Dear Mulhima*

 

You would be perfectly justified
in thinking, what nonsense is this,
for that is what which follows ought to feel.
Where can I start and how should I begin:
at the moment I was born or you, perhaps not,
humankind cannot see their coming lot!

  

Perhaps it was a recent thing,
when I first laid my eyes on your blessed face
outshining the green backdrop with its innocence,
simpler and yet more glorified than the earthly mounds!

   

Or may be, as it is said in so many texts
of Holy origin, that human fate
and destiny are more or less preordained,
so I’d end up saying this was determined,
long before the cosmos began to spread,
let alone earth, moon or the human race!

   

Perhaps I am nothing
but a Troubadour revived from his grave,
whose foiled heart still throbs in disgrace
of queen Hera’s will to settle down!

  
But as children of our circumstances,
as much as we are of our destinies,
despite future woes we succumb
to the lure of our present dreams,
so I confess, in your eyes I have seen
the ocean of my river’s wanderings.

   

And a river in spate I have been for too long
but now o fair soul, can I call your eyes my home?

.


*Mulhima is an Arabic word. It means "Muse".

 

On The Fly

On The Fly

Look at a mirror,
what do you see? Kohl rimmed eyes
that cast a dazzling look? A smile
that pales all that glitters in this world?
Cascading locks as dark as the night?
But do you see a human face?
Be a human first, if you must
attain the truest form of beauty!
Take no pride or joy
in an antisocial existence!
In a society, mostly comprised of
opportunistic and oppressive people
who oppose individual liberty,
has it not been always inevitable?

.


 

Sadness But Me!

Sadness But Me!

Should I have tried to catch a falling star instead?
Finding a fair soul has become a fairy tale!
Should I have sung the song of life on my deathbed?
How much courage does it take to say, I have failed?

 

Where have those days receded now, save from memories,
when to love was nothing less than being canonized?
How come the same throbbing be fleeting pleasantries
or swirling rapids, crowned with white foams, human life?

 

Being a proper fool, I have seen too much and lost
my innocence along the way, for nothing’s free
in this wretched world but save these words in permafrost,
what you call sadness in fact isn’t sadness but me!

 

No matter how hard one tries to win the wars in their life,
no one has, can or ever will get out of it alive!

.


 

Dualities

Dualities

Undefeated, I have never lost nor won,
for I have been a mirror all through life,
across the ups and downs towards the sun,
in all my future dreams and previous flights!

 

Vagabond, I have never possessed nor belonged,
except, in both cases, the entire universe!
Sleepless for life, though I have hardly missed a dawn,
the morning light have never had my sighs traversed!

 

Illiterate, I have not been able to learn yet
what the quintessence of humanity might be
with myself surrendered to the rhythm of my fate –
who, with conviction in their eyes, can answer me!

 

How do you absolve such dualities in your existence
against the universe that had never dreamed of a fence?

.


 

Monday Blues

Monday Blues

Do what you think might suit you best,
shed no tears for my pain!
I have suffered enough to have grown
indifferent to all sufferings,
if and when sadness starts pushing me
to a corner, yet again!
What I cannot do and nor should you ask,
is to desecrate my humble dreams!

What else do I have to graze on?
What else do we ever have to sustain
a dull, gray and placid existence,
comprised of breaths piled upon laborious breaths?
The moonlight does not paint
her petals on the ground everyday
on nights when she does, with a serene smile
I shall let you take all my dreams away!

But when the waning moon is too dim like tonight
and the chill in the northern wind
pierces our skeletons with ease,
for hardship though, both here and in the past
I need your soft, enveloping warmth
to save them for the next day, both yours and mine,
until the next dawn, perhaps when the night ends
or let this one be O Lord, my last!

Duly then a new sun comes up, setting
the sky on fire, the next dawn never comes.
Half smiling in silence, I remain a human-owl,
as from dust to dust my soul returns!

.