میں اگر زیست کی

اس کہانی کو

تصنیف خود کررہا ہوں

تو کردار میرے بنائے ہوئے

کیوں نہیں ہیں،

 

یہ کہانی ورق در ورق

باب در باب

میرے تصور کے برعکس

تبدیل ہوتی رہی ہے،

 

میرا احساس خود مجھ کو

جبری مشقت کا قیدی

بنائے ہوئے ہے،

 

مگرآسمان محبت میں

ہلکی سی جنبش ہوئی ہے

اور مجھ کو یقیں ہے

میرے حصے کی روشن کرن

میرے زنداں کی جانب

روانہ ہوئی ہے۔

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Ghazal

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

High, Hermit, Hook, Heal

I’ve written it mouthfulls and am yearning for brevity but am liking the start of the process. Hope things will improve with practice and time. The post is again courtesy the kind one I’ve mentioned in the last blog 🙂

The sky falls flat in my feet

as I pluck star after a blazing star;

I blow them cold, so they cannot char

your finger-tips.

Then I take you high,

leaving my ego with the townsfolk.

_______________________________________________________________________

I lose you somewhere in the ether;

your eyes, kohled with star-dust

turn blind on me.

_______________________________________________________________________

I’m a hermit,

living another time and space

beyond the din of the earth’s ridicule,

even the reach of your apathy.

________________________________________________________________________

Yet, on certain moonless nights

a Polaris keeps me hooked to the fire;

a yearning comes to crush it kohl,

to heal a wound,

to grace a pair of eyes.

 

 

 

Serendipity. Serenade. See. Seduce

I requested Samira to help me write something with prompts. She was kind enough to respond with the titled words that I tried to build an idea upon, notwithstanding it coming out rough and very raw but I could be forgiven for one can rarely be fluent after taking such long intervals of inactivity in writing.

Life barely walked,

in the desert veins,

trudging along the travails

till it reached the sweet serendipity

of an oasis –

heart –

soaked in the monsoon

of your thoughts;

sedate, a touch shade

your eyes.

The beats played a serenade

as though to lure you back.

See, how rich is this abode,

seducing the red in veins

to mix in your lips.

Words in agony

Quenchless words flap their broken wings

but they fall short every time they try a flight

from the dry, rigid terrain of my brain;

their squeaking beaks pierce holes in my soul

yet their pain remains confined.

Clouds cover my thoughts but it seldom rains.

Instead they languish in travails, I pray they be dead

lying in the deathless embrace of the waiting white sheets.

Nowshera Resolves

The river Kabul caressed me
through centuries of our intimacy;
our love was always young
like spring blooms in the new city.

I would sail on its back
or fish in the serenity of its heart
before the watershed–

drunken high on torrential rain,
almost insane,
the river rose to claim
the lives of my folk;
gobble my children,
plunder my crop.

But I shall not let the flood
moisten my eyes;
I’m the one
who divinity wanted to possess
with the rage of love.