Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Love and alarm clocks

Love is setting up early alarms
and melting into bracing arms
Little strokes on the hand
saving a solitary hair strand

Sound of the autumn rain
brings back the images again
Million maddening mysteries to crack
and only your memories to stack

Love is waking up at ungodly hour
to check on the mystic flower
to look at the alarm clock
answer heart's tender knock


Friday, June 12, 2009

Why is the dew roseate this morning?

Why is the dew roseate this morning?
Why is this frenzy without a warning?
What are those forms near the brook?
Why are they clubbing us with shepherd’s crook?
Why does the orchard smell of hurt?
Why is the father without his shirt?
Why is the village wailing in a distance?
Why does the heart yearn for resistance?
How did the country flowers die?
How was this lad hit in the eye?
What are musketeers planning to do?
Why is an old man refusing to move?
Who put fetters in my valley?
Why aren’t men allowed to rally?
Have our tears also been banned?
Why should our lament always stay canned?
Why did the Saffron turn so white?
Why are the alleys startlingly quiet?
Why is the Jhelum without a ripple?
Are we a country on the tipple?


Tuesday, April 21, 2009

When I am dead

[Originally jotted in the year 2000]

When I am dead, my boy
sing no sad songs for me
When my souls blows away
etch no epitaphs for me
When I am put to rest
hold no hands for me
When my echoes wear out
read no praises for me
When the lights go off
light no candles for me
When my laughter peters out
cry no tears for me
When the gusts go strong
breathe no sighs for me
When the spring breaks again, my boy
Watch me in the cowslips, by my grave


Of pals

Originally written on June 24, 1999

The voice smells of wine
such are old friends of mine
some knocks stir lifelong joys
you recall the broken toys
You miss those loving times
The silly school rhymes
Oddity, sleep, familiar paths
You recollect the impish baths


Catechism at 21

First written on Sunday, June 10, 2001

My little vale, why do you cry?
why do your airs sigh?
What ails your mountains?
What shut your fountains?
How did your blossoms cease?
What happened to the evening breeze?
Who set your shrines aglow?
And why doesn't the Jhelum flow?
Where did our neighbors go?
And why could we not know?
Who is that khaki scarecrow?
And why do the winds not blow?
Those joyful sweet songs
Are they replaced by our wrongs?
Our warm nuptial surges
replaced by sad dirges
Shall cool zephyrs kiss us again?
Will groovy buds adorn us again?

[First written 9 years back, in the midst of mindless violence in Kashmir]

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

I wish I had met you before

I wish I had met you before
to know what love is like
to learn to love with eyes
to fathom the meaning of silence

I wish I had met you before
to hold onto your soul
to shut you from the hurt
to clutch your hand

I wish I had met you before
to cover you in those storms
to keep you forever warm
to hear your heart's song

I wish I had met you before
to love you like a madman
to hold you in my arms
to never let you go

I wish I had met you before
to make you feel safe
to brush your tear away
to never let you fall

I wish I had met you before
to walk you into eventides
to talk an ancient talk to you
to count the myraid stars, with you.


Sunday, March 8, 2009

Why do I think you love me too?

Why do I holler inside?
Why do I try and hide
Why do I still care
Why do I think you are there?

Why do I love you?
Why do I think you love me too
Why do I feel pain
Why do I feel insane?

Why do I need you so bad?
Why do I get a li'l mad
Why do I miss you like hell
Why do I feel you are my spell?

Why do I still love you?
Why do I have this view.
Why do I allow myself to think
Why do I feel I can't even blink?


Thursday, February 12, 2009


Soft, new, cold snow
Tiny flakes in heaven
Come dancing in the dark
on countless twigs and buds
Rooftops, tree tops and topless rills;
on highways and lowlands
upon the pen and a little nest;
over the mountaintop
on tiny eggs in the nestling;
upon black umbrellas
and aquiline noses
on moulds and fresh graves
into deep crevices
and our buried hopes
upon grasslands and horses
on little homes of ants
Tall spires of the mosque
And abandoned temple ruins
It snows into the night
And upon my memory


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Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Change has come

They say a son of slaves has come
some people will no more be called scum
And this boy from seaside Hawaii
brings a tear to the eye
by all the magical words he has to say

They say he has a funny sounding name
And he clinched the DC game
And his color isn't all that white
And his gaze remains without spite

They say he likes the good ol' Lincoln
And like Abe, has earned his run
And he breathes plumes of hope
And in a storm he is the guy rope

They say he must shut the dark bay
And he won't let the goodness fray
And he will fix the dis-respect
because no one really is a suspect
A rainbow change has taken place


Thursday, January 1, 2009

Whose entrails are these?

Do humans inhabit only one side of the wall?
Whose entrails are these in the town hall?
Do they only have mothers in Tel Aviv?
In Gaza why do so many women grieve?
Why is the civilized world so silent?
Are they immune to a million lament?
Can only white kids whimper and weep?
Can only brown children be bombed in sleep?
What is so likeable about Santa Claus?
Across river Jordan why does humankind pause?
Do they have friends in Israel alone?
Will Palestinian pals forever mourn?
Is the blood in Sderot so priceless?
Is the blood in Al-Shati so worthless?