گھر

قریہ قریہ وہ محبت ڈھونڈیں ہیں جنہیں گھر کی تلاش ہے مکان کی آس نہیں۔ پھر وہ ادھر ادھر بھٹکتے ہیں راہوں میں رلتے ہیں !بس اک گھر مرے پاس نہیں محفلوں میں بھی، جو الف ہوتے ہیں مسکرا کےکہتے ہیں ہم اداس تو نہیں۔ پھر نگاہیں شام میں، افق پر اٹھتی ہیں یہ رات

Out of the Ashes

I have risen out of the ashes A night so long Blacker than black With my feet tired and cracked A journey of heaven and earth And this whole universe I have wandered once and over Every night and all night But time stood still Now the moment has ticked And I have risen with

Colour of Solace

It resides in the depth of your eyes The beauty Eyes the colour of azure waters Life is what else but your voice And what you say Words of gold I can sew them in my pores and wrap myself in their heat in the dark winter under my skin and put them on my

Life is just that…

Life is the name of tosses and turns, cracks in an oil painting left under the sun. Skin burgeoning on hand touching a burning pot, life is just that sip of tea on my tongue. And that first hint of the flavour of not so hmm delicious and savoury to taste, summer jumping the fence

Creativity Assassin

It is true when I am writing, SEO is not on my mind. It is rather depreciating for my creativity. An apt term would be the creativity assassin. Should I first be thinking about what to insert, to attract, within lines of a poem that is stringing a tune with my brain cells?! Or after

Poetry|I’m Nobody,Who are You?

Sharing an Emily Dickinson Poem that I like. The poem is self-sufficient and needs no explanation in my eyes. What do you think?

Poetry|Mistaken

Mistaken over a glass of juice, saw drinking behind a glass-door it was one fine afternoon, time for siesta post the sunny noon a peaceful mountain valley lives around the hut, with abundant trees and birds, twittering since the time of dawn. Saw throats moving sip by Sip enjoying the flavour and tongues Swiping the

Silver Jubilee

(My father’s favourite) This is all courtesy of my lips and all the copyrightsAll the beguiling mystery and wonder some mightThe curve and stretch, the lines and groovesAnd hidden white shells, secret of twitch-in the lips. The day I married you, my luck was having a breakTissues in the pockets and snowflakes in the washerSocks

The Sketch

Your life is as much emptyLike the Sketch, I left in that roomHalf pencilledTo look and wonderFor you have erased meFrom that base butI am a part of you for eternityEven you beg me to blacken furtherThe page hung on that wallAnd I grant you the very wishI am lost to the windFoaming over the

Poetry|The bloody globe

I just want peace was my litany So deprived of this word my ears I feel blood seeping from my eyes Rather than tears And I taste the taste of copper My tongue wary of food it touches That rivers have flown of this blood On this very earth               What do I tell of my