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.

Writing Melancholy

When the ferocity of pain

pierces the bounds of reason,

gushing in to the realms

of my mind,

and floods the corridors

of my heart;

when it rises up the levels

of strangulating heights

and just when I’m about

to drown in its tides,

I hold on to my pen

which inks the excessive

water, shaping it

to words and phrases.

Thus I’m unburdened

but the brazen words

never cease to invoke

sympathy, as though

the pain was maltreated.

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