Here I share with you my poems, articles, rants, ramblings, views, reviews or anything that pleases me to write
A poem is coming;
oozing through a tiny opening
of the block —
a bullet hole
from the left to the right hemisphere
in the skull of this Waziristan child.
A poem is coming
wrapped in a blood-stained sheet
upheld in a charpoy
over the shoulders of the bereaved
of a drone strike;
is coming,
screaming to be heard,
staggering under crimson curlicues,
intruding onto the blank peace,
of your apathy.
Its been a long night. Not that I no longer love the dark companion in pain — it has its shades written all over on me — I just want to have a peek at a ray of light to distract myself to life, if there is some, that is.
But wishes wont do it I guess; I’ll have to find a bit of kerosene and a burning matchstick to flame this round mass of flesh that keeps writhing inside the cage of my ribs.
It wont be easy to bring glow to a charred existence; I’ll have to keep stoking me within to do some life.
In Pushto by Rahim Khan Majrooh
Translation by Aadil Omer
The events of the last connection
of our relation were so sudden,
so ephemeral that I couldn’t sense it.
I can’t remember what we talked about last
except the words that you uttered,
‘I leave you to the protection of God,
‘You leave me to the protection of God.’
In a state of shock, I couldn’t believe
our parting even when a lot of days lapsed.
‘Nay! It cannot happen!’ I said
‘Our ways can’t be separated!’I thought.
Then the time withdrew its hand
of generosity from that of mine.
Then the fate separated its hand
of companionship form that of mine.
Then the universe of light and color
turned dull and dour.
Then the pines of the florid land
of my thoughts caught fire.
Then, the houris of the paradise
of my dreams turned to freaky vampires
of the streets of lonesomeness.
Then, a peculiar scene formed my backdrop.
As though someone drew the ground
from under my feet; I was hung in the air
like a pi-pal tree, grown within a wall.
From thereon, love,
neither smile visited my lips
nor sleep stayed in my eyes.
True, I’m alive but just like a corpse;
Like the pieces of a widow’s bangles
shattered in pain.
To be honest, I staggered midway through this poem as to how to go about it or how to give it an ending which am not at all satisfied with what it has got but I had to finish it to feed my blog hence its being posted.
On another note, the theme of this poem may not be appropriate enough to complete my 200th post on this blog but its how it is; my life, my blog. Hope you’d tolerate my excessive outpour of pain and its dimensions.
No signs preceded the tempest;
the sky hid secrets
under the hoax of clear azure
before it split
to inflict a fierce pain-storm
upon me.
And wells swelled with every
step you took on your way
back in your sudden defection
from my chest.
The tides rose
to blur the dreams
of islands in my eyes.
Like a boat, severed
with torn up sails, I float
on the whims
of wild winds intent
on giving me the torture
of your loss
before sinking me deep
into obscurity.
Don’t ask me the meaning, my life’s devoid of it ..
It was succulent
with red, luscious blood
as it fruited
on a stalk of love, rooted
in the very soil
I’ve been molded from.
It waited to be plucked
and savored,
but a stone of indifference
burst it into a spill
of scarlet pain
which absorbed
into the very soil
I’ve been molded from.
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.
Not getting
the reciprocal love
could also be
a blessing;
I can’t thank you much,
for, how would I’ve resisted
the pull of your quagmired
affection, had you shown some?
And I’d have lost
to you, all my worth;
the concern I owe
to a world dying
below the poverty line
of love.
Though its hard to tame
a fretful heart
craving to taste
what it gave.
Yet, the pain of
your separation
doesn’t kill, as such,
hence ..
I can’t thank you much …
Our longing gravitates
as much as the separation
widens and our souls
step out of their shells
to meet in the celestial heights.
Entwined in ecstatic trance
they satiate with the purity of bliss
before a glance at our parted bodies
stimulates their altruism for the grieved.
Our souls re-enter
their momentary abodes and
sprinkle the magic they hold
to soothe our craving bodies
until they themselves lose
their essence.
And the urge to rejuvenate
takes them by the hand
for another embrace.
