Late in the afternoon

It happened on one of those days, you don’t really expect much. Not because you’ve suffered recent relationship-losses or something else of that manner, but for the precisely cynical reason that it will. I sometimes call it a summer late-in-the-noon realization (cause that is when it usually occurs).

 

I boarded a bus to the marketplace, which is pretty far off from where I live. It was like any other Indian bus, the most elegant feature of which is, not its colour or a particular make or a blazing radio, but its crowdedness. So unfortunately I had to stand my way through the distance. My eyes wandering, as they usually are when you can’t relax them for the simple reason that no one would allow you to, fell on 2 long fingers, moving in semi-circles with a pencil, planting sketches on the piece of paper held below. She, the girl with those fingers, was sitting right in front of me. And yet absorbed in a completely different world (the one you use your daydreaming-boarding passes for). I watched her for quite a while. The sketch wasn’t clearly visible as the sunrays slanted in a weird angle over it. But I saw her tear it and start anew. Once more the same time interval and the tearing part again. It was the third time when she got really consumed and took about 20 minutes, after which she had a amused yet content look in her weakly-hazel eyes. And then all of a sudden, she looked up, held the sketch up and smiled at me. I was stumped for even an expression. It was her face and I was in a double bind as to which one to look at - God’s or hers? Finally, after several cloud fly-bys maybe, I raised a thumb. And just then, to my utter disbelief, she snapped it again. I couldn’t stop as the words rolled outta my tongue – “what the hell was that for?”

 

She, in the most none-of-your-business like eyes, looked at me and said, “I was just relaxing”. “But…..” She cut across me, “If I had kept it, it wouldn’t have helped me relax some other day – I don’t want to make it precious”. The unspoken sentence hung in the air - I don’t want to lose it, and since I will, why keep it?

 

With all number-exchanging mood dead, I stepped off the bus, bidding her goodbye with an odd-because-awed smile. A friend of mine had been waiting for me. I walked with him to the gadget store I had set off for, but I realized I wasn’t with him. My mind was still perplexed, or bemused would be the word to use. It was an mp3 player I had come here for. And now suddenly, the desire came down crashing in front of my eyes. I didn’t want it now. My mate tried talking me out of it, but I had made up my mind. A coffee and some snacks later, the sun was running down, with a moon climbing up. It was time to leave. But before we did, he couldn’t help but ask, “what’s wrong with you man? Silent and all-confused? Didn’t even do what you’d spanned the entire city for? What happened?”

I don’t know where the answer came from, but before we parted, I calmly whispered – “I didn’t want to make it precious” Good night. Sweet…..nah don’t dream too much!!

A Happy World

A true vision of a happy world.....

A Happy World

 

I was living when this happened

I saw a world with great beauty

The beauty that reflects from the depths

It was so pure , like golden honey

not a semblance, just the truth

 

People talked to me, oh yes, they did

with an affection unseen till then

There was melody in every word

the melody of promise and trust

like he chirp of a morning bird

 

Trees found home in the wild

and not in pots of earthen clay

Everyone cared for mother nature

lush green rooted with brown shades

like the end of a long venture

 

There were no races, no black and white

No one was poor, all satisfied

It was the beginning of eternal joy

I was living when this happened

Sadly though, I woke up then

Teri Tasveer

Tasveer teri dil meraa bahlaa na sakegi  

ye teri tarah mujh se to sharmaa na sakegi

Main baat karungaa to ye Khaamosh rahegi 

Seene se lagaa lungaa to ye kuchh na kahegi  

aaraam vo kyaa degi jo tadpaa na sakegi 

Ye aankhen hain Thahri hueen chanchal vo nigaahen  

ye haath hain sahme hue aur mast vo baahen  

parchhaaee to insaan ke kaam aa na sakegi

In honthon ko "Faiyyaz" main kuch de na sakunga  

is zulf ko main haath mein bhi le na sakunga  

uljhi hui raaton ko ye suljha na sakegi...

Faiyaz Hashmi

The Venom of Life

I believe this here is my very first poem. I wrote it when i was 15, and had just failed an examination. Since then, there have been many poems, worthier poems that i've weaved, personally perceived. but The Venom of Life still holds special regard in some obliviated corner of my heart. 

The Venom of Life

 

I taste the venom of life

I realize that I am lonely

I look behind for my comrades

But I find nothing but darkness

 

I live with the ashes of the past

Ashes that once formed my reality

Now I wish to turn back time

But how can I escape beyond fate

 

My eyes venture for sympathy

But they don’t even find tears

They have been thirsty for years

And shed nothing but blood

 

It's been a long journey

And still I see no end

It's been ages since I am travelling

And earmarked as a mere traveller

 

There are traces of destiny on my palm

I hover over them for signs

Signs that could show me the way

Signs that could tell me where I am

 

I try to touch my soul

And snatch it from me myself

For then I accept Death in hope

That there's something better than Life

The Strangeness of things

A poem inspired by a question "why do all good things come to an end?"

this isnt exactly the answer. can there ever be one? very doubtful. khair, continue.

 

The Strangeness of things

 

To the familiar strangeness of things

I cry, I mourn, I plead as they bleed

Stirred again are the crusts of a creed

 

As another struggle for new allies follows

I succumb to the parting of older ones

Neither is this subtle, nor is that

What is, though, that I ponder never once

 

I never think, why my scorched trust

Rises from the ashes of itself, again

And like the phoenix, flies to higher perches

Till the last remains, the bough of heaven

 

All good things end, for the better to come

Or so do we think, or so is defined loss

With hope sweetening the taste of the truth

& Tears cleansing away their own cause

 

To the familiar strangeness of things

I cry, I mourn, I plead as they bleed

Stirred again are the crusts of a creed

No Questions

This was written during a rather stressful period of mine. let's see how you take it.

No Questions?

I was born, unseen, unheard of
The world moved on without stopping
No one knew I had come
And those few who knew, never cared

I grew up in my own world
Of real dreams and dreamy realities
Trodden down by a cold world
My tenderness froze to death

I was made to follow others
Driven by need, driven by insanity
Lonely I stood, never understood
Like a burning candle in sunlight

I smiled, I cried, no one saw
I worked, I tried, no one saw
I failed the expectations of everyone
They saw it, but not me

Now that I'm dead, all alone
I wonder whether I was ever in company
Was I needed, there are no answers
Simply because, there are no questions...

Interwoven Shades...

Interwoven Shades

She asks me what tinge hangs from the sky

A reddish grey or a greyish red

 All's bound to where your eyes lie, i say

It could mean glad tidings, or an ill-fated omen

She asks me what hue suffuses life

A dreamy reality or a real dream

All's bound to how your eyes see, i say

Open them, its both; close them, its none

She asks me what shade does love wear

A dark star or a starry darkness

All's bound to what your eyes look for, i say

A benighted gaze, or enlightened blindness

Be it what there is, or what isn't or what should have been

Our world, lives and love dwell through thick and thin

But we are always free to choose

and since we are, why confuse?

Realisations of a Gypsy

A Long time ago, a life-term prisoner was asked, "What do have to say after so many years in the shadows?" 

The man, some 50 years of age, the blackness of his hair losing a battle with the whiteness, spoke after a while, his features rising to an animation as he did,"After what seems like an age here, if there's something i have realised, then it is...........that realisations come hard.........

So, back to the verse here, All i would say is - if you could come with the climax of the poem, mythologically speaking - You could have a glimpse of the DIVINE BEING...... 

Go on, read it....

Realisations of a Gypsy

Ah! it lay in a pleasant twitter 

of gladdened hope through a maddened age

where red beak marks of a bird, glitter

as the only gold of a gilded cage

Ah! it rose like a morning sun

thrusting through the gloomy skies

While I, stung, much like everyone

drew far away to wash my eyes

Ah! it fell cast off a rocky loom

when the raiment of life was woven

that returned, an epitaph on a tomb

"Rest in Peace" amongst the chosen

That whose grim pursuit, ravaged many a day

Happiness rather was, a mere thought away

(would you read it again)

Love Seemingly

I have started to lose count as to how many moments of inspirations owe essence to you, Jaana. not the best. but worth a read, i guess.

Love seemingly

When you ponder over it from afar

Love's a full moon, or a nightingale's song

Or some twisted cycles of light and dark

Alas! the many ways men go wrong

'Cause when true love draweth nigh

seems like the usual is the thing opposed

like lookin the starry sky in the eye

& finding the star that blinds you the most

or the warmth of giving up your cloak

in the shivery chill of winter's stint

or feeling the places the rains soak

benumbed and yet just over the skin

Love is that sweet eternal breath

flooding a heart that'll beat to death

Where Blue Birds Sing

This is for you Jaana. You wanted something abt Love huh! i read it, and started writing something. It aint very neat and organised. and ever since my man william immortalised love and its beauty, i feel outta place writing anything abt it. its like, if i cant produce a masterpiece in a particular subject, i dont pick it up in the first place. anyways, read on. a moment's inspiration's all there is to this one. Read it with the rhythm i wrote it with. its got a kindergarten-lyric feeling to it. ;)

Where blue birds sing

and grasshoppers spring

in untrodden grasses

amid mountain passes

with a rainbow hung

upon a patch unsung

of a morning sky

till the beacons die

and the stars shine

in these eyes of mine

as we lie for hours

on beds of flowers

arms in arms

palms on palms

lips making way

for all there's to say

I....I Love you

I Love you too....

Now I am awake

like a placid lake

that's just known ripples

in places it cripples

Seems solace like streams

has flown into dreams,

of a time that's gone

over winters and beyond,

A time that lies

behind closed eyes,

with all hopes in vain

when i open them again...

The Heavenly Funeral

Now this is a complex one. one confusing metaphor i'd say. read it carefully. you'll either love it, or seriously loathe it. it cant stir apathy........

The Heavenly Funeral

 

I am being carried off by spirits,

Who are embodiments of greater things

Agony, numbness, solitude and loss

Weird names, I say, for unscathed wings

 

The angels weep for being helpless

With unceasing fear, their eyes alight

The fairies reach for my hands again

And never let go, till pushed aside

 

Amidst trickling tears and loosening clutches

The procession pours to the gates of heaven

I gaze back and blame my nonchalance

For I can't understand what's about to happen

 

The great gray gates unbolt leading out

Where there's darkness except for a few stars

That lazily cast their gleams on me

As I am thrown down like autumn flowers

 

A long weightless fall directs me

As I slide down strata of many a hue

The ethereal spectacle of the Eden fades

As a whole new world spins into view

 

Faintly, I can feel a throbbing chest

And swollen eyes, that imbibe radiance

My arms and feet can now flutter

But strangely, to me, they seem aliens

 

And then, at a far away lonesome place

I find myself crawling out into light

But the smiles all around perplex me

What was the funeral about in paradise?

---------------------

Home

Nothing like Nostalgia, i guess. and where does Nostalgia stem from? The memories? all the happy days? i guess there's something even more loyal........ read on.....

Home 

I have returned, yes, I have returned

From the shadows that had bound me

And I see that things have changed, but still

They remain like the ones around me

 

My home guarded by dust and dirt

A broken window, signs of theft

A worn out door, without the knob

Yet, it is the home that I had left

 

The grandfather clock, its still there

Where I'd left it alone to rot

It's the hour when I had walked away

The hands move, but time does not

 

The dusty basin, with a leaky tap

Or are those falling drops, tears?

Is someone crying in this wreck?

Cryin for all the lonely years

 

After decades of silence, there's noise

The nostalgic voice of prolonged agony

Its home not because it has memories but

It's the only one who was waiting for me

O Friend!

This comes straight from my archives, a time when i was learning how to concoct marvels with words (which i still am).

O Friend!

Do you remember those times?
When late in the cover of night
When the world would long be asleep
We would talk, laugh and weep

Do you remember those times?
When I'd call u without reason
And you'd patiently hear me out
Without anger, resentment or doubt

Do you remember those times?
When suddenly on a calm day
You'd hiccough for a minute or two
And I would be remembering you

Do you remember those times?
When I just won't talk enough
And without the slightest noise
You'd read out my silence

With a heart that wont beat nor yield
I have yielded to the beaten path
Searching eyes, brimming with hope
Fingers outstretched for someone to hold…

The Scents of Oblivion

It was a moment of inspiration. or something so enigmatic, i really didnt know what I was writing. but all in all, it turned out to be particularly, if not wonderful, peculiar. 

Rhyming scheme - abab

The Scents of Oblivion

Inspired by and dedicated to Miss Purple

The Scents of oblivion, pure and whole

like the washing away of all there is

beneath the isle where rests my soul

like the reaching out of untorn bliss

A fragrance imbibing all others

like the newness of spring pouring in

A bough that's never known shudders

of a calm breeze, or an ardent wind

Evading the two reassuring eyes

of Wisdom, stemming from past alarms

or the Vision, where the future lies

like running, Today, into mother's arms

Free from the time of a biased tense

Rushing along with Gushing streams

cascading down the edge of sense

into the Senselessness of dreams

You can't fathom, how a creeper runs

while reaping only the seeds you sow

You'll never know how, O Prejudiced ones,

to grow away from where you grow

- Aamir