Milya kar…

​”Teri zyaarat mera haq hai,
Mera haq na kha, menu milya kar”

Teri ibaadat faqt ik farz hai,
Mei jogi banjawan gar tu milya kar.

Je aaye Amber’o badlaan Ghaneray,
Seeyahi vich Chandni odh milya kar.

Raat beetau’n aangan vich pyasa,
Sawer dhoop mei chashni bn milya kar.

Jug ghoomiya mein talash mei teri,
Tu dil vich thaat paa k hi milya kar.

Ki khabar menu kia husn-e-qitab,
Tu qisay hikayaton mei yun milya kar.

Barson huay teri khushbu bhulaye,
Yaada’n vich aake hoshyaar milya kar.

Kon janay kehde mannat de dhagay
Tu darkhta’n likhe naam naal milya kar.

Masjid qalisa dhayein Dushman je tu
Dewara’n chappi Ibarata’n vich milya kar.

Teri talash mei khojein sehra saray,
Qadma de nishaa’n chhor milya kar.

Hont sookhay karein ye faryadan,
Tu Tapti rait mein Amrit ho k milya kar.

Logan vich saadi baata’n hein,
Mainu aida saj dhaj k na milya kar.

Tuj mei aur muj mei kehda parda hai,
Tu jab mil muj se be hijab hi milya kar.

Teri mohabbat mei ranjhana shayar hai,
Werna log kehnde ni “Dost, milya kar”.

Tera hun Suhani na puuch baar baar,
Mujh se kadi ye haq jata k vi milya kar.

– Dedicated to the one who wrote the first couplet of the poem, since I fell so much in love with it that I was helplessly inclined to write a whole poem.

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About this Noon

A shadow is seen during a hot air balloon ride above Hillsboro early Friday morning, July 10, 2015. (ELIZABETH FRANTZ / Monitor staff)

When green is the land, when white is the sky, the star and crescent mere a shadow beneath, of those who were born to fly!

About this noon,
I can tell you,
what is different…

way her feet are touching ground,
but not meeting a surface…
way her eyes are lusting for tangent
hidden in far far distance…

the way clouds have gathered,
wearing a cloak of the angels…
dusting their clothes, off they go,
knowing no art of whispering.

Trees too have locked now,
all the disciplined birds inside,
chirp all they would do now,
just about their next flight.

Here hear them before they leave
leaves without any hide…
before beast turns around,
or before silver turns the tide.

She knows this place…
She always knew how it felt like.
But this noon is different…
One bird’s still out here flying in a sky.

Wind is blowing on her face,
though not enough to hold her
or to hold her steps.

Mist is blurring her sight,
but not enough to make her let go
of the world it likes.

Roars still are ringing in her ear,
not enough for her song to change,
or to stop her from humming.

For I know now this is the noon,
for which Earth was created,
and for this noon is one
to keep Heavens in the moaning.

About this noon,
I had heard long before it happened.

About this noon,
You can tell,
what remained same
what kept ascending…

This noon, represents the freedom of sky, the freedom of land and everything in between to become more than what they're born with.

This noon expresses the freedom of sky, the freedom of land and everything in between to become more than what they’re born with…

– Dedicated to a noon beautiful that brings along a message of freedom and prosperity…

The Gravitational Pull

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Did you see the star, or did you see how it was burning?

They say stars are magnanimous…
and certainly unavoidable…
They pull you in,
like you’re a mass – good for nothing…

An asteroid perhaps,
that was floating
aimlessly…
gliding on a blank sheet,
searching for horizon.
Before some hot ball of fire
took mercy on it,
and caught it off-guard.

And suddenly the moth earned
the purpose to its existence.
Or rather comes to realize one…
what was there before him…

But not all asteroids fall into
an orbit of star…
some moths are granted
curse of a prolonged life,
where each day is spent
as a vagabond searching for love.

Some people burn like stars…
and some burn like the moths.
We don’t notice them much…
Perhaps since sky is too crowded.
Or because we’re too busy
to twinkle.

They say stars are magnanimous…
and certainly unavoidable…
But sometimes it takes a whole life
to meet someone that
you can uncontrollably gravitate
towards.

If you find yourself in darkness,
hold on for a little long,
light is maybe around the corner.
Either you’ll merge in it,
or you’ll emerge with one.
Who knows, who may become
tomorrow a star for someone.

– Dedicated to stars, the flames and their gravity…

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Picture Credits:
1. Starry Night – Wallpaper
2. “Starry Night as seen by Van Gogh” – Wallpaperworld

The Long Winter

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I found
Leaves shivering in cold,
and showing pattern,
I once traced on your skin…

I found
sky vomiting gold,
searching for tree,
under which we had our first kiss…

I found wind blowing
just to float me away
from today to yesterday…
when your fragrance used to linger on me…

They all reminded me,
how winter once used to be…
of time when nothing cold was painful,
since warmth of your breaths surrounded me…

Even moon used to bow
in an alley we used to meet in…
where I touched your hands first..
stars kissed your feet.

But this is not the winter
in which we weaved our dreams…

We’ve slipped far far away
from the mirror – our axis…
we no longer know what
kept our heart racing…

I keep looking for you,
in my present,
knowing I buried you,
out in the world for centuries
shutting myself in a coffin
holding sands of a last spring.

I found
sand mixing with the storm,
unraveling my tombstone,
on which you said once,
“You’ll never forgive me!”

Now, I find stars too,
complaining to me…
for I don’t share with them anymore,
what I wished for our destiny.

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– Dedicated to lovers unaware of long stretches of glacial boundaries that often grow in between, post beautiful snowfall they dance in…

Image Credits:
1. Glacier_person_cold_alaska (wallpaperscraft.com)
2. Couple_snow_rain_love (hdwallpapers.im)

The Immersion

http://thecreatorsproject.vice.com/blog/preview-a-giant-underwater-sculpture

In times, after a day tiring,
and in nights without rest…
I seek to sit beside you in silence,
to receive your warmth,
like you’re a fire lit beside camp,
and I am a vagabond, tired
of roaming in wild darkness.

I am inclined to fall into your lap,
to have some moments of rest,
like you’re a ground sacred,
and I am a leaf, that has
just parted from wreath.

I burn to slip into your hands,
to know what is it to be contained,
like you’re a goblet of rejuvenation,
and I, mere an ash – scattered,
from the glowing mountains.

I ache to immerse in your embrace,
to find how pain vanishes with grace,
like you’re a moon casting – a quilt of spells,
and I am a moth howling,
in lust of mystic flame.

I yearn to flow my pulse to your heart-beats,
to feel what’s rising and what’s drowning,
like you’re a river of passion scintillating,
and I, mere a stone split
from rocks eroded.

I wish to submerge inside your breaths,
to forget any other world that exists,
like you’re a portal to universe another,
and I, a war-ship, that long sought
exile from wars and battles.

I desire to sink my world in you,
in craving to earn, color of your hue.
Like you’re the star, arose
to inspire luminescence…
and I am among those
trifling forever in shadows…

No matter when you look,
you’ll find me longing for this essence.
Since,
I am too tired of whole world around
lingering their eyes on me
seeking some complacence.
While, all I strive is to settle
in your arms, as a meaningless.

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– Dedicated to the only beloved who can immerse a lover totally…

Image Credits:

  1. “Ocean Atlas – Created by Jason deCaires Taylor” – Source: thecreatorsproject.vice.com
  2. “Christ of the Abyss – Created by Guido Galletti” – Source: viralnova.com

The Maiden Lips

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Pink Castle

Level by level
it’s arranged like a palace.
Like some outer skirts,
try to sheath inner stakes,
from touch of those who’re
not worthy of its fragrance…

Yet news of its beauty travels
around in moments,
captivating minds of cunning thieves
and those who wear their heart
on the rugged sleeves.

With only one goal
they pursue,
to posses an aura,
to surround self with its magic.
To know what is it like,
the love’s first kiss.

And in the center of it,
Behind all walls, beyond all borders,
rests a jewel, a crown awaits,
for a lover to pollinate,
the maiden lips.

– Dedicated to the spring.

Image credits: “Pink Castle” by Aminah Tasleem

Beyond the Shell

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I wish, like the cycles of day and night,
our eyes too knew, when to stay open
and when to remain close for the rest.

How easy it would become
should they too follow the order,
for both the counts of emerging dawns
and the times of darkness.

We would know what to see,
and for what to endorse blindness,
what to feel and for what to
sport the numbness…
No matter how inclined we find
ourselves towards any essence.

But then I also realize,
that day and night follow
a succinct pattern, like
everything else in the nature,
that hosts a chaos with-in.

They enthrall us with their
order, their rules, their norms,
a regular dose of routine.
So we’re there to look for them,
to recognize how well they
carry inside a life,
just like one outside admiring them.

For what would be a Star,
if it turned up each day with
a same flare,
and how would we wait
for a sight of a moon’s charm
would it appear daily as usual,
with a same face?

Not many of us recognize
little change, they bring up along
in each passing second.
Perhaps, we’re too occupied
with their enormousness.

Umbrellas that we’re born under,
change so slow,
we hardly notice its color are
fading or escaping the edge.
Perhaps, we fail to gather,
order is only what our eyes have made
themselves accustomed to, already.

For each and everything in nature
has a boundary for distinction
but inside that
it hosts, pathways, junctions,
cross-ways, slopes and steeps
limitless.

And so do us – the humans,
greatly so,
who carry sense of recognizing
the order in madness
– if we will.
Who have heart beats,
following a rhythm, often
not of our own but of
someone’s influence
– should we wish.

Hence, I am glad, we have eyes,
for they split apart on the
pavements of the heart,
to entertain what matters
most while keeping the life
from falling apart.

And then they come
a full circle again,
knowing, rules are mere ruse.
For when they’re keen,
dreams are no different from goals,
carcasses become scaffold,
the garbage leads to the gold,
and wilderness becomes the road.

For eyes are here
to step into the dreams,
to pickup the pieces of reality
in a snow globe of perpetual myths.
To host the chaos and
figure an order with-in.

To float like a butterfly,
but not to perch mere on established green,
rather to put up a dance
on a rhythm unique.

For how will world ever see anything new,
if our eyes would flow
only with the current of streams,
or follow what’s agreed on by the
builders of past or breeders of fences
as an only perspective.

I am glad we have eyes,
that in the darkness, we can keep open.
Since not everything is visible under the Sun,
like not everything disappears
even when bewitching moon has
its spell casted.

The shadow of a tall man creeps eerily across the cracked playa of the Alvord Desert in Southeast Oregon as the moon looms above.

– Dedicated to the eyes that try to see invisible, even when it’s declared as non-existent by the rest.

Image Credits:
1. “Morning Prayer” – haikudeck.com
2. “Alone in the desert” – benchasephoto.com