MAUSAM

Jab shaakh bhi
Pattoun ko nahi rok paati
Aur Maa bhi
Bacche ko chod jati hai-
Aati hai
Har shay pe khizaan aati hai

MEMENTO MORI

She sits sad
Holding her head like a book
Her hair locks drop silently
From behind her ears
Like tears
She contemplates suicide
Philosophically
Of what Woolf, Majaz, Plath did
Whatever they did with their life.

Suicide dear
Is not a question of philosophy
It's not even a question
It is the last act of poetic will
That erases the author
Leaving just art
It's the last punctuation
That turns the blank paper of life
Into poetry

The hair locks are imprisoned
Behind the asylum of ear
Tears fall free
Page dyes

SAFE HAVEN

Our bus driver has
Two strange habits.
He listens to
My broken narratives and
He keeps -
Cigarette bits, lighters, specks,
Mirrors - all the burned
Shiny, reflective things
In a well contained
Broken oil box.

One day if

You don't find me -

In office, classrooms, hearts

Of student - all the busy,

Crowded, tender things,

You will find me

Well contained

In our drivers box

Where he keeps-

All the broken things.

VENA AMORIS

When we hugged
In the perfect circle of our arms
No one could exorcize our love

One day I wedded your lips
With a ring of my lips
One day someone enchanted you
With a diamond ring
And you disappeared like
A character from Arabian Nights

Every day now I kiss
Rings of smoke
And they keep disappearing
Just like you
But in the night
The cigarette between my fingers
Shines
Like a red ring

(Inspired by Vicente Huidobro's NIGHT)

KHAUF

Ek khauf marjane ka tha –

Humne ek doosre se kaha nahi

Hum bichad rahey hain

Aur aaj bichad kar bhi zinda hain tou

Hum phir khamosh hain –

Ab ek khauf aur hai

EDEMA

Khwaab sooj jayein tou

Aankhein phool jaati hain

Aur aansu beh bhi jaatey hain

SHAYAD

Jo rishtey toot tey hain

Who kabhi

Baney hi nahi hotey hain,

Shayad

ACROPHOBIA

Hum ishq mein
Kis bulandi pey thay

       Gir kar pata chala

“KAANP UTHTI HOON MAI YE SOCH KE TANHAI MEIN”*

A tiny imbalance
In the curve of my smile
A slight dilation
Of pupils
A face less charming
In aesthetic geometry
Everything
Tells them about you
Everything.
You are too much in me -
Like poetry inside a poet
Or poison inside a suicidal -
I am oozing of 'you'
Like milk from mother's bosom.
Please
Put a veil of
Your eyes upon me
Hide me like God
Within the world.

*Kaanp Uthti Hoon Mai Ye Soch Ke Tanhai Mein

  Mere Chehrey Pe Tera Naam Na Padh Le Koi

  Parveen Shakir

EXPATRIATE LOVER

You exiled me
From your life like
A clever politician
As if my presence
Was nothing but sin
And you cleansed it like
A pious saint
Had I grown like a painful appendix
In the holy body of love
That you removed me with
the precision of a surgeon
I don’t know when
Your poetic being
Became cathartic of me
But you should know
When you left me
With half lipped kisses
You made my body traitor
Of my souls country

GIFT

Mai jaanta hoon

Tum mujhse baat nahi kartey

Magar jaan!

Tumharey dou safeed kabootar

Mujhe hasrat se taktey hain

Bus itna keh dou

Ki unse kya kehna hai!

HIDDEN METAPHORS

They ask me
About you!
I will tell them
She embraced rain
And will cleverly hide
The metaphor with your eyes
I will tell them
The eid crescent
Resembled your smile
And hide the metaphor
Of your clipped nail
I will tell them
About you
And also hide you from them
Don’t worry jaan
I have lately become prodigious
In hiding aesthetically
The straightness of
Your sadness in me
With a curved metaphor of lips

SHIKWA

God
You said Satan
Is incarcerated this month
Then why
Is he shitting
Missiles and bombs

God
You said no blood
Will be spilled this month
Then why
Is sky's eye smitten
With earth's redness

God
You should have listened
To Angles:
You will not recognize
Yourself
They will spoil
Their image so much.

THE COMMON WALL

My vandal heart

Has graffitied the walls

Of my chest

Your name

In color red.

If you can't tie

The Buraq of our love,

Someday

Come

And wail these walls

Of Jerusalem down

UDAAN

Jis giri hui Titli ko

Hum ney

Kagaz key par pehnaye they

Woh Titli tou

Rishtoun ki

Pehli baarish mein hi

Marr gayi

GUSSA

Woh chandni kay saye mein

Apney takkiye mein simti hui

Meri zindagi soyi hai

Mai chand se gussa hoon

Magar

Un haseen palkoun kay peechey

Ek khwaab hai

Jahan poora chaand khila hai

Aur uska muqadas sar

Meri godh mein hai

Chaand mujhse gussa hai

SHART

Tumharey naam ka sikka

Jo maine

Zindagi ki shart pe

Uchalla tha

Woh dekho kaise

Chamak raha hai
Chaand ban kar

Mujhe Sarhadein Paar Karne Ka Shouq Nahi

English translation by Mubashir Karim

Mujhe sarhadein paar karne ka shouq nahi

Phir bhi

Kabhi kabhi

Mai chahta hoon

Hum parindey hotey

Baalisht bhar aasmaan
Par dou par mein tay karkey

Apney ped waley ghar aatey

Aur kabhi khizaan mein

Humein apni yaadoun ki yaad aati tou

Chaley jaatey rehney

University key us lamppost par

Jiskey nechey aaj bhi koi

Kitaabein ley kar

Kisi key intizaar mein hai

AJEEB AADAT

Mai jaanta hoon yeh

Buhut ajeeb hai jaana, par

Tumhey neend se jagaana

Accha lagta hai

Who tera khumari aawaz mein

Mera naam pukarna

Mujhe accha lagta hai

Tera woh

Aadhey jagey

Aadhey soye

Khwaaboun key qisey sunana

Mujhey accha lagta hai

Aur

Un adhoorey khwaaboun ka

Mujhko poora hisa banana

Mujhe accha lagta hai

Phir apni awaaz key

Who meethey

Dhoobtey lahjey mein

“I Love you” se

Mujhko sulana

Mujhe accha lagta hai

Aur tera

Kaan par rakh kar

Phone bhool jana

Mujhse pehle

Tera sojana

Mujhe accha lagta hai

TALAFFUZ

Mera naam kehte waqt

Tumharey hont

Yun kaanptey hain

Jaise

Mah ba mah

Raat key seeney pey

Girah girah

Khilta aur chupta chaand

SEWING DANCE

You dance

Inside my broken chest

As needle dances

Between torn cloth

MASHWARA

Teri in palkhoun key peeche

Kya khwaab sajey hain

Koi kya jaaney

In Troy ki deewaroun mein

Kya shehar basey hain

Koi kya jaaney

Mai bhi

Bus itna hi jaanta hoon meri jaan

Ki duniya ko

Sapney acchey nahi lagtey

Nanhi ladkiyoun ki aankhoun mein

Yeh sachey nahi lagtey

Woh noch letey hain

Sapnoun samet aankhein

Tum kitni hi palkhein jakad lo

Aansouon se baandh bandh lo

Yeh lakdi ka godha bana hi lengey

Usey khuda ka naam dey bhi dengey

Tere sapney bhi ley lengey

Tujhe kafir bhi kar dengey

Mera bus itna kehna hai

Meri pyari, meri bacchi

Unhey khabar na honey dena

Ki teri aankhoun mein sapna hai

Tera koi bhi apna hai

NUMBER BUSY

My phone is my unconscious

Somewhere deep in the contacts

You are hidden

Under a false name

Sometime when I want to

Talk to myself

I dial you

BOSA

Tumharey Ru e Maryam ki qasam

Mere laboun ko tumharey baad

Sirf

Cigarette ney chooma hai

                          

WARNING: LOVE KILLS

SUICIDAL TENDENCY

Baarish key qatroun ka wajood

Aasmaan se zameen talak

Bus ek bosey ka hai

Aur mai tumhey

Baarishoun ki tarah

Choomna chahta hoon

ULJHAN

Haan, nahi sanmbhalti

Mujh sey

Tumhari yaadein

Tum sey

Tumhara dupatta!

Genealogy

Consciousness

He’s gaining consciousness. Trying to get up. He’s touching his plastered arm and trying to make sense of all the beeping machines around him. He feels his bandaged head. He’s realizing now that he is in a hospital.

I can see his heartbeat rising.

He’s trying to get up. Trying to remember who he is.

I’m getting high intensity waves in my Cephogram. But, the graph is declining rapidly now.

He’s failed to remember who he is. He is getting up. Going towards the curtained window. Trudging towards it. He’s lifting the curtain.

The blue light of surveillent scanner-craft hits him hard. He’s unconscious.

Sir! What should we do now?

Send in two sentries and get him back in the bed.

Sir?

Sir! Last night I did something on this subject.

What!?

I tried to record his dreams on that old Demcorder.

But, you know, we don’t use it. It does not record anything correctly.

I know Sir. But, he was dreaming so strongly that his body was shaking. I plugged in the Demcorder and it was alive. Also, as a supplement, I used the Cephogram to enhance the recording. I synchronized both the data and the results are amazing. The digital data is rich and clear. I think you can easily covert them into images.

Let me see it.

Here, Sir. I’m sending you the data. Hope you find something about him in there.

Thank you Cipher.

Thank you Sir.

*********************

Dream Sequences

The final interpretive version of the dreams of Mr. X, send and recorded by Ministry of Internal Affairs, Republic of Dustan.

NOTE: The dreams (most of them were actually a subtle mixture of dreams, desires and hopes that the subject conceived during his term of unconsciousness) have been interpreted and ordered by a team of experts up to their best efficiencies. If this walk-through is still messy, deep and cluttered, it only means that we do not have sufficient technology or sufficient information about the subject.

The real sequences of events have been altered to form a narrative.

Sincerely yours

Dr. Dileep

Dr. Radha

Dr. Ansari

Dream Sequence 1

An icicle melts [in old Qashmiri symbolism it stood for time] melts quickly [it seems as if the subject is running out of time] suddenly blood drops drip from the edge of the icicle [a philosophical interpretation can be that the subject is conceiving of a coming age that will be bloody. As a part of personal psyche, it symbolizes death, most probably a murder of someone] the blood drops dripping from the icicles touch the black ground, shatter and sprout as red roses [seems our guess is right. The subject’s wife/girlfriend has been murdered because traditionally rose stands for one’s beloved] he picks a rose and as soon as he touches it, it wilts and is blown to ashes [most probably she was murdered by fire. We do not know. But another event from the later part of the dream connects here and makes sense] suddenly the skies snow soot. Soot falls and has been falling for many days now [it is evident by the quantity of soot deposited on the rocks and the greyness of everything around] a shadow [the subject] drags himself across the falling soot. Nothing is visible and it is very very cold [it probably is a memory of Nuclear Winter of 2025 Qashmir. The sense of the dream ends with an event from earlier part of the dream] a bright light flashes [the memory of nuclear blast] a beautiful woman kisses and withers away in soot [the dream breaks].

Dream Sequence 2

NOTE: This interpretation is a compression of two sequences. We have omitted the unnecessary and unconnected events, so as to make a linear narrative.

A silhouette dances, and dances heavily. The whole dream-space quakes [probably an archetypal image of ancestor] it suddenly turns into a bird. The birds drops a pebble and out of it a hill emerges [probably the ancient hill of Maraan] the subject emerges and trudges up the hill. At top of the hill is a shrine. As soon as he reaches the top, a bright light engulfs the whole dream-space [the memory of nuclear blast] the hill withers away to dust. Soot falls. The shadow drags himself [he is lost. For a long period of time, the subject seems to be in limbo and many wiered images emerge and dissolve. Our team found those images unnecessary for your investigation. So, we move on to the important part which will be of great importance to your investigation] a dark interior [seems like old sewage pipes probably from old Qashmir] the subject is addressing a group of people who carry old Soviet weapons] he picks a gun and shoots [the dream breaks. Our team feels that it is enough evidence to execute him for a coup d’état].

***************************

Remembrance

A dark alley, probably the inside of a huge sewage pipe. The place smells of rotten iron and dried blood. One can hear people chattering somewhere. Someone lights a gas lamp and a not so large gathering of people can be seen. The man places the lamp on a table and a person wearing a ragged pheran comes forward.  As soon as he is up, a wave of silence falls over the gathering and in few seconds dead silence echoes. The man in the ragged pheran clears his throat and says:

We have all gathered here to commemorate him. Before we begin, I know what you want to hear. Yes, he’s alive.

A soft wave of ease touches everyone’s face. They are about to turn their heads towards each other when he again speaks:

But, they’ve captured him.

The dead silence hovers upon them. He continues:

I’ve confirm report of that. Also, he’s lost his memory. But, I don’t believe that. If there ever was one thing dear to him it was his memories. He can’t lose them. I believe he’s pretending it, so that he can accomplish what he went out there to do – to share his memories and thoughts with rest of the world.

There is a panic in the crowd. Nobody is listening to him anymore. To get the attention back, he shouts:

To commemorate, I will just read the transcript of his last speech that I recorded myself.

He opens a sheet of plastic and begins to read.

***********************

Trial

From a potential source and evidence which consists you and your psyche, it is confirmed that you were planning a coup against this Republic. And because you’ve not cooperated in revealing the locations and names of your organization and its members, the Honorable Court sentences you to death by any means that this republic likes. Any last wish?

“Yes”

What!

“I would like to reveal my last wish Live to the people.”

Because in any case your execution will be live on all televisors across the Republic, and because you have no memory, so pose no threat, you have been granted an uninterrupted live telecast of five minutes.

The court is dismissed.

*********************

Execution

His hands held the plastic sheet firmly and he began to read:

Freedom should not hit like a virus and politics should not run like a rabid dog. I know you all want me to attack the enemy as soon as possible. That you burn with hate, rage and passion. I know our loved ones have been murdered. But, I also know that our number is very low. . .

The execution chamber was small and well lit. He was tied to the chair and wore white clothes. In front of him was a big screen which telecasted his image. He looked up, there was a camera. He looked up to the roof. There was a gas nozzle fitted.  For few moments he gazed upon his image, then cleared his throat and said:

You’ve denied me my identity, my name, my ethnicity. That is enough to tell me that you’re oppressor. . .

. . . Our strike now will seem like a revolt while it should be a revolution. And revolution does not mean only to die or kill but, most of the times it only means to survive. . .

. . . You show me your tall buildings, sky scrapers but, let me tell you, your iron and your steel smell of oppression. . .

. . . Your being alive is a revolt, a revolution. As a long as you live, stay together, share your memories, your stories, your songs, you’ve the weapons of survival. Shoot them and prosper. . .

. . . You chase darkness away with your electricity but, you can’t exorcise the dark shadows. It hovers upon you, and let me tell you, your electricity bulbs buzz with imperialism. . .

. . . If you think that your colonizer kills you because he wants to get rid of you, then you’re thinking wrong. If you think he kills you to put fear in you and others, you’re wrong. . .

. . . Your tall buildings and furnished rooms where you are watching me right now, listen to them. The echo the cries of those whose land you’ve taken. . .

. . . Tyrants and kings might’ve killed because of these reasons as they considered the people their subject. But, this is not the case with colonizer who sees you as an object. . .

. . . Right now, gazing upon your screens you ask me how you know it all. I know because you don’t talk to me. Even if you did, your breath will stink of oppression. . .

. . . He kills you so that with you dies your memory, your dreams, your personal history. That’s why he insists upon you being an individual. But, you’ve to stop being an individual and start living as a community where everyone’s memory is the collective memory, your dreams everyone’s dreams, your history everyone’s history. . .

. . . You so want to kick your screens and stop me. But, the sound of your shoe, the way you walk tells me that it’s your nature to disrespect souls and trample bodies. . .

. . . I won’t let anyone of you to give your life unless you’ve shared your dreams, memories, songs with each other. Unless and until you haven’t written down and recorded your experiences and dreams and memories, you’re condemned to live. . .

. . . The sheen of your TV screens laments the people you’ve controlled. . .

. . . They can kill you but, they can’t kill your memories, or your dreams. They will keep on living and haunt the enemies till they are dead awake. . .

HAMI AST

I wandered lonely as

The streets of Srinagar

After 10 pm

A lonely lamppost glittering dim

Blinking unblinking like my fate

The not too straight roads

Somewhere a barbed wire

Running across my palm

Reminding me that

The sentence of my life

Has been reduced to a dot.