Radio Commentary

She,
Who would balance the world
On her fingertips,
Would hide in the Darkness
That lies between the flickering of flames
Fiddling with the curtains,
Breathing secrets in my ears

Her secret kisses
Would hang in the air,
Frozen between sighs,
Holding my breaths hostage
In the palm of her tiny hands
Creating little tea-rooms
From her imagination for us

Over cups of riotous tea,
In the deserted shelters of memory
We would hold hands,
While lording over cake crumbs
Drowning in the quicksands of eyes,
Playing her personal
Favourites amidst the never ending
Radio commentary

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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...

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....

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

Tasenda

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