"Aankhein aesi, jaise aakash ganga mein behte taarein.
(Eyes rivalling the river of stars in the sky)
Muskaan aesi, maano suraj ki kirano ko bunn ke banaye.
(A smile spun from the rays of the sun)
Aawaj aesi jaise tarakhti dhoop mein chhaaon mein chalti hawaayein.
(A voice as soothing as a breeze in scorching summer)
Tera saath aesa, jaise andheri raahon mein chand ki halki roshni ka sahara.
(Presence reminding of the gentle moon light, guiding through dark routes)
Tera choo jana manno rab ki duayein"
(Your touch, so divine/ your touch feels like a blessing from the divine)
Teri gair maijudgi karde mujhe bheer mein akela
(Your absence makes me feel alone in the crowd)
Tera rona karde mere dill ko beshara
(Your tears hits me with a wave of helplessness)
Zindagi meri rahe ya na rahe...bas tu mere saath rahe
(Cant translate this one. Sorry)
Bas itni si hain is dill ki ye dua
Bas itni si hain is dill ki ye dua...
*
The truth is not always beautiful
or beautiful words from sugared lips, the truth.
The Trojan Horse delivered to the door, comes in disguise.
Sturdy in design of wood, but empty as a trickster
who plies her trade amongst unwary
and the inevitable susceptible naïveté akin to the Greeks’ quaint
love for the common old garden grasshopper of all colours —
a Greek tragedy in the making, rivalling that of Sophocles.
My truths are more complicated than the above:
an exposé wrapped in the variable
old clichés of devotion and eternal love of the other.
Keeping the secrets of others is a burden to be
suffered in silence until a beautiful
death do us part – then rendezvous in eternity.
Screens stretched across the Modern World,
rivalling our natural vision.
Eyes, lenses, and optic nerves strained
Retinas, pupils, irises, tears.
Most affected?
A Feast of Fatigued Eyes
that rivalled ancient scribes' affliction
Eyes as interfaces
Eyes as digital portals
Eyes, the sacrifice given to Progress' children
THE HAND THAT MINDS THE AUTHOR
( for Christie Achebe)
The hand that minds the author
What is life like rivalling words?
When you decked your bed with persian sheet
And stuffed your pillow with the autopedics
When you perfumed your room with arabian scent
And wore your pyjamas to thrill and kill
In books he shrouded himself
Romancing words like butterfly roses
Hours on your feet you stood
Tampered butter,tampered flour
Gazing clock,gazing oven;
Icing sugar and fondant craft
You perfected, though fluffy,
His appetite was for words
When he woke you up from slumber
Asking for neither food nor peck
But only to appraise his newest bride:
''How do you see this Christie?''
Often you yielded:''words are paints
With which your rainbow is made.''
Your fortitude is commendable:
24/7 in libraries
Visiting schools,visiting books
Pruning students, pruning teachers;
But when Christie,when did your
Hearthrob come to you?
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