Oh! Solitary

Oh! Solitary
Why are you barging in my home?
A home;
where like a restless soul,
I wander to and fro at the green land of my past.

Oh! Solitary,
You have made my all the toys rusted.
My Kites, my balls and the bat all are tangled with the cobwebs.
Now you don’t permit me,
To poise my bat again
And to saturate our narrow street ;
With the howls of laughter and the chaos of shouts with friends.
But this street now seems sleeping since an eon.
Oh! Solitary…

Few Smudges

Few unvarnished smudges of your time-
have placed on the canvas of my reminiscences.
These smudges sketch the scenery of you with mine.

The smudges tell a tale of our wanderings.
Wanderings at the streets and roads
those were leading us to the temples and the mosques.

Few paths took us to the monuments
Those were built for the sake of love like the Taj.
But they were neglected as a dead land of the dead.

I still want the smudges unwashed,
That makes our undead past alive.

I'll be the traveler of Hearse

When I’ll be traveling in a hearse
And you will be an living corpse.
Grudging words, Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!
will occur upon your arid lips.
When I’ll be the traveler in a hearse.

People will be encouraging you.
Few will be saying, “Don’t cry.
Few will be saying, “Be brave.
But they will forget
You have been a living corpse.

Of Heron

Oh! Heron
The Ocean was ecstatic,
When you used to meet it.

You made it bubbly,
When it was unruffled.

You made it sparkle,
When it was kissed on its face.

You used to fly over it,
It used to retrieve you in its bottomless bosom.

An eon has sliped away since you left the ocean.
Now It's icy.
Oh! Heron
Will you ever kiss it again ?

Conjuring Your Image

Those nostalgic memories
compel me to pen a few words for you.

They often help me
to evoke your clear image

the one I once knew so closely
At times, it breathes new life into me;

other times, I feel like death itself...
But I forget in my lunacy:

what I paint with words
is just a revere
never to become a reality again.

My Pole Star

You were the pole star for me
all through the first half
of my voyage.
Now you've left me wondering,
"What happened? Why did my star
chose to hide?"
It feels like some doom
has been spelled for my voyage.
I struggle to find what I lost,
but might it be just my lunacy?
Alas, I have thoroughly lost
the way of my voyage...

MY PEN

When the black ink of my pen,
Goes overflow.
Itself remarks about You on the pink page.
It helps me,
To remember you.
When it imagines You,
I become ecstatic.
But it seems fail,
To draw out a shape of smiling
That made me mad
A melodious voice
That is the sweetest to me
Though I love this pen a lot,
Which helps me a bit
To feel you.