I AM The Universe: Random Thoughts

I was preparing my computer for an OS upgrade today, so I was going through the usual making-sure-that-your-backups-are-up-to-date routine… okay so maybe that isn’t a routine.. hell I rarely ever take backups But anyway I was doing that today. And while going through the three million documents in the “Documents” folder, I came across a lot of stuff I had written some time back and forgotten about. And I thought I’d start posting some of those things here. Here’s the first of those. And please, no Haaza kuf’r on this

Me and I

O traveller, O company,
Where do your Gods take you?
To a numbered cloud,
To a stature proud?
Away from deception,
To a utopia unfound?
Do you walk with One of them,
Standing by your back,
Always waiting, always watching?
Do you you walk with one of them,
Like the air inside your chest,
Like the breath that never draws?
Are your footsteps divine,
Like the whispers they said?
Do your nights shine,
With the light of the brightest day?
Do they give you their dreams,
When slumber may fall?
Do they guard your words,
Like a promise they made?

O villager, O breeze,
I walk alone, I walk alone!
My direction wherever chance would have me,
My nights wherever my sights are heavy,
And my dreams are my own!
I whisper my days myself,
And what I draw in, I draw out.
My words also bleed,
Should you prick them with doubt!

O villager, O breeze,
I walk alone, I walk alone!

Oh how sweet romance can be
Without the burden of knowing!

Lying flat with his arms across his chest,
The same as the the next man six feet far,
Playing pretend,
With he who cannot play back.

He lives under the influence
Of the cruelty of the metropolitan,
Under the premise of emotion and sincerity.

The warmth of the day
That once crept into the night no longer warm.
As the reverberating, cold, mechanical whispers
Send him back to that night.
He lives possessed
By the cruelty of the metropolitan.

The dark sanctum of the night no longer dark,
With strobing neons
And bright aviation lights
Playing roulette with his memories
On the cieling of his room.
The greens and the reds of memory
Soon blend playfully with the light.
He lives infected
By the cruelty of the metropolitan.

He lives under the influence
Of the cruelty of the metropolitan,
Under the premise of emotion and sincerity.
And under the guise of hope and promise,
He corrupts upon touch,
Or by the lingering warmth of his breath

It’s about that time of the year again. The winter winds are just around the corner, and every now and then, a brief smell or the sensation of a familiar wind breaking across my skin takes me back to a time that changed me in ways I am learning still. Let this be an ode to that time of the year.

You

Upon the cold winter nights,
The sound of the moving sheets,
Knocks upon memory and wakes me up.
Rips me with thunder,
From the indifferent grip of Morpheus.

Contentment is only a singular thought,
That through that night,
If not you,
The memory of your silence will keep me company.

So. I’m back, sort of. Been hell busy so couldn’t blog about all the stuff that I actually wanted to blog about! But inshAllah I’ll post something by the middle of the week.

Khair I wrote this before I went to Karachi, so I’m posting this one here as a filler. And yeah, I know I’m rusty, and this is not one of my favorite writing either. And oh, I got a couple lines stuck in my head during my Karachi visit, so I have to write poems based on those as well. Like they say in urdu, shairi phasi hui hai! Note to readers: jokes involving laxatives will not be tolerated But I know someone who will make that joke nonetheless

Anyway, here goes:

An Incomplete Metaphor

I want a quiet window,
To watch the pigeons in the courtyard,
Fly from the blazing heat,
Where passers-by flaunt their benevolence.

Fly to my window pane, they would,
And bank against the cool glass.
Their pulsating, fluttering bodies I’d hear,
I’d open my window and let them in,
If I had a quiet window.