out

and froze like that

of the beloved

and his mind rolled

in a backward motion

showing him the glimpse

of his wife sitting across

the window pane

staring deep at the

grove where they’d play

hide and seek.

I will taint you ..

As you refuse

to own them —

the illegitimate words

that fertilized in the womb

of my mind,

(when your thoughts persuaded

my passion to produce

love poems)

I’ll throw them at your face,

I’ll taint you,

I’ll hand you the guilt

of their birth out of wedlock

if I’m ridiculed for their creation

this time again.

Like A Season Goes By ..

The flowers on your

embroidered dopatta would

remain fresh,

(like the ones I would place

in your locks)

soaked in the midnight rains

of your eyes;

now, sighs, that formed

the thick rain-clouds

are no more to rise

as you trample the wilted

leaves of our blooming love

evoking thoughts

of an autumn that came too soon

P.S: I was taken by a pleasant surprise to see a publication after quite some time.