Two Roses

One morning when I started sad,

to settle some earthly affray mad

tardily aside one bustling road.

Walked unmindfully and questioning God.

The ascent of a slope I did not feel.

Blame the slowness or my mind !

But when that old man from my hind,

pulling his cart to earn his meal,

pulled past me braving in elderly gait,

against his penury and sickness and fate.

The cart carried some floral greens,

and some pots with them to decorate.

He carried the cart with dwindling means.

In morning itself had to perspirate.

Not much was for me then to do,

But to ignore him the way we do.

I could do and not just think or say,

I could buy some of his sweat drops away.

Checked for money if I carried some

Two roses all could I manage,

and two pots for them to carry home,

With all the papers and coinage.

Both of them had one bud each.

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One soothing yellow and one blooming pink.

I gave the news where it had to reach ,

When the yellow blossomed in a wink.

In eagerness I waited for the other,

To my despair it started to wither.

Sun or water or manure,

I cried for it when could not cure.

Slowly the bud drooped and then it dried.

And every morning some leaves fell.

Some say if lives a single cell,

You may see the living side.

I watered it and kept on praying,

having faith in the sanguine saying.

This morning I have seen a tiny tender leaf,

Has opened wide the ways for my diminishing belief.

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O Owner of all the little lives !

Let not die my cell of hope ,

It is not mine, see it thrives,

I can neither lie nor elope.

O My Dear God

I pray to you
I wail and weep
Then I pray again
O my dear God !
You gifted me with love
Sinless and profound
In strength it grew
The strength it drew from you
None but your desire, sure
I kept on creeping higher
To whom should now I go
O my dear God !
I have met such low
I don’t kvetch , I just bow
Have I salvaged my vow
O my dear God
No No No !
I wail and weep
Over this unvanquishable gap
On my avid caring map.
What is unbeknownst to you ?
My sinking heart or my moue ?
I write not it all for you know it more,
As some laugh on whoever sore
My tears are not all of mine
The rest of them are more than mine
I have sought them
In your name,
O my dear God !
Out of shame !
I wail and weep
Over my fate
And I plead to you
Not for rescue
I know you never hate
I seek you not for pain
But never make one like me again.

O Sun

O Sun
I am not alone
please don't sink so slow,  
O Sun
she is on her way
Like shadow she comes
Don't know from where
O Sun
with your light
the moon will come
from behind the colored clouds
high from very low
O Sun
Go Go Go

Oh My salty deluge !

Oh My salty deluge !
get held up for some nights,
Else yourself be drowned
then beg for no refuge.
Shall not I try to hold
or tell you to be dry
Till then Storm up more
Intense and very cold
For now may thinly pour
In soothing greenish words
Until this nib is fully broken
And dreams breathing no more.

wo mohabbat nahi samajhte hum revayet nahi samajhte hain

tajawuz kiya dil ne qarar se ye apne nahi samajhte hain

khak ye char roza zindagani jo khaali ho talluq se

wo talluq nahi samajhte hain hum tark e talluq nahi samajhte hain

November

The glow of just warm sun comes and goes,

and zephyrs play around their hide and seek.

Sweet tingles come from cryptic curls,

and young hearts sway in mystic swirls.

The coloured cotton balls of the skies too,

keep flying like an infant’s dreams.

Join to break and break to join ,

like a herd of fawns just feeling fine.

In joyful eagerness the buds compete,

to unfurl the petals of countless hues.

Brilliance all around, above the bluer sky.

Hearts dance around and the eyes nearly shy.

But knows no one this chill of warmth

this strangled month has so gifted us.

Distant is my heart in die better pain.

And I hate to hate this November rain.

...

The only allegation I would not be able to give my consent to, is that whatever I write from this day is personal. My emptiness alone fulfills my fulfillments. I cannot afford to say that I am anything near being broken. That would be too egocentric to be for what I am slated to go through. Some part of me has died, the rest is also struggling and a new death is born. I remember an interview of Angelina Jolie where she explained why she always likes to be in black attire. Her reply came like - black symbolizes death and she remembers death very often but only to rejoice and bathe in the colors life offers. I was thoroughly impressed by the elegance the reply carried. I wish I could follow the opinion more. Intimacy with colors somehow doesn’t suit me. It has always smitten me. I need those colors more to cogitate about but seek solace in darkness. I know it is not to be feared from. But I write this as I sink deep into my fears and this shadowless darkness, the murkiest of its kind. Such has been my agreement with brightness that I will always offer it such distinguished contrast that it never gets to show up a speck of doubt, however minuscule, over its piousness and luminance. I am deeply wounded that I tried to breech into its brilliance and made it dim for the while I lost my ominous self into it. Now I return to myself, my own dense darkness. Hope it accepts me.

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dil jalaenge
ke ab Shama bujha di humne
lash umeedon ki
ashqon mein baha di humne

taaron ka bhi tu malik
ye chand bhi tera hai
phir bhi meri qismat mein
duniya ka andhera hai

ab mere safine ki
manzil hai bhanwar shayed
sahil ke qareeb aa kar
toofan ne ghera hai

chal maut ke daman mein
aaram karein aye dil

is duniya mein ab koi
tera hai na mera hai

taaron ka bhi tu malik
ye chand bhi tera hai
phir bhi meri qismat mein
duniya ka andhera hai

My Green

No fine picture could I make
But wished it just for goodness sake
For ages I had dull colors
For me to paint and so rehearse
But in finesse I did lack
Blended more of white or black
While making some I liked a lot
Silhouetted portrait or a broken pot
My gaudy glee often fraudulent
From little far looked very repugnant
Sorrows patched by my patchy eyes
Danced in veils with my catchy lies
In a dull dusk by a stagnant lake
My still image showed me the rake
A zephyr passed low on its own
Ripples on me then brightly shown
Resurrected my non lucent beam
With brighter colors in my team
All patterns then got quietly changed
My cottage then in daisies fenced
One day I met a turquoise blue
Sharp and bright and uncommon hue
Somewhere in it a magic knot
With sadness some happiness fought
An endearing yellow then aroused
From my depths where it was housed
Then slowly fondled their streaks
Like smiles on two timorous cheeks
Such richness in color and appearance
How joyful is its silent eloquence
In words I fail to say what I mean
Such is the aura of my lovely green.

A Dictator

There used to be a dictator,
but nobody listened to him.
Still there lives a dictator,
he only listens to his whim.

My Jasmine of Night

In the first of its flowery years
The winter so strongly insane
A jasmine of night in fears
My window just across the lawn.

Cold ripping winds of no repute
Whizz past me to her tender shoots
Must have shivered to her root
With wind my worry too scoots.

Bereaved me off her numerous blooms
They get carried away from me
Faint some dabs with her fumes
Gifts of truce in a wink of wee.

When she sways in her quiet pains
In disguise carefully she lilts
In our distant intimacy she feigns
I cry to her to ward off guilts.

Oblations of youth this winter seizes
I weep in tear and she in flower
To both of us this coldness teases
A jasmine of night and her desperate lover.

Whilst My Beloved Talked To Me

A grain of sugar to a fasting tongue
Or a verse of a long long epic sung
A tingling ripple on a stagnant lake
Or a true gold guinea among all fake
Desert dew, gone too very soon
Or a pebble from it for the entire moon
The sunset show in a village pond
Or among all peanuts a single almond
Short-lived like a morning rainbow
Or an orange tree in savanan meadow
In a flash of a shooting star
Or a note of a flute from far
In gloomy evening a moment free
Whilst my beloved talked to me .

Tale of A Growing Mahogany

Once when I dwelled in a deep dull jungle

Dense and dark and dirty tangle

In my own right stood aloof

Dim and dumb and downright single.

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Few giant trees, villains for all

Their arrogance forever growing tall

Suppressed the nascent flowery shrubs

Deprived were they and left to pall.

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Their shadows jointly covered the forest

Each leaf each twig was put to test

To show them if they can survive

Arrested was the jest, the mildest.

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Beneath them in a heap of dead mass

Strangled even a blade of grass

From nauseating filth they drew

Their growth over youth’s carcass.

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Some vines though were very nimble

Glued to the giants away from bumble

Ate away the dead remains

Their twisted tendrils kept to babble.

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I tried to grow under one of them

And tried to prosper in the selfish helm

When trimmed were my growing shoots

I knew, it was no munificent elm.

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It’s not that I drank, in peevish agony

It is a tale of a growing Mahogany

All the while I grew my willful roots

To grow me out of this stature, Lemony.

The Lilac Afternoon

One afternoon in a walk alone
In wilderness and so our hearts
swarmed with what life has shown
Fastened hands and our mirths
Her shoulders kept on brushing mine
And together our hands swayed
She talked little for silence to shine
And to her notions I obeyed

The contrast in locations played

Here and there and in thoughts too

Sun and shadows all over spread

A white dove and a dark cuckoo

Her brows peaceful in a curve

As if swans soaring in a line

The eyes though in some nerve

I teased them and then were mine

I thought imbibed in them, they are

The only string which dangled me

And in her eyes a distant star

In dreams a lifelong jubilee.

Then we stood by a lake

And made some scintillating ripples

In a moment they stop to shake

But in her eyes and delightful dimples

They kept on doing an encore

In them their dwelling permanent

Long after when we left the shore

I don’t know what they meant?

Asked her to take a bud

High and back of her head

From where her plaits spud

And from where the rivers lead

Didn’t allow me to pluck

And picked up a petal red

And then turned for me to tuck

Then she meekly said

That ‘our love can never harm

A butterfly or a sprout young

And then will never lose charm

With hands or even tongue.’

In full harmony I agreed

And nodded with my eyes

To that lovely creed

With some heavy sighs

While peeked into her heart

Through those eyes immensely true

Found it pulsating hard

And me drinking the dew

Were not tired in spirits though

But surely in the limbs

And looked for where to go

Away from peering jinks

We found a flamboyant tree

A little far from where we stood

Its shade pink and flowery

Isolated and extremely good

Its magic had an appeal

And was not to be fended off

when under it eloped the heavy feel

our eyes then droopy mauve

and burnt them to our union auspicious

but placed us in positions oblique

that small separation gift, a pious

and gave us a tingle unique

I leaned against the gulmohar trunk

and gradually helplessly slided low

my eyes and heart already sunk

in ambers of her love, left to grow

all the while my restlessness dreamt

Sheepishly she approached me

without a hint but her fragrance faint

like a dab of Jasmine flowing free

her snowy hands covered my forehead

sent molten snow down my spine

but to her had already submitted

Her open tresses silky fine

with colors from nights, the darkest

covered my bloodless face

And my throat was then the driest

When touched by the colder necklace

She smelt of wild lilies

And her breath in burning breeze

Could hear her heart with ease

To each beat mine would cease

In her symphony of her gasps

My dreary heart did dance

And as she withdrew the gaps

I shivered in awe in my trance

And when she took her palm off

In veins from all sides gushed

My sizzling face in reddish buff

As if to it all the blood has rushed

Then the touch in moistened lips

So supple like an orange piece

And like a glacier in some ocean dips

an infant the same way giggles

the music of the subtle force released

And then she took a deeper breath

and my cheeks next to be teased

Felt like on them her lips did melt

but then after it she paused

Her face i could not then see

But none of her breath I lost

in them what was coming to me

overwhelming and devoted love

To remain in me in my eternal glee

Higher than the sky and even above

No one takes it neither will it flee

The osculation my lips received

a feel it can be concorded with

Cannot in speech be perceived

only with a cheerful peaceful death

Such present my beloved tied

In dream of dreams when she came

Like two tides in opposing ride

meet to lose in each other’s shame.

I only Ask It To Stay

What it has made out of me,
I just cannot so simply say.
In unclear sights what I can see,
I write in its realm and ray.

I Walk little and so do talk,
Hum more and like fawn I move,
I Balk little and so do rock,
When lonely only and in my groove.

I choose few sober colors now,
and forget to dress my hairs.
I choose few corner chairs now,
and forget to eat my shares.

Some say upon my brighter eyes,
and notice it in my stories too.
'How come your hero never dies?'
And say that they look sleepy too.

I feel my smile has also changed,
and also how I often cried.
with it the slyness has exchanged,
and shrillness too has died.

The monotony of dreams stays.
The pearl in my golden case,
though vivid colors do amaze,
when all clouds make this face .

What it has made out of me,
I just cannot so simply say.
In my sadness is some glee.
I only ask it to stay.

O Darkness !

O darkness! Look upon my pretty queen,

but don’t ever look so heavily,

In her sleep and her pretty dream,

somehow you go and intervene.

Cast yourself on her so privily,

like mountain mist in upstream

and let not know her if you lean.

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O darkness! While I leave her in your lace,

don’t ever leave her till awake,

but shy away when she opens eyes,

and don’t cast yourself on her face.

I faith your shield and is not a fake,

I’ll slit your throat if something pries.

Let us guard her and leave no trace.

Lost in Rosy Wilderness

When high head and some higher poise

When ahead of my days of toys

My sights already widened a lot

My gait high in my deceitful thought

My associates reflected confidence

And urged me to jump over fence

And said that I may never lose

My ways, whatever ways I choose

My fatty pompous heart snorted

My leaner mind in thoughts distorted

With them I hastened and erupted

With no specific ways sculpted

And as soon as went past the margin

And some wilderness I entered in

And the hurry already eloped my heart

With no one dear to pull the cart

With my loneliness I explored

My new world without a single door

My paths grown with tumble balls

My ears ringing with frightful hauls

When stressed over my fickle mind

When went deep into the riddle wind

I found that I was fully lost

I was shivering in a climate hot

I had to live and give a try

Or kneel to the expectations high

Or I choose to peacelessly die

And bring my death in all allies

And then with heavy heart I rose

And searched for something flowing close

My fate then got a chance to play

My feelings pushed further ungay

When the thirst went to its peak

When left with nothing but to seek

When the madness of it at its prime

I found a river so sublime

I drank from it and drenched my soul

And more to satiate my greed

And more but could not reduce the feed

And then I laid myself to some respite

Then I watched the other side

Then there was blooming roses’ pride

My troubles then again did swell

My future in a burning smell

My widish sights then got narrowed

And newer hopes then I borrowed

And in the bliss of the across

I sent my heart and soul to toss

I swam in tepid waters not in ease

I struggled to float and for bit of breeze

Then slowly the channel accepted me

Then found myself in blissful flee

My moments these, were not to freeze

My happiness was soon to cease

When gradually I met the mid of trance

When roses waved to me in dance

When surety loomed over the sway

I was caught in a whirlpool just midway

I spin in it and see the sides

And my sight gives me a pretty blend

And no river and nothing to fend

And the roses and the greener grass

I let not get this ecstasy pass

I have though, some bliss, some stress

I am lost in a rosy wilderness.

My Eastern Skies

Unmindful thoughts in little dark,
last evening in my lonely walk.
Dead flowers carpeted the way,
trees of my avenue in gentle sway.

What in western sky was exuberant,
my gloomy heart pretty scant.
The colors made it proudly plumed ,
Streaking clouds and some mushroomed.

All shades between blue and violet,
then pink and orange and scarlet.
Swooned over them in my stare,
as if heaven located somewhere there.

For long no single trait they cast,
new blends kept coming very fast.
And when lost into one of it,
I soon lost it in a mystic drift.

In morning it was all fun,
Daylong been following the sun.
It came to me something to find,
turned my eyes to see the hind.

In monotony it noiselessly beseeched,
The tranquility then screeched.
To unknown depth my heart did sink,
in rising melodies a downward kink.

My oblivious mind then went aloft
my heart turned to my corner soft.
The gray calm stretch soaked my eyes,
as I watched my eastern skies.

My Courage

All the while through my ascent,
my fingers short but grasp tight,
may prove to be just sufficient.
for this slimy cliff of endless height.

To me this venture is no adventure.
'Ordinary' or ' just for the day'.
'Nor is no voluntary torture.'
Neighbors and some wise men say.

My feet narrate a different tale.
The surface though not truly nice,
with resting creeks so very frail,
their bravery may just suffice.

The rope that dangles from the top
though seemed at first very robust,
helps not in pulling up or even drop.
But says to me, I hold it must.

This climb of reason, as I guise,
puts me in for some better chance,
for greater depths and better highs,
And for lifelong celebration dance.

The chance of triumph is very bleak,
though haven’t let the hope break,
with no intents to ever tweak,
but muster courage for a fight to make.

Yun Kab Tak Phirun

Past hum ke nahi hai ye be-dam-o-past
aise jazbe se main kis kis se ladta phirun

rangat-e-khoon-e-jigar mein chashm na-khushk
koi kahe main kab tak yunhi rota phirun

ye khoo-e-tabassum-e-sitam aur ye sitamgiri
kahan rahun agar inhi pe main hasta phirun

khud hi jo sameti hai ye tapish aatishi
aab na-khush, main kahan kahan jalta phirun

alam-e-be-khumari mein khumari ki tejarat ki
ye khak liye main kahan kahan bhatakta phirun

khud eitemadi mein khizaan pe jo ki hai jung
be-murawwat darakhton ko kab tak yunhi takta phirun

mehtaab ke ubharne ko saquib ke neyazi chashm
bhor tak main kab tak yunhi jagta phirun.

The Flower

A sage with true deep eyes told me once,
with conviction and austere appearance,
‘That if one wants to be in youth and bliss,
sans sorrows and sans his ways amiss.
so that on his face, the day he dies,
any line of discontentment shies.
Search for this flower in mystic wink,
In lilac a tint of saffron pink.
You don’t find it in day or night,
but some time in their peaceful fight.
Blossoms then but don’t know where,
far or near or here or there.
And no one gets to miss it twice,
so take it not a throw of dice.
But don’t get caught in illusions, though
in highs and low some many grow.
Mind the signs if caught in mistrust,
true colors cease to erupt.
Don’t ever look for, when in run
its magic seeks oblivion.
And its leaves are very elusive too
Like thorns numerous and never true.
If you find it, in no way hurry,
there itself your glee can bury.
With little water on its root,
with tender hands then you uproot.
Plant it in your dwelling very soon.
In peace you wait for the fore coming boon.’
I see it in all of my dreams,
wandering in varying realms.
But I don’t seek it when awake,
may it find me and let me take.

My Script

A character added to the drama of life.
My part arrived when I first cried.
A taradiddle of new joys and strife,
with diminutive amendments I can guide.
True powers rest with the director's side,
who enjoys being the audience too,
makes me play with the script in hide.
Sends some fellow artists to me , to boo,
more of them vexing and come to rebuke.
Which keeps me somewhere always blue,
but he commands me to keep playing truce,
and search for someone in affectionate milieu.
With my feat I do not want to rue,
yet not make my show exaggerant,
and only play in spirits true,
with keeping no liabilities and decant.
I wish I could see what in it is redundant.
Does my script, unpredictably vivacious,
Or if it is ordinarily expectant,
depicts, who makes it totally conspicuous?
This stage today seems very perilous.
My tenure on it is foggy and prospects obscure.
Yet some fellows demand a dance, marvellous.
I return to the drama, hoping I endure.

Look!

Shrieks or silent weeps,
Shadows light or bright,
Leaps or if she sneaks,
Humming or a lady dynamite,
Jaggery or an orange sour,
Hide-seek or a green kite,
May she negate or be noticer,
Look! She assists or pedals fight?

The King and The Gardener

A king once made a splendid castle,
in a clime of befitting choice.
For some days away from usual bustle,
to be with daughters and rejoice.

Located near a dingle’s bottom,
of a river in euphonious verse
Turned into golden paradise in autumn
With some golden maples and conifers

With marvellous gardens in his vision
surrounding the castle all around,
asked the wardens of his prison,
‘If a parole can be found?’

Soldiers once plundered his orchard.
Grapes and Apples and Oranges,
Tried to fight when could not guard
And was sentenced for, whom he resisted.

Earned him his freedom, his proclivity.
Very unaware of his quiet rage
In his silence and sensitivity
he has always known his master’s ways

An unknown nook was happy, though
Hid his ire in a silent lowered gaze,
The king became an undeclared foe.
to be conserved for opportune days.

But destiny played a different hand
Could not keep his angers long
The serene place and its magic wand,
He forgot all that happened wrong.

Eventually grew in him an intimacy,
for the youngest daughter of the king
The love overcast over anger’s prophecy
The gardens bloomed during this fling.

When she saw it atop the hill
Her name in blue lilies in the garden pond
Could not prevent him or her from him
From hiding places and being vagabond.


The days went past and really fast.
The garden swelled up in all its beauties.
They hoped the spring would forever last
He loved her evermore but carried duties.

In the eagerness when the king arrived,
to ask from him her love of life.
Ran with craze as if she jived
A bush of roses fetched strife.

Asked her how her forearm bruised .
Without foresight, truthfully she replied
All the roses stood amused
The conjured gardener was exiled.

Now the people have a lot to say
He helped him and in return, he stung.
Says, the King of the daughter in dismay
Never keep a gardener young.

Monsoon

I wonder who first called it so,
perennially evasive its origin. Though
little Arabia has its zam-zam, sufficient.
Indian summer dries even Ganges shallow.

Not only a word, to which this country kneels
Change it a bit and it all appeals,
Rain Soon ! Rain soon !
Rainbow of the country, it alone conceals.

Carried by the South-west winds,
Kerela is the first, as it sings.
Its month of advent is of the same moral.
Usually May ends and the monsoon rings.

The oblations though rarely evenly benign
Those extreme climes are never fine.
Statistics expose all its repute,
thousands and somewhere only nine.

Not only this, it pampers brawls.
On cricket grounds, slip big footballs.
The villages hail it in festive dance,
Collared cities make noses when mud sprawls.

Not all like it alike in villages too.
The farmers want it apt, so they woo,
But the potters like it if delayed,
else the product and profit turns into goo.

God knows, where he wants? Curse or boon?
I only know of this spineless monsoon.
And this year too he has held it up,
So I pray, ‘Dear God! Send it soon.’

My Pains

Nothing is perfect, so I am not.

Although I love my profusions a lot,

for they make me what I am,

still they assemble to make a sham.

However, more is my love for my vacuums.

Among all of my flower urns,

thorny ones draw my concerns,

and not my greener ferns.

The portions I am yet to paint

or the areas painted faint.

I love them more, the colors complain

I know but cannot soothe their pain,

as mine are prettier than theirs, a lot,

as they whisper to me what I am not.

My Sleep

Onto the bed I leap.
‘What have I done to reap?’
‘A prize or a penance?’
Grows on the bed, a lance !
Then ideas come to dance.
then from the bed I leap,
and oozes out my sleep.

Colours

Are all forever lull
Depressing and dull
Seemed to me then once
‘Are old their stunts!’

Lured some new,
Fresh like dew.
Seemed to me then once,
‘Brighter are my runs.’

Two or three
Saprkled in glee
Seemd to me then once
‘Uselessly stuck to dumbs !’

Neglected, they shied
In dissolved pride.
Seemed to me then once
‘Hold them all to guns! ’

Contemporary !
Lovely as cherry !
Seemed to me then once
‘I invented my funs.’

When into some sun,
A red turned into dun.
Seemed to me then once
'Are they all playing puns?'

Saw one of them, the filed.
Tried to hide, but smiled.
Seemed to me then once,
‘The heart revealed some burns.’

Faster ones, then I tried
But all in sunny ride
Seemed to me then once
How many times, rehearse?

Hundreds came my way
Sounded like, they bray.
Seemed to me then once
‘One comes and then one shuns!’


A day in white and black,
The rest into a sack.
Seemed to me then once
‘With no one am I chums?’

Calling them back, I cried .
Then I reconciled.
Seemed to me then once ,
‘With them my inner hums!’.

Jawab-Shikwa

mahroomi hai jo kiya na kabhi tark-e-watan
safar mein rahein sham-o-sehar kya takte

fitrati musafir bhi agar khuli dhoop ka ho
saye phaila ke yunhi shajar use takte

khaki amad-o-rukhsati ke darmayan se hai bahar
zarra hi banna hai to,laal-o-guhar ko hum takte

masroofiyan uljhanon ki, to ulafaton ki bhi hain
hum bhi yahan khud-sifat aahat ko hi takte

woh milein kahan, mahtab bhi yunhi tarse
saquib ko nahi, sab yunhi use takte.

Shikwa

ab bhala chhod ke ghar kya karte
shaam ke waqt safar kya karte?

wo musafir hi khuli dhoop ka tha
saye phaila ke shajar kya karte?

Khaak hi avval-o-aaKhir thahri
kar ke zarre ko gauhar kya karte?

teri masrufiyatein jante the
apne aane ki Khabar kya karte?

jab sitare(saquib) hi nahi mil paaye
le ke ham shams-o-qamar kya karte?

Parveen Shakir
(***)

Sparrows

This day started with usual chores,
hot and humid, with no force.
My heart had baked all week, My heart!
Pleaded me to shun and dart.
Evaded it and kept on going,
at twelve the body took to yawning.

‘Fill up your belly and get some zeal’,
Yelled to me, my mid-day meal.
Turned to home to have some sap,
less of it and more of nap.
Closed the door to shut off lights,
except a tiny pane behind the eyes.

A pair of sparrow entered the shed,
as soon as I lay down on bed.
For some shadow or a spec of grain,
but my fan for them, a hurricane !
Chirping aloud and hovering around.
Stopped the fan, my eyes went round.

My helmet already marked with the visit,
Soon bored enough and ready to slip,
Chirped amuck searching a slit,
audible in their desperate, scared spirit.
Impaired against the glass and glow,
Knocked and failed by my elusive window.

The queen in her third attempt, was free,
they chirped even more and not in glee.
She perched herself on a nearby fence,
the king hailed to her moreover tense.
The cry being raised to rescue her fellow
seemed to me for the first time, mellow!

It’s not that he ever ceased to try,
or enjoyed crying out his throats dry.
I saw her, I heard her eager evermore
Could not think, what’s coming fore?
She kept on crying in increasing passion
The king was trying in every fashion.

Then came a moment she grew silent
It came to me, ‘may she relent?’
She tweaked a bit then took a flight
With certain poise to bite off the plight
Encircled my glassy window as such,
she knew its measurement, quite much.

A new hope she had already brought.
‘That side sees better’ I hoped and thought.
The chances of freedom still were frail.
She met him like an innocent in jail.
Absorbed in the melancholies and odyssey
I forgot, ‘This I can not see.’

Just then, when I moved to kill the pain,
I saw her sitting on the opened window pane.
Next, she shifted to the window bar
The rendezvous was now not very far.
Sat there and chirped over past fears,
as if announcing the departing curse.


Her mate now clearly knew, ‘where is the way?’
God had listened to them, in cries they pray.
Very soon they touched and fondled
They chirped again, and seemed like yodeled.
My sleep, I don’t know where it blew?
My heavy heart took me to work, as they flew.

My Words

My words know not how to wend,
What message do they want to send.
Some do some and some not at all,
Some fly, some run and some stroll,
and few even find it tough to crawl,
some in amity and some at brawl.
Stirred up in my stirred up nights,
what they don't get to see in lights,
try to catch a glimpse, the guardian knights.
Some of love and care and some of rights,
trying the depths unknown and beating heights,
they sway in mystic sorrows and delights.
How far they go and how grow they tall?
The purpose, I don't know they serve at all.
Whom do they touch, whom do they haul?
At least they find me, when do they call,
and those who mock them and negligent,
it is for them who try to comprehend.

Nobody ever knows everything,
unlike my boss likes to boast,
Still against him I raise a toast,
as nobody ever knows nothing.

This Summer

How hot this summer without a lee,
Moves not a leaf, It's killing me.
Dear God! please change my ambiance,
If not, atleast my perseverance.
What job! with all dripping saturated wipes,
With hot air I force clean the pipes.
Inhaling fumes and dust, not flowery!
Dear God! atleast think of my allergy.
You know the best, how do I suffer,
If not, recollect my last adventure.

My Curtains

I don’t know if I write with craze,
Or just dance down some uncommon phrase;

A new place where I would love to be,
In dreams comes a hill top canopy;

I wake up floating in some golden haze,
And my curtains flying with evening rays;

All brilliant colors then seem to fly,
All birds all leaves then feel allies;

I wake up aching in both my eyes,
And my curtains hoping against the lies;

A new place where I never fancied to be,
A roofless hut under a leafless tree;

I don’t know if I dream by chance'
Or just murmur in a state of trance;

I don’t know if I write with craze,
Or just die down some uncommon phrase.



I dedicate this poem to Mr. Amandeep Sandhu, the writer of 'Sepia Leaves'.

The Lost Pearl

A dark sea side lad had his day
Galloped by the shore and no dismay
Sinking sun gleamed on some shells
As if diamonds on an endless tray

He caught them shining all in swirls
Emanating from it were seen the curls
Throned among the brights, the brighter
The boy picked up the queen of pearls

He smiled and laughed and then he cried
As if a porter got a princess bride
His amusements and joys were not to keep
Exhibited it to all in inflated pride

The ripples settled but took awhile
When saw sights with envy and guile
Secretly enjoyed his gorgeous jewel
The pearl was treasured beneath a pile

Grew assured of the prized possession
His admiration turned into obsession
Thankfulness sneaked out of the heart
As if he deserved that gift of ocean

Ominous a night announced the pain
It came in storming in the rain
Writhed around his thatch ashore
Digging the sands he cried again.

Yeh Kya Hai ?

Do sifat fard zamane ka bhi koi insaan hai
Khud kahe ke kahan insaan kahan kahan haiwan hai

Khoo hai ke huyi jisse kisi ki pehchaan hai
Khamiyon pe itminaan aur achchhaiyon pe hairaan hai

Hairat na ho ke is par bhi gumaan hai
Baghal mein faqa aam aur ghar mein badaam hai

Kise khabar ke khairaat ko yeh kahan ka deenar hai
Raat bhar ka kaam aur din ka yeh araam hai

Jane kahan ke liye bechain hai pareshan hai
Taqqub mein rafeeq kya bhai bhi anjaan hai

Mushkil hai agar kisi ka ek hi naam hai
Is gali ka sultaan us gali baimaan hai

Mard kya ab to aurat bhi lamoqaam hai
Maa gard biwi lal-o-guhar bhari guldaan hai

Budhape mein bhi kahan dil-o-dimagh ko araam hai
Is ka kya naam aur uska kya daam hai

Saquib kyun har baat pe bechain hai bezaar hai
Tabdeel jise hona hai use hona aap hai...

kamyabi ko wajib hai ek koshish jadeed

tabdeeli ko wajib hai ek takleef shadeed