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.

Comments

Some Other Time

We will be counting days again, till we say hello again— only for us to say goodbye again. We always knew we’d have to say our goodbyes one day. Then why does it hurt so? Even so, when we know it won’t be long before even goodbyes are a luxury. We cling to hopes— that this isn’t the only life we will live. That one day, we will meet again, in some other life, in some other time, where we won’t have to say G oodbye.

In Barely Discernible Darkness

I will trace the Jhelum Across Your back with my fingers In barely discernible darkness It will form a paisley Drawn from the memory of An imagined Kashmir No language spoken by Man or Gods shall be Uttered that night Words will be melded, Sentences molded to form A new language of love The ink, a fine powdered Amethyst, shall dry as We write its grammar The quill tips, fashioned From old bones, shall Burn in its blaze The room will be Full of scorch marks In barely discernible darkness -- Tz

Indigo Halls of Imagined Gods

In the indigo halls of Imagined Gods of Love, Lovers leave half burnt letters of incense and trails of broken hearts - Among ruins of shattered Love knots, she sits alone Weaving a rosary out of Thin air With longing as its thread and Beads made out of tears -- In the Indigo halls of Imagined gods of Love, The walls conspire and whisper Into her ears Telling tales of unfaithful loves And unrequited desires -- The rags of threads once Tied at the Astans of Hamdan, Lie at her feet, as she sits alone Knitting desolation from the whispers To sacrifice at the altars of the imagined Gods of love

Tasenda

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