Fire, Earth and Water in Exile

I will sit one day again,

on the hillock opposite Chrar,

and look at it till it consumes me

The fire that still rages in the mountains,

Shall claim me then, even as I sit still unable to move

Mesmerised by the beauty and purity of fire,

Fire, whose fuel is men and stones, shall consume me

Only to purify my stained heart, only so that

I can sit one day again

On the hillock opposite Chrar

And look at it till it consumes me, again.

I shall live again in the village of Dervishes,

And in places, that do not, should not, exist

I will whirl away my sorrows even as my sorrows

whirl me, insignificant speck, away

The wind will claim me, if only

to abandon me to the village of dervishes,

And in places, which do not, should not, exist.

I will drink from the Spring of Hemal

Even as the poison shall spread through me,

I shall sing of Hejaz and Sheeraz

The Thirst quenching virtue of water, shall

Take over me as madness shall creep,

And claim me again, so that I may drink again
From the poisoned waters of the spring of Hemal.

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For posterity

--- The following is for public record for posterity and history Let them know you were here etch your names on these walls Die in the name of revolution, Industrial, or Agricultural, Political or, Sexual, Just find a cause Don't decline this invitation to your private doom, It is a limited-time offer, For all sales must end What utter madness is this? Why are you running away from this? On what list is your name on? Who did you meet? What did you talk about? Was it about me? Am I sounding too paranoid? A little insane Ignore the glint in my eye, I take no pleasure in this All I say is accept this love After all, whose love isn't a little tainted? Whose name, a little tarnished? Spill out your silences now, I have shown enough love Others here are much worse, Brotherhood and fealty mean nothing here I am here as your fri...

What remains of the dead

The bombs have gone quiet The night is still again, Holding its breath As the morning dawns Lazy rays make their way To the scattered glass and stone A bedazzling show of light Incendiary bombs, briefly, an afterthought It's an empty plane, Just like Allah has promised, On the day of judgment, Maybe it is doomsday after all! Unlived lives, unfulfilled promises Broken hearts, grief lingering on Masquerading hope, a few bits of bone And some lonely souls That, and me is all of what remains of the dead

Its Scary

Imran Qayoom would have turned 26 this October, but a CRPF bullet and lathis ensured that the only brother of two sisters would never see another birthday. A black flag, hung over the gate of his under construction home in the Bagh-e-Mehtab area, announces silently that Saturday will mark the 40th day of Imran’s death. Imran died on the 12th August along with 11 others who were victims of police and CRPF firing on that day, the day after authorities had imposed a curfew following the death of Hurriyat leader, Sheikh Abdul Aziz during the ‘Muzzafarbad Chalo’. At the time Imran was shot he was standing on the main road along with his friends watching the CRPF battle with pro-freedom protesters hardly hundred meters from his home. His friend, Suhail who was with Imran at that moment says, “ We were watching the protesters. When suddenly the CRPF started firing from one end of the road to another end. I looked to my side and saw that Imran was covered in blood, but he was still breathing....

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