~ In affair with ye .. ~ / ~ Aap ki muhabbat, main ..~

 

~ Aap ki muhabbat, main ..~

Dekhiye,

Woh jo karte hain sawaal,

Poochte hain mera haal,

Ki, kisski hoon main pehchaan,

Kiske ghar hoon mehmaan,

Toh main ye bolti hoon,

Lab ahiste se kholti hoon,

“Kyon nahin yaad apko mera chehra?

Garbh main apke hi, mera wajood thehra ..

Kop’l phoot, bani naqsh e mazmoon e pyaar,

Muhabbat hun apki, na itni mazallat se napiye Janaab mera byaar ..”

Yun toh bemaqsad hi log yahan aate hain,

Na- mauzoon Khawaishen, phir paate hain,

J’nti umeedon ki Ghaar e bhook main,

Ranjishen chabaate, majbooriyn pii jate hain ..

Phir waqt hone pe, maqsad lawaaris chorh chale jaate hain ..

“Unhi be-maqsadon ka ek adhoora maqsad banun,

Pehlu pakad apka, toot-te taare pe paun dharun,

Aap door khade, shabashi do, taliyan bhi,

Aankh meenche, dagmagaate qadamo’n si,

Main haule haule aapki taraf chalun,

Oss sa jhade tabassum, uski baarish main dhulun,

Nayi shafaq libas si meri jild ko,

Aap phir apne aagosh main lo,

Bosa lo unn andhere goshon ka,

Tadfeen tha, makaan jo wo’ silwaton sa,

Manind ho jayen hum ek doosre ke yun —

Tawaazun e muhabbat se — maqsad mukammal main banun!”

~ In affair with ye .. ~

Doth they ask,

Question my resemblance,

That who’d willingly home me ..

Would I say — betwixt slow parting of my lips

“How doth thee forget my face?

In thy womb, I was placed ..

Budded — into a frescoed word of love,

In affair with ye, doth not disgracefully measure me, O’ Monsieur ..”

They come here, no wish-spoon in their hands,

Then, they desire far-fetched desires till the end,

Thither, in the hungry dark caves of birthing hopes,

Resentments they eat, drink their bitter feeble-selves,

Orphaning their wishes, soon they would pass ..

“So, would thee call me one of thine incomplete wishes?

Holding thy hold, I shalt step upon one wishing star ..

Would ye praise me, applaud my gait?

Shutting close my blinking eyes,

I shalt slowly walk towards ye ..

In thy dewed smile, let me wash my scared blemished self,

With a chaste skin, I promise to someday embrace ye ..

Then, should thou kiss those dark nooks,

Buried deep, housed as in wrinkled furrow,

Thou shalt become me, I shalt become thee —

Poising our affair thus — one perfect, exultant wish be I!”