I Find Myself Scattered…

I find myself scattered amid times age-old

In myths beyond expression, In tales untold

In sinful thought of a saint with heart unsure

In glare of kindness that emits from a whore

In pure love between a couple,weirdest of all

Man as tiny as a dwarf, Girl so fat and tall

In the winds that blow away veil of a wise girl

With face painfully ugly, eyes green like pearl

I find myself scattered amid times age-old

In myths beyond expression, In tales untold

In wildest fears of Syrian Refugees in a boat

In eyes of Peshawar child, knife at his throat

In the fire that burn Gaza’s screaming new-born

In bullets fired at her mother with ripped womb

In hopeful eyes of tiny girl fighting with Cancer

In ungratefulness of healthy finding no answer

I find myself scattered amid times age-old

In myths beyond expression, In tales untold

In the Kaaba of my soul, In Prayers unheard

In pleasant sounding sad chirps of a caged bird

In emptiness of Namaz, In pleasures of Love

In finding Him in heart, not in the sky above

I find myself scattered everywhere but in me

Help me gather up myself, Please let me BE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rishtun ki laash ko lat patt khoon me dekha…..

Me ne jab doolat ki havas ko janoon me dekha

Yun rishtun ki lash ko lat patt khoon me dekha

 

 

Paisay ka laalach tha, dhuaan ban k chaaya hua

Ankhun me chubhta dard, seenay se lagaya hua

 

 

Kaghaz k tukray banaay maan ki ankh ka noor

Notun ka uncha dhair tha baap k dil ka saroor

 

 

Bhae ki muhabbat ka gala ghoont raha tha bhae

neela hogya tha khoon, laal hogae thi kamaae

 

 

Zameen o jaedaad ne khoompa tha kamar me chura

Naik seerat ki daaghdaar, achun ko bana dia the bura

 

 

Yun aj zindagi ki haqeeqat apni auqaat dikha gae thi

Khaloos ki qabar per mere dil me udaasi c cha gae thi

 

 

Jab paisay k ghulaamun ko hirs o havas k mun me dekha

Me ne tab rishtun ki laash ko latt patt khoon me dekha

 

This poem here was an impulsive reaction of brutal things going on around me. I don’t know why I have written it in Urdu and I don’t know why I have written it at all. It may have no sense, but it is an honest portrait of my surroundings.

Of The Being….

The unbearable lightness of being (1998)

Seeds were sown, in the infertile lands

an immortal being was born

pain do it yield, tears make it torn

as it, eats up self of its own

Story be told today

Of the bouquet of

yellow faded leaves that this being is

Of the sore cramps all over it’s soul that

blisters gather up to tingle

Water in the blisters be like

in the inquisitive

eyes of a sad Mother

whose children sob in the nights and

sleep beaten arms can’t comfort them

Their pain, they don’t tell

sympathies don’t make them well

Of the stinking fragrance of it

fragrance like of the flowers in the eyes

of a beautiful damsel

flowers that bloom on the plants of

abandoned gardens and die there

Of the angelic body

as of the body of a married lady

which is, tired of embellishing

loveless deceitful fancy beds

Story of the being that bathes

in the moonlit nights under

flaring silver skies of it’s darkest desires

that burn in their own sweat

Story of the being that, with all it’s imperfections

is dunk in the divine sanction of Him

as it suffuses beyond time and space.

Dedicated to all the readers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once In A Blue Moon

This world’s pain, so intense and vast

My pain seems very little in contrast

I forget my pain as I start to mark

Human’s wounded soul & bleeding heart

Every once in a blue moon, a phase comes in everyone’s life where they have to stop and look back—To compare what they had with what they have and to assume what they will have in future.

This phase comes in my life very often. A crucial time when a sharp beep echoes in my brain and urge it to think day and night without taking any rest. This beep cuts my nerves and bleeds them to death. Leaving me no choice but to cry it out for hours to get rid of it and then my mind goes back to being numb and dumb.

This phase has left me with a question this time, ‘Is Love necessary for a successful relationship?’

I put care, respect and fondness in one plate of the measure pan and Love in the other but nothing seems to be heavier than the other. One of them has to go down….

At this point, Love brings a slight sadness in my heart. Sadness that gives me a feel of warmness and care. A feeling that assures me of being special. An emotion that still awakes every sense in me and digs up every cornered grave in my heart. Love, that is abandoned but still lit up a candle of hope in me…. Hope that never sees whether it is needed or not.

On the other hand care, respect and fondness—as much they appear to be a permanent part of my whole life, seem valueless. As my mind gets lost while wandering between these, my heart drags itself along.

My absurd philosophy makes sense only to me but let me say, Love brings expectations with it and coping up with the expectations is very hard. Without love, you accept whatever life offers you. So for me, Love is not necessary to have a successful relationship, though I would never say a dear and a peaceful one.

As I would be busy straightening up my tangled emotions right now, this world would be grieving–over the deaths of loved ones, over living under the line of poverty, over suicides, over corruption, over terrorism, over being divided into sects, over unemployment and low literacy rate and over dying because of hunger.

Is my pain really worth getting written here? I don’t think so.

 

 

‘Ishq’

As drops of summer rain plows her barren land of heart

Desire of ‘Wisaal‘ sprouts; years of ‘Separation‘ cut apart

Renunciation of will, ecstatic pain of love’s desire grows

With the light of ‘Irfan‘, ruptured veins of her soul glows

‘Self‘ is abandoned; dew of ‘love‘ turns her dust into mud

From the very bosom of self, arises the scent of beloved

This tightly coiled fire of love is neither requited nor denied

Conventional ‘wisdom‘ reverses, ‘Junoon‘ cries out with pride

Shackles of ‘reason‘ are broken, It’s wise lectures are declined

Wish to become dust of His feet echoes in her oblivious mind

Then crushed soul leaves the body, far away from time and space

It becomes One with beloved while ‘Nafs‘ drowns in His grace

Human unites with God, Divine unites with Man; a bridge is done

Rhythm in the cry of ‘Hu‘ merges with the melody of ultimate One !

Secrets are unveiled, paradoxes solved, mystical assent completes

Levels of ‘Ishq‘ conquered, Mortality and immortality finally meets

Annihilation, ‘Fan’a‘; Death is all left behind, nothing to be afraid

Contentment in non-existence, euphoria from the death of blade.

(Wisaal:Reunite, Irfan:theological philosophy which seeks to describe being, Junoon:Madness, Nafs:Ego,  Hu: Sound that imprint marks on heart, part of Allah’s name, Fan’a: Ultimate destruction)

 

This poem is dedicated to all the lovers of Allah, experiencing Ishq-e-haqiqui. Love is just a primary stage in the journey of Ishq. I have tried to explain all the levels of Ishq in my poem, through which one passes to reach the ultimate level, the level of death. May Allah blesses us with His Ishq.

Somewhere

Photo Credits : CHINESE CAULDRON

Somewhere, there is the tall guy boarding a plane

who once used to lay down and see her asleep

while she’d open one eye secretly to steal a look

of his worry-less face and worried eyes wide-open

staring at his temporary present through a distance

of miles between them.

Somewhere, there is the girl feeling hot dusty clouds

floating in her lungs as the pile of ash gets soaked

in those salty little drops which never fell anywhere

but on the tall guy’s finger pores and  that long stick

burns with the nerves in her mind as the pressure of

her blood lowers down.

Somewhere, there is the small hut on the hills

which echoes with the crying silence of the wishes

of people who made it. There is this couch there,

where no one sits to watch tv together and a

stove on which no food is cooked but the song of love

can still be heard from miles.

Somewhere, across the sleepless nights and

nightmares, there is a branched path like the

lines on one’s hand, telling them to start counting

number of sunsets they have to see without each other

while holding hands with the soul mates that were

always meant for them.

 

The list of nouns : The tall guy, the girl, the small hut, the hills,  the sleepless nights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cyclic Inception

Credits : Thomas Leuthar

Life ‘Inception’

                    Riddle wrapped in Enigma

                                          Prehistoric pen shrieks

                                                                            Echoing Like

                                                                                              Tunnels in Labyrinth

                                                                                                                       Reflecting tales of illusions

                                                                                              Time follows the quest

                                                                             Of Unreachable stars

                                              Struggles and failures

                      Bleed into Hope

The cycle Continues.

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This 33 words piece is written for Trifecta Challenge. The challenge this week was to write a 33 words response to the Picture given. Click on the Badge to read other beautiful entries.

Why ?

Sacredness makes me strong

Blessed with wings but I creep along

Carving words of silence, I sing a song

In Meadows, Beyond ideas of right and wrong

Lies the soul absorbing light through the pierced wounds

Home of love invite to be the guest unknown

Paths to you are shown by trees long

I Search inside where you belong

Empty-handed, I still Roam.

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I don’t know if this photo prompt relates completely to my words or not but these were the thoughts that came into my mind when I first saw it. As I am feeling down these days too so couldn’t come up with anything creative. I hope you’ll bear me with that.

This poem is written in response to Daily Prompt and Friday Fictioneers. Click on the link to see other awesome entries this week.

Photo Copyright – Björn Rudberg.

 

 

Enchanted

I was enchanted by her beauty

the first time I saw her.

Laying there with her silky velvet body,

crisp skin,

fluffy red cherry-lips tempting enough to caress.

One soft bite of that

cheesecake took me to heaven.

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This piece is written for Trifecta Writing Challenge .They wanted a 38 words piece including “The first time I saw…” Line anywhere in the piece. If you like it, don’t forget to vote on Friday. Click on the badge to check other awesome submissions.

8 Words that should be added in English Dictionary

Harvey Specter Rocks !

I encountered a Facebook page that shares very exquisite German, Greek, French, Latin and Arabic words along with the meanings. Since many new words have been added to the dictionary recently, these beautiful words should have a place there too.

These are the kind of words that we yearn for, while writing prose in English and then come up with a bunch of senseless words giving almost the same meaning.While fighting with my writer’s block I exercised these. Here’s how my exercise came out:

1- La douleur exquise (The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable)

An explanation of abandoned love, broken dreams and unfulfilled wishes in one word.

I can feel a piercing la douleur exquise at a place where my heart is. The pain mixes with my blood and flows through the veins…to my heart. Each pore of my body burns with it but I can’t supplicate for a cure. Love hath no cure.

2- Lalochezia (The emotional relief gained from using abusive or profane language)

Have you felt lalochezia ever ?

I felt lalochezia after half an hour of slapping and punching her in the face but she was standing there, in the same condition as she did before. I felt all my efforts of tearing her apart going in vain. I have to think of another plan to get rid of this freakish scary doll that my wife had brought from the market and placed near my bed.

3- Cafune (Running your fingers through your lover’s hair)

Complete definition of ‘romantic’ in one word.

You lie here, head in my lap and I cafune you. In those moments, clock stops ticking as if it holds it’s breath to listen to our’s. I hold your hand with closed eyes, sensing peaceful embrace of your love and asks myself, “Can life be more beautiful than that?“

4,5- Dormiveglia (The space that stretches between sleeping and waking), Clinomania (excessive desire to stay in bed)

I love this state of neither sleeping nor awoke completely. I often see best dreams in this state. And clinomania ? It’s my evergreen best friend.

I love you even more in dormiveglia. Your tranquilizing whispers “Wake up My Love” drench my soul leaving it thirsty for your touch. I enjoy a peaceful dormiveglia with clinomania everyday till my son comes crying “I have wet my bed again, Mommy!”.

6- Apodyopsis (The act of mentally undressing someone)

Okay that’s completely lame.

He loved her blindly until one day she sat in front of him in the classroom and he got indulged in a little apodyosis. Turned out, She’s a Man !!

7- Jaaneman (Soul of me)

I love this Urdu word. It sounds cheesy if used normally but life feels good with some cheesiness, sometimes.

Here in the East, when some random guy has to flirt with a random girl, he says, “Oye Jaaneman ! Aik Jadu Ki Japhi tu de de” (Hey Jaaneman ! Give me the magical hug) and she often gives him the magical hug with her slippers.

8- Orenda ( A mystical force present in all people that empowers them to effect the world, or to change their own lives)

I have discovered orenda lying deep inside my soul after several hours of mystic imagination. I am going to change the world. “Change your own pajamas first that you are wearing upturned since the morning, huh ! He will change the world” My wife replies with frowns on her forehead.

You can find many more interesting words on this Facebook page. I’d love to know how you use them in your writings.

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**The thoughts in this post are completely mine and no one needs to agree to them. This post is written for Yeah Write Weekly challenge. Click on the badge to see other entries and to vote on Thursday.

The Meaning Of Motivation Changed.

A sign of motivation for me

Self  desire for actuation, some valid motivation

Lift up the soul enervated, with a new cognition

 

By the moment I complain of heartache unbearable

A person gets back his life, when heart beats go stable

Survival from a heart operation, his contentment grow

The meaning of “Pain” clarifies itself into a sacred vow

 

By the moment I blubber missing my Love forsaken

An infant cries for the lap of his  Mother forever taken

Craving for his Mother’s touch, his hollowness grow

The meaning of “urge” bounds itself into a sacred vow

 

By the time I sob encountering nights sorrowful, sleepless

A person couldn’t sleep of his hunger growing limitless

In the need of food, His chastity of gratitude grow

The meaning of “want” enslaves itself into a sacred vow

 

By the moment I refuse to see the hope of future bright

Optimistic dreams are seen by a person with no eyes

Wishing for a better life, His frenzy eagerness grow

The meaning of “hope” confines itself into a sacred vow

 

By the moment I refuse to thank, by the time I do complaint

The poor,The orphan,The needy ,The injured and the quaint

Satisfy themselves for what they have, as the life grow

The meaning of “Life” envisages itself into a sacred vow

 

Desire is the key to motivation,a changed definition

A pinch of enthusiasm, A heap of determination !

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Image Credits: http://www.eidhi.org.

Dungeon Prompts – Season 2 Week 1: Motivation.

Today’s Daily Prompt was NEW so this is my newest motivation.

Black Magic ?

People imply that it was

Black magic

that ate her up

like worms eat up the woods.

She was transformed

From an elegant glowing beauty

To

an awful filthy mess.

She had flesh on her bones

but no impulse.

Like a lifeless corpse

her face turned pale black,

her soul departed her body

taking away the shine

in her eyes.

She was Dead for

the world.

No one knew, except me;

she was bitten by ‘Life’

And I swear

I heard her silent breaths !!

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**Please vote for me if you liked my poem, O’ Moon You Were The Spectator ! . For voting, Please click the following link : Speak Easy at Yeah Write. Read the other great entries too and vote for them. You can vote for total three entries. All entries are present at the bottom of the page.

Thank you 🙂

A post written in response to Daily Prompt: Do you Believe in Magic?

Image credits: VUsolutions.com.

O’ Moon You Were The Spectator !

O’ Moon you were the spectator

of year that passed by -leaving

cynical ages behind.

Of wounds that were made

which aches and tear apart my soul

are everlasting !

Of broken dreams that scratch

these wounds hard

and the brimming blood

nourishes my heart.

Of wishes unfulfilled that

pricks like thorns,

cuts like a sword; sharp and fine.

Of the rains of my fate which

were destined for someone other’s home.

Of the grave that lies

in a corner of my heart where

un-listened prayers sleep.

Of the un-heard moans and sobs

of my injured heart that

spoke through eyes

alas! no one was there to read.

Of my eternal search inside

myself – The search of self

search of The Divine.

Of the enduring solitude

Of  the withering bliss

in the spring of my life.

O’ Moon you were the spectator

of metamorphosis that de-colorized

my life’s zest from

white to Black and shades of grey.

O’ Moon I am scared

Of the abyss I have to jump in with

open eyes and wide arms but

crying heart and stinging soul

in near future.

O’ Moon be my guest

hold my hand and walk with me

through the vexatious path

towards the ultimate future

where each step pierce the countless

blisters of my jaded soul.

O’ Moon can you endure

my feelings pure?

O’ Moon can you give me

your shoulders to cry on ?

O’ Moon can you bear

the dilemma that is near?

The moon smiled and spoke

words that I am in a habit to hear.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”

And veiled its childlike silver face

underneath the blue clouds

on the limitless sky

where a new year was beginning

just as a ray of hope

rises through melancholy and gloom.

The Speak Easy Challenge.

When Money Killed Him

A dark room

Full of spiders and

Piles of gold and Money

Ruby, Emerald , Diamonds

Lustrous Treasure

And he trapped inside

 

Tired was his body after

Searching a way out

Tired was his soul after

Searching for life

A vivid hallucination

Occupies him

 

How many fat lies

He has spoken

How many innocent people

He has betrayed

For the same money;

Lying under his feet

 

It can’t buy- eternal happiness

Nor can it buy

Love and friendship

No calm good night sleep

Not even his freedom

 

Regrets amplified

Embarrassment multiplied

His incessant repentance

All his life, He ran behind

A void abstract glitter

That was gone

 

Cursed of being Rich

With gold and diamonds

Around his body

He died of ‘Money’

Long before his death

By hunger and thirst.

 

A post written in response to Daily Prompt: You’re a Winner!

A Mystic Indulgence

 

In Nature’s Dungeon

Incessant quest of sublime self

A mystic Indulgence

Image Credits: MAGDALENA LUTEK’S WISTFUL WOMEN.

A haiku done for Daily Prompt: The Best Day Ever

An Excruciating Spasm Of Guilt

Lies inside her silvered heart

A golden memory wrapped in layers of mist

And a guilt torn apart

Tiny finger wrapped in warmth

Of embrace of her graceful Mother’s hands

As she teaches her to walk forth

Having lunch on the first day

At school, feeling touch of her mother’s hand on bread

Smiles the shine in her eyes grey

While kids play with toys, she pour

Her innocent wishes to her Mother’s mind -laying in her lap

As her Mother teaches her to endure

Having a single meal that day

She Glances at her Mother sleeping peacefully- and recall

She had nothing but water today

As grains of sand slip through hand

Time flew by, fading her childhood in mystic wraps

Now she was a girl strong enough to stand

Cherished was the ethereal time

Befallen under shadows of her Mother’s Love Divine

Problems dimmed by the wind chimes

With a flash her world shattered

Broken was her Mother’s heart, by her words angry and harsh

-She left with tears flooded

And came back on a stretcher

Wounded-Lifeless her Mother’s lies on blood filled white sheet

With a brand new shawl there

Woman who walked with her mother;told

She bought this shawl for her beloved daughter

To make her anger cold

Mind paralyzed and confused

She looked at her Mother’s feet- and Remembered she had

No money to buy shoes.

A post written in response to The Daily Prompt.