The ruse I became for thee

This poem is a response to Miss Aima Jamal‘s excellent composition: “The Person I could Never be“.


As placid as it looked to thee,
each piece of mine emitted perplexity,
for a puzzle you left unsolved,
waited too long for your touch
to sample its destiny…

As composed as it found to thee,
each wall was at verge of rupturing,
for a house you abandoned,
hosted tornadoes and storms,
keeping doors open in your waiting.

As polite as it sounded to thee,
each pulse of mine echoed calamity,
for a heart you composed songs for,
allowed clamor to chord in,
for your voice to appear stealthily.

As accustomed as it occurred to thee,
each part of mine reeked toxicity,
for a garden you left attending,
played with wild to become forest,
hoping, you may come hunting.

As calm as it seemed to thee,
each wave of mine contained a sea,
for an ocean you left restless,
kissed the shore just to know,
your whereabouts daily…

As eloquent as it read to thee,
each letter of mine struggled to breath,
for a poem you left incomplete,
soaked – ink of entire universe, yet
for you remained its hem – arid.

As warm and kind as it felt to thee,
each pore in my body kept barbarity,
for a dessert you made a drizzle in,
kept mirage of hope persisted,
knowing, one day you may observe
the ruse I became for thee…

NICHOLAS HOULT stars in WARM BODIES Ph: Jonathan Wenk © 2011 Summit Entertainment, LLC.  All rights reserved.

– Dedicated to the dear beloved with whom lover is, as much in love as in war…

Photo Credits:

1- Nicholas Hoult – Screencap from film ‘X Men – First Class’
2- Nicholas Hoult – Screencap from film ‘Warm Bodies’


This poem is a response to Miss Aminah Tasleem’s melancholic words in poem: 7:49 AM


Lately, I’ve been tracing,
the footsteps on shore,
before waves come sweeping.
I found, those who submerged,
gave great thought before drowning.

For, I’ve too been swimming,
in river of memories, lately,
I felt touched,
by carcass of bodies,
they’re animated, steered by beasts.

Lately, I have been roaming,
corners of capital,
where people went missing.
Found there myself,
facing mirrors haunting!

For, I had been discovering,
statues of stone,
etched in abandoned places.
I related, how they’re frozen
in pangs of longing…

Lately, I’ve been dreaming,
about lands in fantasy,
a place where humans met
the guardian angels,
I gather, angels were relocating!

For, I’ve been wishing
days from a tranquil memory,
when ruled the living,
but I heard fragments urging…
‘let us be, stop chasing!’

Lately, I have been smiling,
in public appearances, the
shows of avid performances,
leaving each a note,
“Few acts worth remembering”!

For, I’ve been visiting,
the markets, to shed some old stuff,
just to feel light-weighted.
But, I ended up acquiring, what was
left by someone migrating!

Lately, I’ve been reading,
poems of secluded artists,
now no longer writing…
I found, nips become frozen,
when memories start unrolling.

Lately, I’ve been writing,
poems to those who’ve parted,
even when none’s answering.
For I found early,
when ducts open flood gate,
one shouldn’t be resisting.

– Dedicated to late time recalling…


Image Credits:
1. Boat alone – stock wallpaper.
2. Solitude – stock wallpaper.

The Word

This poem is a response to a rhythmic one written by Miss Tayyeba Irum.

Pal Szinyei Merse, Lovers, 1869

My World,

Remember how you once,
imprinted on my soul,
like a word,
from the spirits and the angels…
breaking defenses,
forcing me into a submission.
Making me forgo of everything,
I did to replace an inevitable.

Remember how you once,
carried me on your lips,
like a word,
forming wishes,
and hefty prayers…
capturing me into a vial of existence.
Not leaving a moment from sight,
not letting it evaporate in thin-air.

Remember how you once,
made me carry, an instrument,
like a word,
to repel insurgents…
To bleed a river that would
never surrender,
but live to sail vessels that carried
the messages of love.

Remember how you once
kept me close to your chest,
like a word,
said but yet in a muffled texture.
Like a pendant unfolded in a secret,
to reveal two faces of one mirror.
Like a letter that is kissed,
right at the moment of its arrival.

Remember how we once,
used to savor each other,
like a word,
that lend strength,
to march forward,
to put on with the trials of the world.
To replenish on everything we loved,
to endorse all that mattered.

Remember how we once,
used to wear each other,
like a word,
that would command
even fumes of heavens
to be acquiescent.
For them to seek a resort,
in embraces we referred as our castle.

Remember them,
before you revisit how
we came to state,

You dropped me
from your eyes,
like a word
of an aged sinner,
stilliciding from the walls of
a confession chamber.
I wish now just, to become,
your only redemption.

You erased traces of mine
from your tongue,
like a word,
of poison imbued curse…
Forsaking everything that
was responsible to make
you indulge in cadence.
Now, I live in pages, as a song,
waiting to be sung.

You uttered me,
like a word,
of an extinct language…
found only written
in crypts hosting
docile sarcophagus.
Leaving me in ruins,
like an echo restless,
forever sentenced to linger.

You eradicated me
from your memories,
like a word
of an alien dialect,
accidentally heard.
Now, I too seek an exile,
from contours of enslavement,
hoping a déjà vu may occur.

You lost me
from contours of your eyes,
from grips of your fingers,
like a word,
written in a book forbidden.
Now, where am I to be found,
if not in sand or in depths of the ocean.

You foreshadowed my demise,
like a word,
from Monarchs and Caesars,
ceasing an air out,
planting a last nail in coffin.
Honor your word now, and return,
my shrine to your temple!

Give nomad a courtesy of last word... make me a part of your final touch!

Give nomad a courtesy of last word… let beloved leave on me a final touch!

– Dedicated to outcasts and exiled… the words, waiting to be said, waiting to be written.

Image Credits:

1. Lovers (Pal Szinyei Merse) 1869 [Blogspot]
2. The martyrdom of St. Sebastian (Hans Memling) [Flickr]

The destiny of a river

This poem is a response to Miss Tayyeba Irum‘s slow burning verse… On the banks of river


I am the river,
on the banks of which
stands an endless forest…
of fear, thirst, doubt,
hunger and darkness…

Wind, dew, rain, fog,
and even eyes that behold
contours and tangents…
pass through the dense
before they reach my doorstep.

They tell me,
beasts are my guards
and pines are the sage…
they are to look after me,
save me from intruders,
who misdirect or steer
in different directions…

I am told,
I am to walk along them,
if I am to reach
the farthest…
They have already figured,
it seems,
the outcome of all bends…

Like, how my each step
may play out, and
what would be the pace…
how on to my surroundings,
my flow will leave effect,
how each curve
will be making a difference…

But they miss seeing,
what is desired
by my heart…
uttered by each drop
that exists to make soul whole,
never misplaced…

The passion to break bonds
can never be understood
by those who keep perimeters.
And a desire to surrender,
can never be fulfilled
by the spectators.

Love me all you want,
adore me for my imperfections,
compliment me for my fierceness,
and accompany me to decorate a canvas…

But know this…
Rivers are meant not to be guarded,
they’re destined to merge into the ocean!

– Dedicated to the rivers…


Image Credits:

1. River Forest (wallpaper)
2. Ocean Waterfall (wallpaper)

Love Inaccessible

This poem is a response to Tayyeba Irum‘s pitch perfect poem: The Lost Ones.

The Kiss - Eleanor Hofer -

Your love is like a spell enchanting – a miracle, and I, 
I am the one lost behind the curtains.

Your love,
is like the galaxies in a cosmos,
enriched of stars…
And I,
I am like a satellite
with lost orbit.

Your love,
is like overwhelming rays of the star,
And I,
I am like an ice glacier
in cave blacken.

Your love,
is like a silver shower from the moon
at the night’s darkest…
And I,
I here am like a pebble
hidden in foggiest.

Your love,
is like a breeze chilling,
running wild and ruling…
And I,
I am like a flame in lantern,
flickering – dwindling.

Your love,
is like a dream
worth always remembering…
And I,
I am one who has found
yet no place for resting.

Your love,
is like a dew perching from above,
introducing spring…
And I,
I am like a leaf separated from tree,
since last falling.

Your love,
is like an only book worth reading,
time again when I’m sinking.
And yet, I’m…
A goldfish,
in lost memory
of where I keep it.

Cover paper - "Invincible", single by Muse (Band)

Your love is like an angel – pious in all aspects, and I, 
I am like a sinner seeking long for a forgiveness.

– Dedicated to the love supreme and lovers invisible.

Photo Credits:

1. Cover paper – “Invincible“, single by Muse (Band)
2. The Kiss (1994) – Eleanor Hofer

The First Drizzle

This poem is a response to Sidrah Kamal‘s radiating poem… Vapors of Love.

Rain by Danial Shah

Vapors of Love: Warmed in the air, served as the drizzle…

Lakes filled with salt
brimmed in still water
looking to shake dust.
As Sun lends a warmth,
drops become vapor,
With thirst of stream
comes request:
“Revive me first…”

Sun burns itself,
hunting for a miracle…
As flock of clouds travel,
filled with a passion…
Overriding star they say….
“You had your day…
It’s our turn.
But, you hide first…”

Clouds caress each other
celebrating in a
a chorus,
Disclose cheerfully
to the bystanders,
the breeze and the birds…
“Don’t you go…
Allow me, to confess first…”

Birds expecting,
a downpour to come…
Look into the eyes
of each other,
nod in a teasing voice…
“Let’s race today
to the home…
See who reaches first…”

Nest of flowers,
catches a sprinkle…
Drop after drop
leaking fume as it filters.
They inhale each other’s scent
and say in slip voice…
“I forget my love,
who fell first… ”

Grains of sand give
themselves to a drizzle.
As space in-between
vanishes in the air.
Melting each moment,
coming together,
they break silence…
“Kiss me first… “

Photograph Drizzling by Natthamon Thiemsri

Drizzle of Passion: Felt in a bloom, caught with-in the petals.

– Dedicated to the vapors, the clouds and the first drizzle…

Photo Credits:
1. Rain in Astore Valley (at Gilgit-Baltistan, Pakistan) by Danial Shah.
2. Drizzling by Natthamon Thiemsri

Jealousy or Love?

This poem is a response to Miss Sidra Kamals intense and picturesque piece…  “Jealousy in Love

I find myself craving for you like a tree aching towards dawn's direction...

I find myself craving her like a tree aching for sun, in dawn’s direction…

I am jealous of the ocean that treats her like sun,
sinks her within like a dazzle beyond refraction.

I am jealous of the moon that keeps her in sight,
and stars that follow her in her dreams all night…

I am jealous of the clouds that hover on her head,
as they become a drizzle to kiss her forehead…

I am jealous of the drizzle that she soaks herself in,
and those droplets that later glide on her skin…

I am jealous of wet air that touches her hair, and
of those lights that make her eyes go twinkling.

I am jealous of those wet roads that she walks on,
and everything that feels her and stands gasping.

I am jealous of those places that have her embodied,
and those moments that carry her as charm unique.

I am jealous of sound of wind blowing, drops falling
they whisper love in her ear to send her dreaming.

I am jealous of all those words that fall from her lips,
as I’m not there to catch them before they leave sigh..

I am jealous of all those songs that set her on fire,
and all those little secrets that turns her fragile.

I am jealous of those blank sheets that she writes on,
opening up like a bottle, pouring herself like wine…

I am jealous of all the metaphors that she likes,
since they make their way so easily into her lines…

I am jealous of mirrors that tend to see her often,
wearing that smile, grace, charm and aura divine…

I am jealous of that mascara spread on her eyes,
that knows before me what her silence confines…

Yes, I am jealous…

I am jealous of even the future imagining myself in it,
that it loves her more intensely than I in a present time.

But Perhaps…

I am not actually jealous of anything that is in contact with her,
But resentful of self that I can’t express my gravity of love to her.


I have a jealousy with such strange jealousy in love,
like a tree it grows yet deepens in roots my love for her.

My love is jealous of every loving gesture of her life that she can't make me a part of.

My love is jealous of every loving gesture of her life that she can’t make me a part of.

– Dedicated to a beloved by a self-proclaimed jealous lover.

Art Reference:
1. African Big Tree at Dawn wall art –
2. Love Tree at Twilight wall art –

Love You…

This poem is a response to Shereen Aljarrah‘s very vigorous and fervent piece…  “Love Me


You make me whirl in your love. Dance you are, you’re the wind…

I look at you not with child like orbs,
but like an orbs of a man,
that has earned the brightness in eyes
after years of blindness.
Before you, who had no idea of colors,
whatever he did know of them was from
the text and the shallow inscriptions.

I touch you not like a Gardner
touching his beloved flower,
but like a soul – a vagabond spirit
who earns all the senses to touch and feel
after uniting with its contender for a journey.
Before you, it had no idea of what it feels like
to be the one with somebody.

I kiss you not like a man struggling for
survival, so you can lend him a life… No.
But like a monk, who’s been rewarded
with the fruit forbidden for an after-life,
in lieu of all the chastity and sacrifice.
The eternal chalice of the youth potion,
one that he cherishes each day, each night.

I hold you not like a lost traveler
holding a torn map in last hope of destination.
But like a way an old man holds glasses and stick.
Like the way mystic carries his heart,
because that’s the abode of the beloved.
Like a companion without whom
there could be no journey, let alone the destination.

I love you not like anything or anyone…
Because that would be a faulty comparison.
If anything, I love you like greater than the previous moment…
Because I desire to love you like anything
ever been in love before; I desire to love you
beyond realms of the ordinary metaphors.
I love you like time loves itself, it only reveals this in the steps.

I can’t be your placating anchor,
I can’t be your stormy sea either.
Nor I can grant you to take refuge in me,
nor allow you to sail through me.
Because I’m inside you, like you’re inside me…
what happens to me is what happens to you…
We sink, we stay, we board ashore, or we stray
we are together in all possibilities.

How can one separate the light from eyes and still make it see?
How can one separate the life from its sensibility?
How can one separate the creativity from the artist?
How can one separate the heart alive from its heart beats?
How can one separate the love from its very pool of emergence?

What need be for me to surrender?
Why would you want me to be conquered?
There’s nothing in me,
that doesn’t belong to you…
I look with you…
I feel with you…
I kiss you like a life…
I hold you like the body carries its soul…

Just give me a permission for one thing, if you can…
Can I love you more than you want me to??

Whirling Dervish - Hayrettin Karaerkek

You are the sheet, I am in and you are the color I have on me.

– Dedicated to the seekers of love, worldly or mystic. I sincerely don’t know how to fathom what love is, but if it’s most grand as I imagine it to be, my all tries are to get close.

Art Reference:
1. Whirling Dervish by Areesha Khuwaja
2. Whirling Dervish by Hayrettin Karaerkek

Image Credits: and

Poem Being Written

This poem is a response to Aminah Tasleem‘s very intense piece…  “Be my poem, I want to write you.


“As you write to me… I’m a poem being written!”

Book not “unread”, but the one buried being hexed – marked cursed.

A book torn apart,
of whom each page is scattered,
for no consolidation later.
Unless by the One,
who shred it
in the crime of passion.

Letter not “undone”, but one that’s burned right after the reading.

A letter, written in symbols,
of whom each alphabet is ciphered,
for no comprehension later.
Unless by the One,
who wrote it
under intoxication of love.

Rose far from the “book”, but from the bouquet left on the grave of foe departed.

A rose with stark color petals,
of whom fragrance is dispersed,
to never be captivated by beholder.
Unless by the One,
who planted it
in soil of worth.

Pearl not “cryptic”, but a rock under erosion due to an affair with the ruthless motion.

A pearl so transparent,
of whom nothing gets filtered,
to ever be possessed by the hunter.
Unless by the One,
who shaped it
with skin of bewilderment.

Cloud not “dark”, but fog so light, lost in air, mixing with dust storms of desert.

A cloud made of unseen radiance,
of whom light remains unparalleled,
ceaselessly overwhelming the witness.
Unless for the One,
who orchestrated it
with sound of explosion.

Ocean not without “Sun”, but one that has absorbed the star and is now burning with-in.

An ocean full of star dust,
of whom each particle is lit with fire,
drowning those who want to swim.
Unless for the One,
who set it blazing,
with enlightening smile.

Wanderlust not seeking a “guide”, but one that’s seeking to be lost in the wilderness.

A wanderlust on the path of expansion,
of whom each way leads to new indulgence,
engulfing those who seek some place.
Unless for the One,
who creates the labyrinthian,
whirling around the effulgence.

And being one missing already… like an air from the planet, I request observer to move on, to search a base with life to inhabit.

Missed are the ones, from there place,
who set their eyes on the illusion…
Missed are the ones, from the very moments,
who come to know the truth behind the appearance.

Think of me – I’m verse being remembered…
As you write to me – I’m poem being written!

– Dedicated to two opposite dimensions that reside with-in single entity: Personalized pessimism vs. Mystic optimism.

Image Credits:

The Revelation

This poem is a response to Shereen Aljarrah‘s splendidly vivid piece: “Confession“.

After Attar’s ‘The Conference  of the Birds’ - By: Francesco Clemente

Journey for Union of Love

I desire you
like flower desires the Sun,
like leaves desire the dew-drops;
to survive, to grow,
to have a constant alluring glow.

I praise you
like a man who spends whole night
as a drunk, in the stupor.
Though lips don’t confess,
heart still sings your appraisals.

I miss you
like a poet remembers
the favorite crescent,
always mercurial in face.
Yet remaining the same
in the essence.

I perceive you
like mystic observes
the beloved’s presence,
in nothing with sole appearance,
yet in everything that’s present.

I honor you
like samurai treats the code of the warrior,
as monk treats the patience.
With utmost sincerity
and devotion to the way.
Destined to fall in all other case.

I seek your disclosures,
like a steadfast wanderer,
a journey man who cherishes
the marvels of the way
more than finding a static destination.

I mix in you
like waves merge in the ocean,
like sand rolls in a desert,
like ice melts in a water,
like wind dwells with the fire.
Emerging out as a single entity in the end.

– Dedicated to the lovers who love the very idea of love, for they have to journey through the stages of eternal love.

Image Credits: After Fariduddin Attar‘s ‘The Conference of the Birds’ – by Francesco Clemente (