پہرہ

اپنے غم کو لپیٹ کر 

میں 

سرہانے کہ نیچے رکھ لیتا ہوں روز 

اس ڈر سے کہ کہیں 

کوئی 

نقب زن
اسکو مجھ سے چرا نہ لیجاے  

اس ڈر سے رات بھر 

پہرا دیتا ہوں میں

خزاں

میں ایک دفعہ پھر 

ان خزاں رسیدہ پتوں 

پر 

تمھارے قدموں کے نشان ڈھونڈتا ہوں 

اس خیال کے ساتھ کہ 

یہ مجھے اس منزل پہ لے جائیں 

جہاں 

تمھارے ہونے کا احساس 

پتھروں میں ثبت ہو 

لیکن 

میں کیا کروں اس ہوا کا 

جو ہر بار ان پتوں کو اڑا لے جاتی ہے 

آزادی

ڈرتا ہوں 

کہ 

ذات کہ اس قفس میں 

اگر 

صیا د قفل کھلا چھوڑ گیا 

تو

 میں کہیں خوشی سے 

اپنے ہی پر نہ نوچ ڈالوں 

میں اب صرف ڈرتا ہوں

وجود

وہ ساری مسکراہٹیں 

سمیٹ لوں اپنی ذات میں 

جو 

مجھ پر وا ہوئیں 

وحی کی طرح 

اور 

لوٹا دوں وہ 

ساری وحشتیں جنسے 

مضطرب ہے مرا وجود 

the hollowness of the sound;
reverberating itself in an empty soul
Ascends;
the voice asking;
"wherefore art thou?"
On the top of the falling crest
I shout Thy name;
"I exist" comes the echo
the drunk moth is engulfed
by the amber flames
the petals close around the bee..
"Buzz" reverberates my soul...

Self

It is not Him from whom flows kun-fayakun

But it is only I who has decided to be;

For it is I who carry within myself;

The source of all that is;

It is not the painter’s brush that strikes;

For it is unto paper and paint to embrace each other;

Strange;

Now that the self has awakened;

Voices in my head muffle

The cry on my lips

It is not I who desire;

For it is Iris who walks into my arms willingly;

In this endless night of apathy;

I only long to touch you once;

In the rise of the bronze pearl;

Its rays piercing the fabric;

Letting a million spectacles dance through the haze;

The curtain rises;

And Iris embraces …

In a maze of thousand spirals;

Each flowing into another

With the fall of every hammer

On the chest of the hot iron bed;

In the sound of a thousand cries

Subdued by the hiss of the sweat

I exist;

Broken, battered, oppressed

Only to raise my hammer again….

Death of God

I dwindle

From heights beyond your reach

Tumbling, faltering, wavering….

My resolve weakening with every step

Time slipping out of my grip

Like sand out of the gaps between your fingers

My weight bending my knees…..

I reach upwards with an arm weakened by its own strength

My knees give in; my weight lies heavy on my chest…..

The God lay dead as time moved on…..

Untitled

through the mist of race and gender differentials....
beyond any models of equality.....
somewhere on the spinning ground beneath the whirling devotee.....
in the dampened sound of his drum....
and thumping of his feet....
spinning heads invoking the Second one......
in the smoke colliding and rising in thinned air...
encircling and enveloping all forms within...
within the chantings of a thousand specters....
rise the green one...
bearded, sweaty....
and dancing....