Saturday, November 8, 2008

In Rawalpindi

Without grandma’s kiss
And mother’s distinct pyar
Away from friends
And village sparks
What’s purpose of life!

In Rawalpindi
Away from home
Studying more, learning scarce
Is it what here I am for!

Mates, at hostel
In and outta class
Restaurant waiters, fruit-sellers,
All, live with us, still very far
Is this life alive!

Prostrate now I
With feeling more strong
Alone here I am
And He is never far
It does make feel alive!

Eye with regret
Having hope
Shinning with wet
As will see Him one day,
In Rawalpindi, I do enjoy!

Desperate loneliness
Before ecstatic touch
By overpowered joy
Shiveringly I am clutched
In Rawalpindi, I do enjoy!

(This is a draft, and incomplete.)

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Between self and innerself

In night with dim light
stars on the sky
milky moon at a side
dogs barking at far
everything at rest
but beach at not
water thrashing hard
against tough rocks

sitting at a distance
without thee
alone I feel not
as I believe
thy aren’t asleep
are seeing the moon
to soothe every eye
want to kiss that I

cold is wind
as memories thy
I remember the day
that I had told thee
feelings few mine
that were like tides
stronger to seize
wilder to destroy

do not pretend
rock thee are not
each word like drop
has impression
makes a dot
screams a cry
pierces thy heart
carves name myne

care thee not
of anyone anywhere
that are like dogs
coarse, shouting at far
in the serenity
of lovely night
unaware of holiness
and thy peaceful smile

dispersed zillion stars
twinkle softly
in moon's warmth
wishing those masses
abusing love as sin
were like them
smiling at moon
pure, rejoice and calm

love is as beach
perturbance it's nature
beauty it's perturbance
comes hither that
live same eroding life
or spiritless flesh
deaf at heart, feeling not
it's wet, it's cries

it's a dream sweet
a hope, of not
mere this night
but love ever myne,
it's ny the truth,
truth's ever cold
screams a cry
harsh like thy

( It's inprocess, and is incomplete... Maybe its 20 percent of complete idea. )


Whene’er it comes near
I, don’t need ‘em at all
As weeks does pass
Feel something’s not

Scratch I my soul hard
See myself’s lost
Think I can more not
Heart cries at last

Find where those eyes are
Found! Found them I!
In joy cry I loud
Sparkling am I not!

For I see my beauties
In those faery eyes
Innocent aren’t they
Or angel am I not

Tears they start shedding
Blurred now see myself I
Those tears aren’t of joy
Screaming they are Bye!

Gasping shuddering I am
Hell worried am not I
As again I won’t see
Beauty and those eyes

Later that all play
Mourn sobingly I
Whene’er it comes near
I, don’t need ‘em at all

( Its "La belle Dame Sans Merci" in my words )


Charm: The grandfather of my grandfather's grandfather adviced his successors, "Never ever try to go near the girls/women that are beautiful or flirt or promiscuous or chaste or deceptive or seductive or dramatic or expressive or talkative or expressionless or mute or loyal or dishonest or erotic or pitiable or betraying or frank or truthful or reserved or liar or fearing or bold or understanding or nonsense or helping or unresponsive or problematic or shunners or lookers or immoral or responsive or moral". Very undoubtedly, he was all correct. Anyway, he said it on the day of his sixth marriage, accurately three days after kicking off his 21st girlfriend.