Boredom

It has never been a case with me — such protraction of a phase of boredom. The current one has really stretched from days to weeks to months and I don’t know where it intends to go from here dragging me along. When I retrospect, I find some missing links, the fading glimpse of a galaxy I used to enkindle my being from. The realization is, that I lost my inspiration and I badly need some to turn this tide of nothingness.

I wish to reconnect with the people whose presence meant colors when things became dull like they are.

Writing Haiku

Below here are a few random attempts at writing haiku, courtesy the inspiration from a few nice fellows at DWL.

1)
Alone in Isloo;
I enjoy the company
of mom in mardan

2)
Nineteen, forty five;
a generation lost
on a spur of rage

3)
Worshiping haiku,
we count on our fingertips
seventeen syllables

4)
Gigantic egos,
collide in futile battles,
relations suffer.

Nursery rhymes? Aren’t they fun!

Its been ages since I last tried something to rhyme. As most the people I came across in a few writing forums loath rhyming and rightly so for rhyming could so conveniently affect the thought behind an idea; the thought being the soul in a write up or poem for that matter. Yet, there are some schools of thought who love to keep the tradition of rhyming alive. I heard from someone an interesting analogy of exemplifying the context to that of tea and a cup; the tea being the thought or idea of a write up and the cup being the structure or form. Now some prefer the chai to be strong enough to sooth their senses while their certainly are others attracted by the colors and structure of the mug containing it.

Below here is my effort to rhyme a few lines for fun. The critics surely will call them forced rhymes which in fact they are but what I wanted was to play with those words the way I haven’t played for quite some time.

Your whispers like a flowing rhyme

sound as if the bells chime

in the crypt of a slumbering time

with an an effect, purely sublime

_________________________________________

Your eyes, like goblets of wine

are made to quench a thirst only mine.

In the dark of life, like a guide divine,

keeping me on track, do they shine.

___________________________________________

Growing doubts in your brain

will only help our love to wane,

and I can’t bear such a pain,

for I’ll hardly remain sane.

______________________________________________

Placing on this heart, the sill

of your separation is a pill

bitter than hemlock; better

you asked me, myself to kill

The Vulture Whispered: By Yusuf Abbasi

Though written some twenty years ago by the talented Yusuf Abbasi the poem below is an apt presentation of the state of humanity today. Indeed, man kills in a thousand ways and yet we call ourselves as ‘The grand creatures’.

The vulture whispered

To the wind

Heavy with stench

An evil spirit

Hovering

Over the dead animal,

Remains of a tiger’s kill

Visited by hyenas.

Lo these beasts!

So mean!

They kill only to eat

Leave us nothing

Save bones, and no meat.

Lo! man, the noble beast

He kills his fellow beings

In a thousand ways

And leaves them all

For our feast.

The Light Of Tears

Hopes exude en masse

when night befalls

the avenues of life.

The horizon mourns death

of the Sun wrapping itself

in a darkish shawl.

A million eyes inhabiting

the milky way peep down

through the dark,

crying like stars.

Spotting me here, a pair

descends steps of the air

in a hundredth of a second,

lending me what

my eyes require.

‘The dawn is silhouetted near’,

says the light of my tears.

Inspired by Mohsin Naqvi’s verse,

Mohsin taloo-e-ashk daleel-e-sahar tau hay,

shab kat gayee charagh bujha dena chahiye