Our father in heaven

-

Engine of the morning
cranks -

much noise
metal on metal

a harsh light
our daily bread

our sins of the night.

-

ek muddat se kyun sher kehte nahin ....

-



-

-

"There's no point getting angry at the sea."

- Japanese fisherman on Al Jazeera.

-

For the spider to spawn

-

Truth be told
there is nothing more to do now
but lie in silence side by side
and watch the workings of a spider's spindly legs
high up in the raftered ceiling, rappel slowly
by an invisible thread
right into our open mouths.

Mouths, we were intimate with once
Our mouths of frenzy
Our mouths of joy
Scarlet mouths
Our mouths of blood
Bee-stung, ferocious once.
Now ashen, watching spiders
spindle their webs, exhorting

Weave! Weave!
You monster!
Gag us with your silk!
Choke us from within!
And Spin!

For truth be told
there is nothing more to do now
but wait for the spider to spawn.

-

A Mind of Winter

-

The Snow Man - Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

-

Salamander

-

A salamander in its wet world
of leaping sounds, forked tongues and raindrops,
As big and round, and thunderous, as your eyes.
And the same wet heat,
trickling. And the salamander in its wet world
with its long lasso tongue and peacock cries
and that ridiculous bobbing, which presumes,
when nothing's meant at it.

And If the night moves, if it cries, if it folds
even and embraces you; It means
nothing by it. It's all in innocence.
But the salamander in its wet world
croaking its summer song - oblivious
to all camouflage - perched on a leaf,
mid-stream ....

-

tum khubsurat dairon mein rehti ho - Afzal Ahmed Syed

-

You live in beautiful circles
your hair is held
by a round pin
so responsibly

A costly chain
submits itself
to your neck

A watch that is never wrong
lies against your wrist

A delicate belt
embraces your waist

Your feet
are encircled by those shoe-straps
through which you walk on our earth

I will not mention those hidden circles
that might hold you
let them remain just as beautiful
as they are

I have never played on you
the game of taking off clothes
in my imagination
You live in beautiful circles
and I in difficult lines
what can I do for you
but
come running back to you
with the ball in my mouth
that you kicked

-

Khali Boray MaiN Zakhmi Billa - Saqi Farooqui

-
Jan Muhammed Khan
_________________safar aasaan nahiN
dhaan kay is khali boray maiN
_________________jaan ulajhti hay
putt-sun ki mazboot salakhaiN dil maiN gaRi haiN
_________________aur aakhON kay
_________________zard katOrON maiN
chand kay sikk'kay chann chann girtay haiN
aur badan maiN raat phailti jaati hay ...

aaj tumhari naNgi peeth per
_________________aag jalai kON
angaray dehkai kOn
jadd o jehad kay
_________________khooneeN phool khi'lai kON
meray shOlagur punjON maiN jaan nahiN
_________________aaj safar aasaaN nahiN
thoRi daire maiN yeh pug'dundi
too'th kay ik ganday talaab maiN gir ja'aye gi
maiN apnay taboot ki tanhai say lipat kar
so ja'ouN ga
paani paani ho ja'ouN ga
aur tumhaiN aagay jaana ...
_________________ik gehri neend maiN chaltay jana hay
aur tumhaiN oos nazar na aanay walay boray ...
_________________apnay khali boray ki pehchaan nahiN
Jan Muhammed Khan
_________________safar aasaan nahiN.
-

Ah ... Spinning!

. . . .
and when you don’t high heel my senses
you crocodile them
you seal you fascinate them
you cover me
I discover you I invent you
sometimes you deliver yourself
. . . .

- from Gherasim Luca's The End of the World: To Embody

Binding Theory

-
mirror pacing the room stealing
glances at me
flashes me hanging
itself on the wall.
-

Made

-
I myth make you
into a goddess:

the way I imagine
it to be.

Sometimes
you escape me

Sometimes
I'm cursed.
-

It rains to remind

-
A bit of me
diminished

All your talk
run out

Silence
corrodes us
like water

While it pours
outside
-

Discovery

-




If I stand up on my toes and yawn, stretching my arms,
I can touch the ceiling.




-

Curling

-
Your pupils dilate without warning,
like some mad ocean giving away.
And I drown

In your black and swirling waters, sink deep
into your void, chasing the ever dimming light
of your half-open eyes. As you whirl

Your tresses around me, and cover me,
from the outside and the inside,
in lash hard sighs.

And your wild and curling ways, carry me
to the very bottom of things,
Without meaning to.

And then spit me out,
Without meaning to.
-

Peacock Nights II

-
How can I not bestow upon you
the choicest adjectives
the oldest of nouns –
The burn-burn, the sing-sing
And all that is sensed with mirror sounds.

How can I not leave upon you
the marks of my longing
my sleepless dawns -
The moon-moon, the sun-sun
And all that is sucked into your bottomless yawns.

How can I not rest upon you
this marble head, these deadened arms
this bag of bones, this fallow farm -
The hum-hum, the sting-sting
And all that crawls in its wicked warmth.
-