Poetry

…on the fragile bridge

The sound of the ripples
kissing the banks,
of the wind rustling
the leaves of the banyan,
the sound of bells
from a place far away,
is it a temple, I wonder,
a church, or probably kids
rushing out of their school.
These sounds make me calm,
as I add to these
my sigh of relief,
for I am finally there,
with everything real,
and in it you are too,
at the other end of the bridge.
Your presence wavers
in the heat of the winter sun,
in the pounding heart that goes on,
and I know you hear it,
and the sounds like I do.
You too feel the urge
to make a move.
But we know, another step
and this bridge will crumble,
we won’t even
take each other’s name,
for our voice might shatter
this surreal beauty,
waking us up from this dream
into each other’s blinding reality.

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Poetry

You and I, me!

You bemoan our thoughts,

never resonating.

I delight in the footsteps

always rhyming.

You read to lose yourself

in your books –

their similes, metaphors

and the images.

I seek to find myself

in everything I peruse –

subtexts, layers,

and pauses between pages.

Looking for magic

in a reality mundane,

you let out a sigh.

Perceiving reality

in everything magical

gives me a high.

That romantic song

you listen to

tapping your foot,

enchanted,

reminds me of a dirge

of exhumed memories

unwanted.

You embrace

the brilliant sun,

when I serenade

the lilting moon.

A sensitive son

who will inevitably

fall through.

You are the detached reason,

I the reckless action.

A virile daughter

consumed by her

insatiable passion.

Always in dissonance,

you plot a sweet revenge.

Introspecting afterthoughts

though desire you to change.

I am no different in that

intimate scheming aspect,

disgust I may show,

but for you

I have unfounded respect.

And we were destined to meet

between the gray horizons,

in the vast meadows of oblivion,

where the sagacious stars shone.

Wavering between

a grueling duel

and a riveting duet,

when the flaws

glowed lucid

in our cogent arguments

making us fret,

making us look beyond,

the facade

and everything

we thought we knew.

 

And then I saw the mirror,

I saw you, as I see you,

and sadly you did too,

as you do too.

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Poetry

Flight of the outlier

conceived in a grey tomb

it grows in the conditioned womb,

discussed and debated by the quorum,

a shade of black in a primal form –

‘evil is dark but develops a shade of grey

judge we must not,

for even God let the devil have a say.’

acquiesced thus,

conceit and contempt deliver it,

suckling at the tragic, and the trodden,

it gets nurtured by wounds forgotten.

pricks hurt it more as it grows,

longs for clean slits in violent throes.

tricks learnt not with gracious flair

but excruciating fits in its hideous lair.

ambition makes it sad

and contentment precludes.

standing tall, feigning a calming glance,

an upright nemesis with an unjust stance,

consciousness in a suspended state,

rising with glee,

it mocks the likes of destiny and fate.

gaping at the moonlit night,

stars push him to rage as it takes flight.

shining eyes of the beast

marvel at the murmuring feast,

twisted tentacles wrap around

as it devours everything on the ground.

night breeze now carries

the rot of the slain dreams,

as an inimitable thought,

it pervades the once tranquil mind,

forsaking the lure of heaven

for hell is all it wants to find.

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Poetry

Denouement of escapism

the fences created to
keep out the others
boundaries invented for
a safety even further
limits exerted when
imagination flew unchartered skies
comforting are these ploys
but that which keep ourselves in ties

the secrets concealed for
sustenance of conscience
excuses invented to
avoid the inevitable finds
furtive glances when
passion soared in immoral skies
deluding are these schemes
of a bruised ego that forever lies

the space offered to
bloom out of a romantic gloom
tranquil voids invented for
absorbing the incessant clamor
distances extended when
reason reigned the moonlit skies
these are the circumventing expanses
in which a suffering love dies

it’s not darkness
because you closed your eyes
it’s not silence
because you stopped listening
it’s not the fences,
secrets or distances that stand
when your soul judges
and you have nothing to defend

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Poetry

गूंज ख़ामोशी की

खोखले उसूलों से भरे ये दिमाग़
खाली कमरे में आवाज़ों सी गूंजती
कोई इन्हे ज़ीस्त-ओ-ज़िन्दगी से भर दे
कि इस शोर को मिटाते थक गई है ख़ामोशी ईमान की

धडकनों की जुगलबंदी जब रफ्तार लेते हुए
पीछे छोड़ने लगी हो ज़हन-ओ-जिस्म गफलत में
कोई इस दिल को दस्तूर-ए-इश्क़ से वाक़िफ करादे
कि इस दौड़ में खो गई है ख़ामोशी इज़हार की

दौलत-ओ-शोहरत-ओ-अना के नशे में चूर
ये दुनिया भूलने लगी है ज़मीर और रिश्तों को
कोई इन्हे मयख़ाने का ही रास्ता दिखा दे
कि शायद शराब में सुन ले ये ख़ामोशी इंसानियत की

क्या अच्छा है क्या बुरा ना समझ सका ये शायर
इंद्राज-ए-जन्नत-ओ-जहन्नुम एक से दिखने लगें हैं
कोई मुझे दिला दे सुकूत, वो किताब-ए-मुकद्दस
या इस शेर-ओ-शायरी को ही फ़ना कर दे ख़ामोशी ख़ुदा की

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Poetry

Involution of a revolution

the singular blue eye watches,

poignant

clairvoyant seers feign the squint and

itches

crutches abandoned, the senile discover a new

nonchalance

aberrance in youth endows bravado, ready for imminent

lynching

flinching at the sun-soaked day he walks in, a smile

flawless

clueless the guards push and shove, as the vociferous crowd

rejoices

choices of exile or shameful remission, with a wave of hand

spurned

adorned with eyes that resonate his polemic, of an impelling

diction

sedition with grace, conjuring a verbal trance, in its riveting

reach

teach a lesson, o people of forgotten clans, recall the ancient

tenets

senates wince at the sanguinary call, now victims of the

wronged

thronged streets echo tumultuous war cries, precipitating a

flood

blood on the hands and anything that glints reflect his scarlet

words

hordes of warriors fight for justice, his vision a grand

convolution

revolution though they soon realize goes round on itself,

recoils

foils reason, with an equivocal vigor fizzles

out

rout the echelons, open the dungeons…

~~

a blue eye felled

for another to inevitably rise

cries of mothers, of conscience, pierce the bones

the fallen and victorious

stung by the cruel reprise.

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Poetry

A half eaten apple

A dash of pensive orange

clouds the bright lovelit sky

reflecting a shade of brown

on the half eaten apple abandoned

a tinge of endearing red

that grazes your porcelain cheeks

evokes a rush of white

in my gray conscience untended

the colors we sought to paint

our pristine love, of innocence

love that lacked a mature elegance

are blinding me as I lie

in your dark beguiling embrace

and echoes of our silent dreams

whiffs of the husky whispers

touch of the longing hands

and the taste of the resounding laugh

are all forgotten as you lift the moral veil

dazzling me, my soul, making it frail.

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