MNEMONIC (Three Photographs of You)

Photo 1

One hand to the weeping eye,

(like a poet to the paper),

one gazing the frame.

This is your childhood photo,

the first you shared with me.

You gaze into the camera

like those horror movie protagonists

ready to avenge the murders,

with all the whispering cousins

filling the background.

Photo 2

The one with your Professor.

This is from your University days.

You are wearing the red of the revolution

and the white of the shroud,

(You will say Peace),

squeezing Michael Robartes and the Dancer

between your fingers.

Did the Professor discuss

Ireland and Kashmir,

Yeats and Gonne

You and me too?

Photo 3

You are wearing

that rare smile,

an Aran jumper,

a nude lip gloss.

This is the last photograph,

the one among many

Obituaries,

Martyrs and Missing persons

in a daily Kashmiri newspaper.

It is only 

when looked closely

into the pixlated space,

that one recognises,

the Gaze, the Irishness

the Death, the Revolution.

EVALUATION

"He could not loose Sophie",

"Their was India and Pakistan",

"Dairy of a Madman" -

Students keep on confusing

one with the other

as Lover and Beloved

in a spiritual ascent.

The confusion is annoying,

I am still hopeful though -

As long as they do not confuse

Good with Evil.

It's only by learning the difference

they will know,

how similar they are

and what lies beyond.

Home is a Daily Repair

A pipe leaking - 

There's always a leaking pipe,

some electric fault,

a fluctuation,

the window in the room

that needs attention,

something.

If nothing,

the commode needs flushing

or the apocalyptic dust

through a wormhole in space

has settled all over,

always something -

Home is a daily repair -

of emotions, relations,

of mundane routines. 

A Birthday Poem for Your B'day

I wish

you're born short

not tall like Chinar

that takes roots deep

and years to give shade

                                              The world is in a hurry

                                               it won't wait for you

Be born like grass

to be trampled upon

and believe

it's in your nature to be stamped on

I wish you're not born human

but a worm

spineless

and be relieved

of this burden of conscience

                                               Man with a Gun,

                                               and that's the tragedy of this world,

                                               is more poised

                                               than man with a Book

              

May you be born

with ultimate physical beauty

Do some nonsense

in front of your screen 

Become famous, viral

Don't burden yourself with wisdom

Thinking, Reading or other mundane activities

                                               Stupidity is the new wisdom

               

May you be born

filthy rich

and make others work

humiliate them

oppress

and alienate them

so that their parents 

write this poem for them

12 × 8.5 × 6

A fistful heart -

worldful of sorrows

A universe of darkness -

A flicker of your light

"Nakaami si Nakaami" / "ناکامی سی ناکامی"

Salaam un par 

jo ghar kay choolhey ka

eendhan ban gaye

aur phir

kahin na mile

Salaam un par

jo banjar zameeno mein

zarkhaiz khwaab 

ley kar utar gaye

Salaam un par

jo muhabbat ka zehr pi kar bhi

na Messiha ban sake

na Suqrat

Salaam un par

jo wadi e ilm mein

kitaboon key shajr tale bhi

saans na ley paye

Salaam un par

jo saansoo ka phandha liye

zindagi ki 

kachi chat se bhi

naa latak paye

Salaam un Salaamo par

jo faqt

Sada e noha ban kar reh gayein 

سلام اُن پر

جو گھر کے چولہے کا

ایندھن بن گئے

اور پھر

کہیں نہ ملے 

سلام اُن پر

جو بنجر زمینوں میں

زرخیز خواب

لے کر اتر گئے

سلام اُن پر

جو محبت کا زہر پی کر بھی

نہ مسیحا بن سکے

نہ سقراط

سلام اُن پر

جو وادی علم میں

کتابوں کے شجر تلے بھی

سانس نہ لے پائے

سلام اُن پر

جو سانسوں کا پھندا لئے

زندگی کی

کچی چھت سے بھی

نا لٹک پائے

سلام اُن سلاموں پر

جو فقط

صدائے نوحہ بن کر رہ گئیں 

Some Ruminations upon the Phrase, I Love You

HUSSERL: (I) LOVE (YOU)

A touch kissing

A kiss talking

A talk touching

A touch touching

A now

A present

A feeling

HEIDEGGER: I-LOVE-YOU

Being-in-love

The fish in the water

The water in the water

The reason why

The blue veins

flowing over your breasts

are better than any blue sky

LEVINAS: I (LOVE) YOU

I, of the womb of your heart

You are not my mother

O! Mother

You give me an I

An eye, a face and a soul

Love - the first and

the only philosophy

DERRIDA: "I" "LOVE" "YOU"

"'I love you' is always a quotation"

is a quote from a novel,

narrated by an unnamed character

remembering the beloved,

a novel by Winterson.

A coat

of memory

wrapped around a tattered stick

of words, of emotions, of feelings -

Quote -

"I" is a quote

So is "You"

"Love", a quote within a quote 

NEXT ROUND, PLEASE!

رشتوں کے اکھاڑے میں

جذبوں کی ورزش سے تھک گیا ہوں

اور تھک کر جہاں بیٹھ جاتا ہوں

ایک نیا دائیرہ وہیں سے کھینچ لیتے ہیں لوگ 

اگلے مقابلے کے لیے 

Rishton Kay akhadey mein

Jazbon ki warzish se thak gaya hoon

Aur thak kar jahan baith jata hoon

Ek naya dayira wahin se kheench lete hain log

Agle muqable Kay liye 

ARS POETICA

When I am old with sickness

in every vein,

sleeping on the fringes

of life and death.

When the visions

before the curtain of my eyes

And the dreams backstage

are nothing but

an insurmountable fog.

When my toilet etiquettes are slurry

and my existence a muck

in the diaper -

Shit, piss and the stench of life.

When Alzheimer's is cleaved

to my brain like leech

to the skin.

When I have forgotten my self,

This person -

Who was nothing but a noisy utensil

inside the grand kitchen of

relatives and family.

Who was always an aberration

within the system,

whose complexity was always

simplified, essentialized 

with a label, a judgement,

who always remained misunderstood

among his colleagues and friends.

Who was nothing

but an imbecile

performing in the academic circus,

a jester never able to complete

the assigned syllabus,

leaving students and scholars

dismayed, to the end.

One, who was never

literary enough to be

in the literary circle of contemporaries,

or worthy enough to be discussed

in magazines or journals;

A blind man who could never see

what everyone saw,

an unpublished amateur.

When he is far away

from all this civilized rattle,

please come to him (wearing

that maroon or mustard dress)

and recite the verses

that are never to be found

anywhere in the world,

that were written 

For you and only you.

Recite those to his

deaf hearing and cloudy vision,

to the demented head in your lap

and tell him -

"Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus"