Sooner or later

In the darkest nights

In the times of despair

gather yourself to look up

the stars will be shining upon you

and if you can’t see them

don’t lose hope

as sooner or later

the clouds will give way to the moon

and it will smile for you

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Extra Mile

At this moment it seems

There is nothing around

No moon, no sun, neither light nor darkness

And In the corridors of closed eyes

There is a shadow

That swirls round and round

To fuel a pain

That quietly rests in the pinkish flesh

Burning it slowly

emanating the blue smoke

That rises up in the thick branches of thoughts

To make it difficult for the dreams to breathe

as they stumble and cough

trying to exist

but to the utmost dismay

dying, moving out

one after another

until there’s nothing left behind

No animosity, no affection

Neither a relation nor connection

And my soul floats free

in the zero gravity

with no other choice but to admit the reality

That this moment is tough and lonesome

but whatever it is

It’s just a moment

like a paper boat – half soaked

riding the currents

same as trillions and trillions of the kind

that ride the chest of flowing time

to the isles of nothingness

So watch it go and collect yourself

and get up again

to run an extra mile

 

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Survival

 

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A bumpy ride

We took a right turn and the jeep moved forward, jumping and shaking on the bumpy link road. The roaring engine seemed to curse the contractors who ate the bigger part of funds allocated for the construction of a smooth metal road in the area. Another basic right usurped. I doubt; corruption would be more of an adventure for any crooked officer with a big pot-belly hanging in front of his tummy. A greed that never satiates. A lust which never repletes.

Though i fooled my heart in trying to enjoy the situation as an opportunity to move each and every muscles of my body in arbitrary directions; as they say “exercise is good for health”. Later on, i had to admit that grapes were sour.

On our left, there were brick-kilns, exhaling fumes of black smoke, efficiently playing there part in polluting the air. On our right side there were shrubs sparingly covering the dry barren land. Some small sparrows chasing one another and playing around in them. Apparently indifferent of any thing around. In a  while we came across some deserted houses built in a straight row; its always sad to see destruction. Someone told us that they were built for poor people in the early 1980’s but the scheme fizzled due to almost very same reasons which play their part to hinder any step taken to lend a helping hand towards the poor fellow-beings in a banana state.

The 30 sq feet houses with broken windows and big holes in the walls stood gloomy in a line reminding me of an afternoon when i was standing among few others in a straight line; probably more straighter than these houses, ready to get the irrevocable punishment. Which was expected to be comprised of an unending series of front rolls, frog jumps and push ups with special modifications as we were to be tuned for breaching the discipline. And the offense was to get more than 5 seconds late for the school assembly. So when we stood there imagining the  seconds and minutes ahead of us it tortured our minds before we actually started doing all that stuff and in between, it proved to be fun instead of a hoarse corrective measure. Not to omit that my muscles hurt really bad for a week.

Having leg-muscles pulled is a hell of a feeling. Damn!! reminds me all that awkward pain. And these gloomy shattered houses remind me all that. I am really curious about the working algorithms of my brain. And these houses stand here in quiet, already broken, awaiting more doom and destruction.

Maybe they are enjoying all this. The doom which i resent could be a blessing which they celebrate. who knows?

At least they don’t have to handle the smoke and no one writes on their walls. They don’t have to listen baseless chitter chatter all day long. Neither they have to bear the dogfights. Silence is a blessing; as some scholars have agreed upon this notion after living in densely populated areas and working in noisy offices all their life. But who listen to scholars? Silence is boring. when it exceeds a limit it starts haunting us.

I say to myself, there would be secrets in them. The untold stories.

As the jeep moves ahead i take my head out to take a good look at those houses for the one last time. Doing so, my eyes stop on the one with broken door and a big hole in its front wall. The melancholy makes me think.

I am not sure whether the unrealized hopes of poor homeless families still play havoc in these ruins or not; and i don’t know whether these haunting structures of bricks and stones mourn their futility anymore or they have accepted their fate but i can state with certainty that these wretched structures have definitely got some tales hidden in them.

In the broken doors, in the holes and in their crevices. I try to visualize the milieu when there would be no one around. I hear these houses talking to each other. I think about the moonless nights and warm days when no one would come here. Loneliness changes the chemistry of things. What do these ruins do when they are all by themselves?

I hear the shrieking screams of crazy ghosts in the dark nights and the buzz of yellow wasps reverberating through the walls of these ruins as the river time steadily flows over them. I wonder; who rules this kingdom? Ugly black lizards or the violinist grass-hoppers. Do the frogs sing here in chorus when the rainy season comes? how the gushing winds growl when they desperately find their way through these walls and how the broken windows vibrate with the thunder? When it rains cats and dogs, from where the roof of a room starts leaking first? and from where the beams of rising sun enter in that house in the middle which looks less damaged than others? Whether anyone has spent a day or night in this place for the sake of adventure? Do vampires come here to conspire, when they have to attack?

How come the nomads don’t know that there are such deserted houses by the road near a water reservoir? I’ll like to know all this and much more but i would love to see these houses rebuilt and allotted to the homeless. I would like to see the greed dying, and the trust in good values getting strength. A new era should begin. An era without kickbacks and favoritism. An era where basic human rights would be respected and equality should not only be preached but also practiced.

Thus we hope and journey forth.

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50 days of winter

Passing by a roadside vendor i heard him saying to his friend “Winters will last hardly 50 more days”. My gaze dangled on his stall. There were 20 coats. Smartly arranged on a cable along the boundary of the road. I turned back to look at him. I saw that he is happy, chatting carelessly and his eyes confidently read “I can sell 20 coats in 50 days”.

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Good bye August 2011

August is dying
in front of my eyes
30 days old today
too weary and old
and tired too
as it swiftly crawled away
from our hands
like a silky shawl

how can it smile
when its bruised
with the lashes of cruelty
brought on the mortals
by the mortals
around the world
be it Libya or U.K
be it Palestine
or Pakistan
where no one
but common people died

 

Its passing away
with its head down
I hear its sobs
as it passes by
like an old man
with shattered dreams
and eyes filled with tears and thoughts
full of regrets

i love you august
for so many reasons
and you love me too
i am waving my hand to you
and you are bading me good-bye
Who doesn’t love you?

thou are our sweetheart

the very period for summer vacations
and apposite time for long awaited recreations
But i am sorry
we didn’t treat you well this time
But do come again next year
with all yer sublime

Dying month
has some gifts for you all
take them and decide
whether they’re big or small
Eid for Muslims
and Hope for the rest of all

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