~ Let she be freed! ~

~ Let she be freed! ~

O’ allow her,

To wryly snub,

The bubbling arrogance,

So emerald greenly clear,

Lying as perennial weeds,

At the bottom,

Of your pleasing sea-akin cadence …

And make her say, ‘No’

To being the lady pawn moving across the board,

For she, puts her foot down,

And wears the empress crown

Regalia of her stature,

The waft of the robe, and the dazzling orb,

And the scepter … all her insignias ‘Invisible’

May not drive the imperial decisions,

But all the men and women, and their love for her

Rafts  

Her heart’s will,

Its desire …

And then, she says it not — not to return home,

The Will-o'-the-wisp may not sing in your ears,

The wooly whispers of her ‘miss you still’

But for you,

She will write. She will write. She will write.

In her humble blood, and modest tears,

Those ever failing to reach your rich heart!

But you’re her king,

No more. No more. No more.

And now, for reasons serpentine and thus so dark,

She awaits a ‘Freedom’ not-so-noble, and a ‘Pied-piper’,

For her sizeable coronated heart has shrunk,

Shrunk into,

One wenge-shaded, wany, scrawny mouse!

~ Beauty! ~

~ Beauty! ~

Honeycomb,

Reined thus chambered chaos

Dainty wings,

On a flitting sunny butterfly

Dying leaf,

Imbued with confused hues

Budding life,

Enslaved to sinful colors, anew

Hidden lie,

Afloat in shallow cold breaths

Foggy winter night,

Deeply untold secret, when illumine

Dangling rung,

Of one sturdy dark wood staircase

Rusting key,

Loyal to a lock, lost that is now

Lying eyes,

Lips lapping smile, lopsided

Restless hands,

Still, nothing was ever found …

Love of beauty,

Venomous indulgence, O’ my Sire!

Beauty of love,

None lasted, never was defined!

~ The Chase ~

I desire you, obsessively, do you see?

You are so beautiful … mercilessly …

~ The Chase ~

Resembling one austere noon,

Ah, this unkind chase,

Seems deepening,

And darkening,

That of ‘rustic’ you …

With every bare inch,

Craved for so long,

Of your dusky skin,

I touched thus … alive …

As the distance,

Between us diluted,

To pave a neat way,

For a virgin submission,

Of the awakening, so nude

Of our sage souls …

I gathered and held you,

For those slippery moments,

Firmly that I could,

Before you lurched,

To amble away, scholarly,

Leaving some of me, witless,

Thirsty with a lost, silly wet tongue,

And cold as the stranger’s stare,

One lurking around,

At the sharp bend,

Of your dull alleyway!

~ Kaun ho Tum? ~

~ Kaun ho Tum? ~

Jawaab Maghrebi(cursive Arabic script),

Sukhan(poetry) naarangi,

Rukh e zaaffran(saffron)

Khuld(paradise) si safwan(unblemished) ho tum …

Uuude aasman ke ghilaaf(cover) mein,

Bar’aamde ki pehnaayi(width) si,

Maanind e khush-roo sehlaab(flood)

Khushnuma abshaar(waterfall),

Aab e hayat(elixir) ho tum

Mehekta agaaz ho tum …

Bekhudi ki ek khuraag,

Saanson ki rawani jo rawani rakhe,

Woh suroor e pyaas, woh khumaar ho tum …

Door

Benoor,

Khizaan(fall) sa main,

Mayaar(scale) e bahaar(spring) ho tum …

Garam raet mein panah’gah si,

Kya woh hi saraab(mirage) ho tum?

Shadaab ho, shabaab ho, mahtaab ho,

Jo mayassar na hua mujhe kabhi,

Kya woh hi ek jalta alftaab ho tum?

Uff … kya lajawaab ho tum,

Khawaab ho tum,

Khawaab ho tum

Khawaab ho tum …

~ Tired! ~

~ Tired! ~

Pale under the same meteor shower

Down the beaten-by-years, shy lane

By the flower-laden, so fair a bower

Where love has kept me true n’ sane …

To amble with the lumbering wait

Below the crumbling red tree house

Not to see plush cherry-ness abate

In my own tears, thus, I so douse …

Sapped is the sky, a wait so lingers

A dusted path is on its eyes’ fingers …

Planks’ cheeks askance, going deep sore

Losing the bough, no trail on the ground

In me too, a lonely wait is left, no more

And so shall sleep, serene, still, sound!

~ Khaalis Unwaan … Tum …~

~ Khaalis Unwaan … Tum …~

Toot’ta makaan,

Hatheli se phisalta, ikhtiyaar e maskaan,

Ubharti aur behtar taur se, makhsoos khalaayen,

Sendhon mein phasa pada,

Aundhe munh, ruk ruk kar saansen bharta,

Uljha, ghabraya sa, nisbat e maqaam …

Parat parat udhadta bardaash’t e madda,

Eent eent girtin chaar-su ujdii deewaren,

Ek purani fitri seelan,

Mere wujood ko bade shauk se nigal rahii thi …

Phir uss roz,

Khuloos ka odhe taaza-tareen libaas,

Daanton mein dabaye zubaan,

Kaanp’te hue hathon se,

Gehri soch ki koochi liye,

La’parwaah andaaz mein,

Mujh be-rang ko,

Dobara se rang daala …

Kore pannon par be’shak,

Main utaarti hoon ab … tumhari,

Badan ki garmi O jumbish ko,

Tumhari shokhi,

Sargoshiyon ko,

Nadaaniyon,

Siskiyon,

Loriyon ko,

Larazti saanson,

Pighalte aansu,

Jazbaaton ko,

Tumhari bheegi muskarah’ton ko,

Kachi-pakki baaton ko,

Tumhari belaus muhabbat ki kahaniyon ko …

Aur badle mein tum,

Phoonk dete ho meri nas-nas mein,

Khud ki jaan …

Mere khayaal, mere lafzon, alfaazon mein chupe,

Kuch iss tarah hote hain main aur tum, hum-kalaam

Ki paida ho jati hoon main, ek tumhare sirf hone se …

~ Entombed! ~

~ Entombed! ~

I have waited for you long enough,

To deserve you, at least this once …

Majestic steps creak under your feet,

Miming the yawning splits in their heart

No, no, these fissures can’t be healed or cured,

For all the time you have,

It will be spent leafing through them,

For the depth these ravines hold,

In their sore heart, and deep beyond,

Remains the mausoleum of the memories,

Those made once and again, alone …

The nobility of arched symmetrical domes,

Persian impressed motifs bejeweling,

The rich aesthetic tomb, narrow hungry gullies,

Vaulted channels, vine-like columns, secret they so hold,

You walked under them, amidst it, yesterday,

With your urbane shades on …

It wonder me no more, for why you didn’t see,

A skinny white palm, peeking from behind the door,

The jaded red door, with rusted dangling hinges,

The sight of which you drank the most …

Enshrined is the sky, its beloved sun,

In the far west dry arroyo of the same tomb,

Grave of the refurbished, varnished aplomb …

Famished are the fissures, dear, too much to control,

And with their ravenous skeletal arms,

They keep asking, for more, just a little more …

With time and spade in your hand, coming morrow,

Disinter me from my ornate tomb,

Not the way you so do intend,

But how I preciously want,

For,

I have waited for you long enough,

To deserve you, at least this once …

~ They call Her … ~

~ They call Her … ~

Promiscuous,

Smiling feline,

Cougar,

Dangerous un-kohl-ed eyes,

Her ripened body ever-ready to be suckled on …

Arms inviting to play,

Later to gluttonize and slay

Embrace … drawing in and hushing for a while

Drugging, doping, those indecorous expressions,

Silent, arcane, honed over the years

Stealthily moving in the hustling throng

Snaking craftily through the sinuous alleyways …

Hidden from the masses,

Marijuana of the classes

She is the lady, my mistress,

The woman of the taste

Addicted to the compelling smell of manly sweat,

Over the posh abruptness of any suave heady scent

Silk of her splendid tinseled gown slithering,

Rousing the hard tan leather of hand-stitched shoes,

Carving the craved way,

To the blue gratification room …

Where she once was brought by the one,

She had demanded for love, so wrong,

Where fondled and nicked was her bosom,

Soul scratched till the bottom,

Nickel and dimed was her nubile body, so young

Where she became prey to the hunger of ever-hungry race

And she was left only unloved, bare, and eternally sore …

Would she still care what they name her now?

Stacking away the tattered tapestry,

Loaded with finery, and elegance her style,

She is plainly staging her payback role!

~My last alive Opus! ~

Anne Vallayer-Coster, Attributes of Music, 1770.

~My last alive Opus! ~

I am a poet, as they say …

Plattering me one formidable silver lure,

But I wouldn’t give you out,

For the rarest of the choicest of words,

Because YOU—my muse—are too beautiful,

For them, to behold!

But someday I would implore you,

To get off the back of my thoughts,

For then I may tend,

To the things, muggy, monotonous and mundane,

Because YOU—my plunder—are too uncommon,

To be anything but my love, my soul!

Someday when I am lost, and thirsty,

And hungry for something prosaic and more,

And they give me a choice, to barter the ethereal you off,

Know even then, I would not lose you,

Choosing to rather die, keeping your elusive side alive …

Ergo love,

The sound of a hushed sign of our only vow,

Ricocheting against the closed barred window,

Kissing the domed multi-octave off-white ceiling,

And then into the faded walls, pumping the clear symphony,

To paint the doors, with concerto faith, ‘fine red and bright’,

Only to ask for one last least lyrical favor of you,

“Stay till the end of mine! Stay! You will, right?”

My last alive Opus that YOU are ……

~ Noshed! ~

~ Noshed! ~

But I don’t remember,

No, not yet,

If it’s the twilight of your voice,

Or those glassy midnight eyes,

Your lips, dancing melodious,

Or should I say — my gaze aslant —

Caressing tongue, you flip and toss,

Betwixt those clever teeth,

Inside your summer mouth,

Warmly stroking between smiles,

Dainty, pretty a-l-p-h-a-b-e-t-s …

O’ you season of my heart,

So sumptuously exotic you are,

When you eat your w-o-r-d-s,

Making them deliciously half,

For I love the way you talk …

Wherefore, you should see, to grasp,

That I’m still striving to remember so hard …

Mon Amour … would you talk again? 

Whilst feeding my famished, hedonistic stare …

For I love when you talk, albeit unexplained!