To Orion

What thou be au fait with
friends of Artemis and Orion,

The love of mortal or the love of God?

No match for man’s wisdom

For love if true, is worth the pain,

It’s worth the wrath of Sun,

It’s worth the sting,

It’s worth the arrow,

It’s worth the heart’s burn

If thou love Man, pain in vain,

If thou love God, immortal

For Apollo knows no arrow no sting,

That can pierce the heart of Pleiades

Thee beg for thyself, his lovest true,

He seeks the love of else,

What treacherous love thee hold for him

That prays for none but self

If thou can love the one immortal,

Heaven is in thy grasp

The stars are in thine arms and chest

The sky is in thy fist

Battle of the Actium

The wounded kept bleeding and dying

the Ionian turned red with blood, 

the waves howled to the sky

But the warriors kept fighting ...

The blades of their whetted swords

Stroke, Roared, blocked the hits of their enemies and fought

The fog filled with the warm scent of blood

rose above and clouded their thoughts

The canons blasted, rumbled the heat and the smoke

The valor that shook the depths of the ocean,

Was baffled, when he walked

And walked away from the waning souls

Their eyes screamed,

Their mighty strengths that held the enemy at bay, fell to the floor

he walked away, deaf to the shouts of his soldiers

Cleopatra! Cleopatra! Cleopatra!!!

The blood, the smoke, the dying strengths couldn’t hold his feet

from walking away, away from the Actium

They couldn’t stop him as he walked,

away from them who died for him

To her, to die for her………

His eyes were blind to the rest of the world

His eyes could see only her

Sailing away………..
"Cleopatra! Cleopatra! Cleopatra! She is leaving me!"

He ran, he fell, he swum to her

As screaming eyes watched him go and bodies fell in the heart of the ocean,
The Ionian turned black

He ran to her,

Deaf and blind to the pain of those who died for him

To die for her!

The curse of Marc Anthony

Haunts the world to date

The pain, even centuries couldn’t wash away

The ache, the misery, the shock

Spilled with the blood, in the heart of the earth

Thus far, the crop of love yields nothing but hurt

The curse of Marc Anthony shadows the world

The curse of March Anthony

The curse of true love.

Namaz

I bow, drop my knees on the floor,

Eyes closed, head down,

Holding my hands tight together

I shiver with the glory of God

I pray, I pray, I pray

I tremble, I pray,

I cry, I beg, I plead, I pray

I keep my eyes closed

I pray and leave the words to God

I ask him to choose them for me

For I no longer know what to ask for

I no more know what to seek

I have no courage to ask for him, against his will

I have no strength to do otherwise and fulfill my own

For my happiness lays in his

But his happiness doesn’t rest in mine

I pray to God, my Silent prayers

And leave it to him to give them words

I knock his door each night

I walk away, before he replies

My word-less prayers, my hopeless faith

My begging eyes, remain quiet

I leave with empty hands

I leave with empty heart

I walk away till another night falls,

I walk away,

As Bewildered angels,

Toss their pages in air,

Knowing not what to write!

The Mirage of Soul

Any language is incomplete if it has no word, no term that can define “Ishq”. Ishq, the higher state of love, the peak of the mountain, it is the point when you rise in love not fall. Rise above the needs of the self and into the needs of the soul. 

It is when distances are measured by blinking of the eyes and covered, just by closing them.

It is when the conversations can go on and on, without begging words to bring them into existence. Ishq, the divinity of love, it is the fruit of the tree and its seed too. 

To the worldly, Ishq is madness, self talk, crossing of the thin line between reality and imagination but to those who love and love truly, Ishq is serenity, its tranquil and fulfilling. 

Love, to Ishq is the emotionally unbalanced juvenile; it always remains dependent, hungry for more but Ishq, self sufficient.  Ishq, is when you become the one you seek, when the mirrors reflect his face, when you walk his walk, you hear his thoughts and cast away your self, it is the togetherness that no mortal hand can set apart. 

It is when one soul connects with the other through the unseen wavelengths and begins to beat at the same rhythm as one. 

It is the orbit in which heart circles for its very existence and the pilgrimage is performed behind the veil of eyes. Ishq is holy, sacred and purest emotion to have ever survived, unspoiled. The more it gives, the richer it gets.

This wise Master never leaves its pupils alone, it teaches them all and hides nothing. It gives them the mantra of merging one’s self into soil, air, water and fire atom by atom, it whispers to them, the enigma of reincarnation, to blow with the wind, flow with the oceans and rise with the sun. 

The seeker of Ishq, asks nothing, says noting, takes nothing, wishes nothing, and wants nothing but Ishq and Ishq alone. It is when one transcends from being a lover and becomes love, the soul sheds its cover and escapes; it meets its beloved in all forms, all faces and all places … 

Distances lose meaning, needs lose worth, what remains is not the streams or rivers but a mighty ocean......deep, quiet, peaceful.

Answers

I looked for love in the joyous hearts

And found it in those torn apart

The sweetest words I heard, were hollow

The deepest silence held the truest vows

I found great treasures in slums and dumps

I found the poor in the richest abode

Those who filled their stomachs were hungry

Those who had a little, gave it all

I heard screaming smiles and tears that laugh

I found the filthy, more honest than the pious

I saw beauty, worn by the wickedest

I found innocence, beneath the darkest faces

I found strength, in the hearts of the weakest

And wisdom I found with the ones who were Lost

As I bore witness to life in its doings

I watched, I walked, side by side with the God.

Marlboro

In the thick sodden night

Under the fog of dwindling clouds,

I breathe death in and out

The dark smoke of hollow pleasures

Like ripples in the silent ocean of night

Sings to me, talks to me

Burns with me,

Ash to ash, fire to fire

Together we watch the night

Fading away

In the pit of pale skies.

Another night to kill,

Yet another day to die.

Dead-ends

What can a star do, if the sun only shines for the moon and moon alone? What can a writer write, if he is the stranger in his own story, his own book and his own life? What can the Just decide, when he is the witness, he is the victim and he is the convict? What can the worshiper ask for, when his God is stone, when his God is lost, when his God is gone? And How do you love? When, what draws you towards a person is the magnetism of his love for another?

“Burn the gardens of roses red

and tear the pages of books that talk

rip open the sky that thunders and rains

And scream to the heavens until they fall

Snatch the words away from a writer.

Pull out the eyes of the one who paints.

Cut the feet of the joyous dancer.

Slit the tongue of the nightingale…

Rob the butterfly off its wings

and leave the darkness on the hills

tie the mouth of oceans wide

and let the thirst burn itself

Moan the death of the living gone

Live the life of the walking dead

Rip worthless heart out of the chest

And throw it down the deepest vale”

The pieces of you, each and every one of the scattered remains speaks its own language, retains its own memory, they cry, they moan and sob till the night is day and day is night and night is day again. The clocks die, the rhythms stop, a day comes, a night goes but time, the ferocious cruel enemy, it stands frozen...
it stands still,
mute,
motionless......
and lost at a dead-end!

Final Act

The dancers dance,

Tapping their toes,

tip tap tip, tip tap tip

leg lifted high,

neck straight,

chest tight

The singers sing,

the melody echoes,

from left and from right

from right and from left

from roof to the floor

and windows to doors

The orchestra plays,

the violins shriek,

and whine and shriek,

tearing through the air, 

whipped and Flogged,

with the wave of the stick,

waving up waving down,

waving low, rising high,

halted and freed

The dancers dance,

dressed in all black,

going circles and circles,

hands holding hands

The audiences watch

they laugh,

and they cry,

they sigh

and  they clap

The Singers sing,

Sing to the peak of their voices,

The sound raises blood,

Crawls through their bones,

As hearts of the many

stop and pound

The orchestra plays and plucks,

And plays every chord,

The notes go high,

and low and high

and it keeps going on and on and on

till the dancers are the song…

till the dancers are the song,

the singers are the music,

merging into one

another

and all !

the cries and the claps,

the cheers and the tears,

the pain and the pressures,

the joy and the fears,

Go on and on and on …

The rhythm of love!

C'est la Vie

Vultures wait, Hyenas surround, Wolves …attach. Life in jungle is not easy for a lost lamb. It can be spotted from miles and miles away. They can smell her fear, they can hear the sound of her heart beating with it, and they can see her weakness in her eyes.

The shepherd, too busy playing the flute! The song of someone’s victory is at the same time, the melody of someone’s defeat and sorrow. Someone's survival is someone's death. Someone's ignorance is someone's knowledge. Someone's weakness is someone's strength. C'est la Vie.

The Ship

I cant sleep. I cant eat. I cant think. I am being thrown from one emotional extreme to another.

The Ship leaves today. 

Have I changed? Did I bathe? Did I feed the dog? Have I locked the doors? Did I close the windows?

The Ship leaves today. I can hear the siren. 

It is so windy. Oh God, did I close that God Damn window. Why is every thing on the floor? Did I pick my clothes from the line? Why the dog is barking? It’s so late. Why the hell he has to bark at 2am in the night.

The Ship leaves today. The Ship’ll be gone, it will sail.

What do I have to do tomorrow? Oh Yes, I have to , I have to do the rest of my laundry and I will do the dishes too. I will pick all those outdated useless magazines from the book shelf and put them in store.

It will leave. Few more hours from now and It will leave, The Ship.

Its so much to do. I will, I will get another job. I should get another job. Keep myself busy, occupied, brain dead. May be I should start do painting again or or, calligraphy, I always wanted to do that. Yes I will do that and this door…it just why does not it close. Why Why….That just ! arrrgggg

The Ship, The Ship, The Ship

This noise.  This deafening deafening noise. That God Damn Siren. Please please go away. Please take this Ship away from here

No !!!!! Did I close the gate? The dog? The window? Did I eat? I should sleep…I must ….I must. Some body, someone please help me. Please shut this for me. It won’t close. It isn’t closing. It just keeps on opening on its own and again and again. And this wind, why so windy at this time of the year. Why so fucking windy. Why this fuck won’t shut up. Everything, its all falling its crashing….ahhhh that storm. It won’t stop. Why it wont stop.

Will someone please do? Please shut these things up. They are deafening me. That noise. That God Damn Siren. Please please go away. Please take this Ship away from here, sail away please end this pain please do. Please go.

Ahhhh! These dogs ! God no, not again. Not again. Shut Up. Would you just shut up. The door, these curtains they, they are falling. Everything is crashing, its falling down on me, these windows they, they are controlling the wind. They are causing the storm…

 The Ship , The Ship is gone………………………….

No !!!!! Don’t leave me. Don’t go I beg you don’t go.  Stop the Ship. Will someone Stop the Ship ….No ….No !!!!! 

The world is collapsing … Don’t go away. Please don’t! No….please someone stop the Ship !!! Nothing will exist without it.

Lock and Key

“Move your ass” She came in the room and straight towards me dressed in her pink night suit, stripped shirt with stars on the pj, furious for apparently no reason. Her brows stiffed. She came, threw all her things she had in her hands at me and nearly sat on top of me. 

“Hey, not that you care but am a human being and that hurts” I pulled my legs out from what was all that she had in her hands, her books, her lap top and God knows what else.  I complained irritably “Why can’t you sit on your own bed Man!!”

“No. I want to sit here so that “you” move your ass out” She said it as if it’s a great favor she is doing me by throwing herself and all her stuff on me . 

“Arrggg !!!” I got out of the bed, making lousy sounds and assuring that she knows I did not like what just happened to me. I was happy lying in my bed for all those days she was gone downstairs to study. With lights switched off. TV turned off. In the peaceful yellow of the table lamp, I was quite contended with life and its laziness.  

“You have become such a couch potato. Go take a bath” She was not going to rest by just throwing me out of my own bed. Now my roommate or ‘nagging wife’ to be precise, wanted me to go take a bath too, in the night. 

“Naahh!! Such a waste of perfectly clean water. I believe in conservation of natural resources and besides, water is wet anyways” I never hesitate in having the world’s most stupid argument with her.

“Yea ! Sure. And GoD ! You still in those ugly jeans. Are you ever gonna get out of that shitty jeans of yours? I no longer remember you wearing anything else” She shouted at me. 

“Hey, my jeans is new. See, never washed even once” I turned, moved around a bit to make her believe that.

“Yea. Never washed since last year!” She taunted.

“Oh come on. Washing clothes, wasting water it’s good for nothing. It makes clothes look old” I stopped myself from laughing on my own silly joke. 

“Will you ever, ever get serious about anything Nazish?” Something was definitely wrong, her tone alerted me, and it wasn’t me. 

“I am serious. So seriously ….seriously in love with you. Muuaaahhh!” I tried to make her laugh. Didn’t work.

“Stop flirting your way out of it. Go change” She shouted at me again and started putting her books on the side table next to my bed, still fuming like a furnace. 

“Am not flirting. Why do you always have to doubt me. I mean I have been living with you for two years now. In fact almost three and there is a great possibility that if none of us is able to find a mentally dead, half blind, hopeless guy, we will get married to each other. That be good, no population increase! The Government will like that.” I made a complete idiot of myself.  She turned, looked at my face and laughed. I felt the room temperature coming down. Relieved.

“You know you have a ‘confused gender syndrome’” She said. When I make fun of myself, she always joins in. 

“Naah! I am just opportunistic and positive. See, if you are homo, you know it doubles your chances of having a Saturday night date. I read it somewhere” I said like a scholar. I still believe it to be true with entire honesty. 

“Yea, It must be your own blog” She smirked.

“No seriously and besides, beauty comes first and genders come second. It’s an artist’s quote” I lowered my tone as if mumbling “Who happens to be me”. 

“You are too late. I have a crush on someone already”. Gladly it wasn’t anger turning her cheeks red this time.

“Okaaay! So now we are talking. No wonder you so pissed off. Who’s that poor thing…Oh…I mean Lucky guy?” I made an intentional mistake to irritate her. 

“Nazish! I am serious….” And irritated she was.

“Ok. No seriously, tell me” I sat again on the bed right next to her and looked her in the eyes to catch a glimpse of what was coming next. 

“Promise me you won’t laugh” she said slowly, with her eyes full of request, searching for faith in me. 

“HAHAHAHAHA……….another teacher isn’t it?” I laughed like crazy. I knew this look in her eyes, I knew where such conversation would always lead. I knew I was right. 

“Nazishhhhhhhhhh……. I am telling you it’s not like the one I had before. I am serious” she said. Her expression did not change. She did not laugh along with me. I could feel, this time was not the usual pillow talk between two roommates.

“Yea Babes. You say it every single time and every single day, about a different teacher. HAHAHA”. I taunted and tried to erase my doubts.

“No. I have had these feelings for quite some time now and they don’t go away. I slept and woke up and they were there and I can’t think of anyone else, just him” She said it all in a split second, she was talking like a crazy a lunatic with her eyes not moving any where just words falling out of her mouth quickly, passionately and madly. 

“Give it some time and I am sure you will know what it is or if, it is anything.” I was not sure.  I always looked at her as my responsibility. Though she was only a year younger but I always felt it my duty to keep her away from all the horrible things I knew existed in the world. Including the worst of all, Love. I can’t imagine her going through it. She looks good happy. I want it to stay like that. No matter what it takes. I would lie on her face, but only to protect her.  For I know, her wings are clipped. For I know she cannot fly. How can I let her be out there and find it out on her own that She is not the bird that can fly. She never will and she should not try. I can’t imagine her falling and hitting the ground. I can’t imagine her crying on her pillow every night. I can’t imagine her fighting the whole world alone. She is a glass doll; she will break and scatter in pieces that no one will put together again. I knew her, I knew her family, I knew the odds. The responsibility was on my shoulders. I had to be the bad person for the good. Sometimes, it’s fair. I know I am stronger I can take the hate, her hate. I can afford my only friend to hate me for the rest of my life but I can’t sit by her side and say nothing, do nothing, watch her wither and fall apart.   

“God Nazish! You don’t understand. I have given it time and I still think of him, all the time. All day” Her eyes were holding back tears, her voice was trembling. 

I looked at her face, that look in her eyes… no more words needed no explanation was required. 

“You know, in science I studied about ‘Lock and Key Model’. Let me explain how it applies here. Every lock has a key, right and that’s the only one that fits” I don’t know what the fuck I was saying. Not a word. But I pretended it was the wisest thing to know in the world. 

She looked confused. She starred at me, with millions of questions in her eyes. 

I cleared my throat. I looked in her eyes; I made her believe my words. 

“What I mean is that when you get the key of your lock, you will know. It will fit perfectly. There will be no confusions no second thoughts. It will just fit. If you are confused, you know, it’s … May be…not the key you are looking for”.

Phone Call

I was hoping he won't pick up my call for I did not know what to say. My hands were trembling, holding the phone tight to my ear.  My head, it felt like its frozen and lost contact with the rest of my body. My heart beat was getting weaker and weaker with every single beep. I was hoping he won't pick up the phone while waiting … and waiting for him to answer it. 

"Hello" – the question was evident in his voice. He didn't know who was calling him. His voice was still young. Anyone would easily mistake him for a 30 year old man.

“Hey” … I controlled every flooding emotion from entering the tone of my voice. I asked him, 

“Papa, How are you?”  

“Honey, my little Girl!!!” He exclaimed, the joy enlightened his voice. To my surprise, he was not shocked. It made it easier for me to continue the conversation.

“Yea Papa. Tell me how are you” .. I lost words. I mumbled “and ammm...How…how things are with you?”

“Girl. I am so happy you called me” He paused. “I can’t believe it”. His voice got thicker suddenly. I felt he was crying.

“Yes Paps, I know” I stopped my tears, held myself together. I could feel my soul collapsing; the cracks in my strength were about to break me, shatter me. But I held myself together, with every bit left of my dyeing strength.

“I called you a couple of times …ahhh….a few times before too. But you won’t pick up. I guess you were busy perhaps” I did not want him to feel like I was complaining; I had no right to complain. I never complain, I always give myself a reason against a reason and sleep satisfied, needing no answers having no complains left. I have always been like this. I never ask for more, like Oliver did.

“Oh you did? Did you? No doll. My phone must be off.” He hesitated. “I believe this is your new number kiddo”? He asked me, anticipating a clear “yes” I could feel what he wanted to hear from me. I have always known … how I can’t know. He runs in my blood. I am a branch of the same tree.  I am a part of him. But it was going to change.

“No”. My voice got firm. The volcano in me burst, it came flooding out and burning everything, every thought, every emotion that came in its way.

“No Papa. I have the same number for last ten years. It’s the same number that you had.” I went cold. Cold like the dead. He knew, that I know he lied.

“Honey. My Child. I think I had this number. Oh wait….Yes I think I had it. But you know I am old man. Your father is old now honey. I lost my phone. I lost it Child. You know I long to see your face every day. If I meet a girl your age I call her Honey.” Guilt, pity, misery. He began sobbing.

“Don’t cry Papa”. I said it to him like I was his mother in that moment and he was my child.   

I wanted him to stop because, because his cries were no longer affecting me. I was not feeling anything at all. I wanted it to stop. That process of knowing that you should be feeling something but not being able to feel any …that emotional numbness, that black hole of feelings pulling me inside every passing second, making everything dark and unknown around me. I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to make it easy for me.

“Tell me Papa. Where are you living these days and with whom? How is life treating you?” I had no other way, no other word left to stop him from crying. I began asking, straight forwardly, what I wanted to know.

“Girl, I am very happy“ he paused “with the blessing of God” . He took a moment; I believe to grab a tissue paper.  I heard him blow his nose.

“I live in Lahore. I work with the Minister of the state. He treats me like his own father. People respect me. Your father has a lot of respect”. He was going to go on about it but I did not find my answer, I interfered in his perfect story.

“Yea that must be good. But tell me, you are living with someone.” I paused. I realized it was difficult for him to hold such personal conversation with his youngest child and that also, his daughter! The daughter that he never wanted.

“I mean, you were living with this women I heard” I tried to search for better words, but in vain.”I mean, look you are old now and I think you know, you should get married. Have a family of your own”. Finally it was out. I said it all in one go. It was out, I felt lighter.... I felt empty.

He laughed the same old laughter, huge thundery laughter. Just, the same as he used to laugh ten years ago, the laughter that used to scare me, it still, scared me. He was still him and I was still me. He was the captain again.

“Honey, you tell this to your mother”. His words were toxic; the last word came out of his mouth dipped in thick hate and fury. All of us were back to square one. He was him, I was me and my mother, she was ‘her’ again. 

Ten years, a decade sacrificed and died on the door mat outside our home but could not enter, could not alter anything. It failed. It failed just like I did.

“Papa. Look, let’s leave her out of this conversation”. I took a deep breath. “I won’t tell her and please, you don’t tell her that we had this conversation ever. Papa, I just need you to settle and have a good life” I paused. It was getting harder for me to say what I wanted to say. “and Papa, I want you to save my number and if, ever you need anything, just about anything, please call me.” 

I was weak, my strength melted away drop by drop. But I said it, what I rehearsed to say for so many years.

He did not ask me how old I was, or how educated. Where I was working? Was I single or seeing some one? He asked me nothing. How did I look? How did I look? Will we, recognize each other on the street one day or are we just going to pass, cross each other like the rest of the millions of people. He did not ask me, to meet him. 

He never, never called me again. I think he never needed anything. “Call me if you need anything”. My communication skills are terrible. Why did I put a condition like this? 

I don't know how many more hollow years will come and pass through me...It’s been ten years now. Ten long years, of lies and fibs. Ten years of going quite, avoiding the subject, mumbling, stammering, avoiding eye contact, looking for anything to say, absolutely anything, when they ask me “Where is your father?”

The one lie, I never learn to master.

The Maker

Who can fix a broken dream?
when its parts are scattered
from North to South...

Who can mend a shattered Heart?
with its pieces falling
all apart ....

Who can heal a bleeding soul?
when its wounds are deeper
than hands can reach....

Who can put life back together?
when hope is lost
when blood is cold....

Not the Strongest of men
Or the Wisest of them
Not the Pious or Virtuous
Nor Pundits or Priests

But the Master of All !

The one who Breaks
The one who Takes
The one who Shatters
The one who scatters

Is the one who Makes
Is the one who Gives
Is the one who fixes
Is the one who heals !

The ways of his work
He is the one who knows
So let it be his Game'
Be it, his Art

Who are you to worry?
Who are you to dis-heart?
Trust the ONE, who is ALL
you are, but a part !!!

Darkness

Walking in the dark street,
deserted corners
in the middle of Night
I feel Safe !

No pain can reach
No love can tease
I owe no one
No words may please

I am the enemy
I am the terror
What to be afraid of
When I am the horror!

No Mercy, No Kindness
No Feelings, but Hate
I am to demolish
to destroy, to take

It is I, who traps
It is I, who lures
I am the feared Evil
It is I, who conquers

Perhaps, It is me
Darkness, my Shadow
I am Lucifer, I am Ibleese
I am Satin, I am Devil !!!

Horseshoe Crab

Things can turn around and may even become the reverse of what they were before...
There is always a possibility of life, of change, of a new beginning, perhaps just a turn away...
There can still be fire beneath heaps and heaps of ashes.......there always is !
But for those who dare to look at the other side of it.

The Question is, will you toe into the foam? The foam, that is the remainder of those mighty waves that rose and crashed inside you chest once.......Will you kick upright the black, blue, mute horseshoe crab?

Because when "Time" stands still, motionless and mute, it takes nothing else just you to turn things around and set life in motion again.......The answer has always been you !

The answer.... is YOU !!!

(Inspired by Slaughter Beach by Andrew Joseph)
Reference - Slaughter Beach