A wish.
Oldie but goldie, Poetry, PoliticsI wish for my self alone
Because I am alone,
A small fragment of my kind
Which isn’t my kind
According to them
Because I dream of dreaming
Dreams of a tomorrow
Without battling hounds of war
That my kind inflicts upon
Itself with an excuse so obtuse
That a five year old can know
It as a lie
So black and cruel.
Dreams
Oldie but goldie, PoetryEvery time I close my eyes to sleep,
The monsters in my head begin to creep.
No longer do I have any pleasant dreams,
Only dying people and their ugly screams.
Sometimes I wake up crying,
Sometimes I see myself dying,
Sometimes I can’t sleep for nights,
Each night, itself, is trying.
Every thing is normal, now to me
The things unusual before.
Sometimes I wonder how to get
The peace I had before.
Everything comes in bits and pieces.
Sometimes my heart simply ceases,
When I put it all together,
And iron out its creases.
I get what people call ‘premonitions’
Guilty of seeing everything is my confession.
Weaker and powerless I feel, each time.
Everlasting torture is my condition.
I am on the verge of breaking down.
I need someone to help me out
Of the misery I am in, when I dream.
Lying still peacefully. In dreams I shout.
Chains
Oldie but goldie, PoetryBind me in chains
If your love ever remains,
If your heart is in flames,
If your soul never refrains.
Let the chains be steal,
Binding my hearts spinning wheel;
Binding me down to this earth;
Binding my soul in mirth.
Let the chains be gold,
Amorous thoughts to unfold;
Golden bonds, hearts, to hold;
Souls talk of things untold.
Let the chains never be lies,
If innocence shines in your eyes;
If forever faith never dies;
Let me shine in your eyes.
The Golden Mosque of Old Lahore
History, LahoreThe Golden Moque, commonly known as Sunheri Masjid, is located in the centre of Old City of Lahore, Pakistan. It was built in 1753 by Nawab Syed Bhikari Khan son of Raushan-ud-Daula Turrabaz Khan, deputy governor of Lahore during the reign of Muhammad Shah. It is situated in the old Kashmiri Bazaar along the Royal Road leading from Dehli Gate to the Lahore Fort.
The mosque is famous for its three brass domes and is popular with tourists from across the globe.
You can view photos of The Golden Mosque of Lahore here.
I am without a song, these days.
Oldie but goldie, PoetryI am without a song, these days.
It fills me with profound loss.
And a bit of utter confusion,
And a smattering of mystery.
Maybe, it’s the season?
But I am not blue at all.
Maybe, it hasn’t a reason?
None at all.
Still, I am without a song
Don’t know whether it is wrong
Or just a season in life
When you smile and journey without a song.
Fears.
Oldie but goldie, PoetryFace your fears
And they’ll run from you!
Set them free
From that little cage
You call your mind.
A COMPLAINT
UncategorizedThe only complaint I have
Is against myself.
There is no point complaining
To anyone if they can’t fix it.
No point in wasting words
That bounce off the walls
And back at your ears,
In an empty chamber
That has bars for windows.
There is no one who can
Fix my longstanding complaint,
Except One.
And He doesn’t seem much concerned
About it.
Maybe, He has too much
On His mind.
So, he chooses neither to reject it
Nor to accept it
And therefore, fix it.
He leaves me in a limbo of a life,
Quite conveniently for Him.
If it can be called a life;
Neither swimming nor drowning,
Neither burning nor extinguished,
Neither resplendent green nor bone parched dry,
Neither shining at noon, nor setting at dusk,
Just gray and ashen and alone,
Painfully alone.
FORGIVE ME FOR NOT SHARING YOUR ENTHUSIASM.
Oldie but goldie, PoetryI have never been
This alone in my life!
So forgive me
For not sharing your enthusiasm
When you discuss that clear blue
Sky up above,
Or the roses in spring,
Or the birds that sing
In the cage in your house,
Because I am thinking about
The dark corner of my cell,
Hiding those leggy spiders.
Forgive me for
Not sharing your enthusiasm
Because I can’t smile like
The lovers sharing lovely
Chit-chat on their cell-phones,
Staring at each other
Across the expanse of social
Boundaries and norms, yet
One in harmonious joy.
I have bars in my windows,
Chains around my feet,
Of words, Not mine!
Of thoughts, Not mine!
Of norms, Not mine!
Of desire, Not mine!
Of will, Not mine!
Of hope, Cursed Hope!
Murderous Hope, Not mine!
So forgive me for
Not sharing your enthusiasm.
I have a life, you may not
Care to share.
The Fool.
Oldie but goldie, PoetryA man of Words,
A man of Lost Dreams,
A man chasing an Illusion,
A man Lost in Delusion.
A man Honest with
His own self Only.
A man Passionate to the World,
But Lonely.
A man in Love with
Images in Thin Air.
A man of Thoughts
Which Leave him in Despair.
A man of Hope,
A man of joy,
A man of Passion,
A man of Imagination,
A man of Vision,
A man of Immortal Vision
Which leads Humanity
Into War…
Into Peace…
Into Elation…
Or Unbridled Jubilation…
At his Grave Tomb
When his Body Exists no more,
When his Skin and Bone
Are as Fine As Dust,
Ground by the Weight of the Sins
Committed in the Name
Of his Vision…
His Dream…
His Philosophy…
His Immortal Name.
He is the Hero to Generations,
To Saints,
To more Heroes,
And yet, more.
Humanity is in Debt
To his Immortal Genius,
To his Blind Devotion,
When his Flesh and Hair
Have been Consumed by the Worms
Of Human Ambition,
While his Soulless Body
Was weighted by pounds of Earth
Which Embraced him,
As it Hid all…
The Sinners…
The Saints…
The Brave…
The Prudent…
The Secretive…
The Seditious…
The Rapacious…
The Deceived…
The Wise…
The Sublime…
The Human…
The Divine…
The Mad.
As Humanity Reveled,
He Starved.
As She Scorned him,
He praised Her Beauty.
As She Shunned him,
He remained Faithful.
As She bestowed Her Blessings
Upon the Unworthy,
He praised Her Justice.
As She slowly Devoured him,
He sang hymns to Her Immortality.
As he lay drawing his Last
Gasps of Air, Scented by Her Fragrance,
He professed his Love for Her.
She reviled him as a Heretic…
A Madman…
A Drunkard…
A Fool.
Then, he was no more
For her to Revile…
To Mock…
To Hound…
To Torment…
To Betray…
To Deceive…
To Damn to a Purgatory
Of wretched Human Existence.
She did not desist
In Her Hatred for him.
His Body is Dust
Mingled with the Dust
Of other Such Men
Mingled with the Dust
Of yet more Dust
Mingled with Dust.
Only Dust
To be Trampled
Under Her feet
Which regard none.
Yet, in his Scattered State,
His State of Non-existence,
He fueled Passions.
He Inspired Revolutions.
He Spurred Ambitions.
He served his Mistress.
He served Her Loyally,
Even in Death.
He heeds his Beloved
Even when he is no more.
His Immortal Love
For Her Lives on.
As She acknowledges
His Devotion to Her,
He is no more
To show his Gratitude
For Her Generosity,
To Sing hymns
To Her Immortal Beauty,
To be at Her Beck and Call,
To Cloak Her flaws
In Silken Threads of Words,
To be a Slave to Love…
She acknowledges
His Devotion, Only.
Not his Adoration for her…
Not his Immensely Blind
Faith in Her…
Not in his Humanity.
For Her, he was
Just Another suitor
Vying for Her Hand.
Another Villain
Aiming to make a Trophy,
For his mantle, out of Her.
Another Jester to amuse.
Another Slave to Satiate
Her fickle moods.
He was all the said,
Yet, much more.
He was a Fool.
A man of Words,
A man of Lost Dreams,
A man chasing Illusions,
A man Lost in Delusion.
A man honest with
His own Self only.
A man Passionate to the World,
But Lonely.
A man in Love with
Images in Thin Air.
A man of Thoughts,
Which Leave him in Despair.
A man of Hope,
A man of Joy,
A man of Passion,
A man of Vision.
A man of Immortal Vision
Of being Loved by Her…
His beloved Humanity.
A Fool.
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