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Sunday, 6 August 2017

Chlorophyll: Pigments of Love

Sometimes I wish 
I was the tree
The leaves of which fall on your balcony.

That way I would 
At least photosynthesize properly
Because 
Like this 
Far away from you
Breathing seems all too human.

Tuesday, 25 July 2017

Poetics of a Kashmiri Love Poem

Lovers walking side by side 
Holding hands by the bund
Telling each other their worth 
And at irregular intervals 
Walking distant and pretending 
not knowing each other.
And then again trying to catch up.

That's how a love poem is written in Kashmir:
At times obsessed with the craft
At times banal.

Saturday, 22 July 2017

The Times They Are A-Changin'

Mubashir 
She asked politely 
"Why dont you write longer poems?"

"Kyunki"
I replied 
"Meri jaan 
Halaat kharab hai"

Monday, 17 July 2017

Doggerel

"On a scale of 1 to 10"
They asked 
"10 being the highest 
How lonely are you?"

I am as lonely as him
Who sleeps curled on the bonnets 
Of expensive cars
Thinking where have all the cats disappeared.

"10 being the highest"
I said 
"I am as lonely as any Delhi dog."



Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Tearful Smoke

"I never weep in front of people."
She said 
"I can never do that."

"Even I only smoke when people are around."
I replied 
"Never alone."


We are that similar.

Tuesday, 20 June 2017

Puddle

Memories splash all over
Whenever I think about you.

A loveless life
Turns your body
Into puddles.

Monday, 5 June 2017

Écriture

Writing about you is like
Filming you
With a hand-held camera
Where shaky shots come out
Like throbbing sentences.

Writing about you is like
Asking a poem to behave properly
While giggling inwards
Because the poem
Is throwing away metaphors in love.

Not writing about you?
Well!
Who would risk that?

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

Broken Umbrella

If the sky is anything at all
It is a broken umbrella
Of a person
Who has graver troubles to attend to
Than buy a new one.

There's no warning:
Bad weather is life.

Friday, 19 May 2017

Running in Circles

What has been said
Will be said again.

I love you
Never goes out of fashion.

Sunday, 7 May 2017

Death Rattle

You mix in me
The way
The smell of isband
Mixes with drizzle in the morning hours
By the jhelum bund.

The only problem however with this is that
You mix in me
The way
The smell of isband
Mixes with drizzle in the morning hours
By the jhelum bund.

The fragrance is the death one smells.

Friday, 5 May 2017

War of Love

In the war of love
Body you said
Was collateral damage.
Not something to be cared about.

Now that
Nothing remains of us.
Has the war ended?

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

Labour of Love

Now that
You are gone
Everything has to be done manually.

This beating.
This blinking.
This writing.

Tuesday, 4 April 2017

How does a Poem die?*

How does a poem die?

Does it die
By not talking about you?
Does it itch itself to alphabets
In your absence?
Or sleep between the lines waiting for it to come.
Or does it die because of misinterpretations
Or lack of it?

Maybe it dies
Due to the sheen of paper.

Or does it just end?


*For Langston Hughes


Monday, 27 March 2017

Scribblings

Whenever you come
A poem writes me off 
From the pages of this over scribbled world.

I am but
The spaces you've touched.

Sunday, 26 March 2017

Where it Ends

One should always start
Reading the poem
From the point where it ends.

Believe me
So much remains to be said.


Monday, 13 March 2017

The one for Bukowski

A lot of people
Are busy performing
Average love.
One can't even call it fake - 
They make it seem real.
Average love drains your soul
It expects a lot from you
What you are actually not.
Its worst thing?  -
It makes you feel good at times
Which is very bad.
Love is never meant to be good.
For that there are romantic movies.

Love has to kill you
One way or the other.
If it doesn't
It is not love at all.

Thursday, 2 March 2017

Ignore

It's funny
How you wake up in the morning
Dress up
Walk out in the streets
Meet people who've a lot to say
People who've nothing to say.
Do your work
As if you were meant for that.
Walk back through nothingnesses
And cars and traffic jams
Through winking street lights
Reach home and realise
That it was that kind of a day
Which will blur down the memory lane
And one day cease to be.

Sometimes
I believe
The secret of making money
Is to be a good ignorer
If at all that's a word or a thing.

Ignore yourself.

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

Lessons in Anatomy

In this world
Of stomachs and intestines
Heart
I believe has
More duties to perform than just beat.

Life
It seems
At the end
Is nothing but the battle of organs.

Saturday, 18 February 2017

For Mansoor Baya

How strange and uncanny it is
To come to terms
With the fact
That from now on
You would never come to our house.
Ever.
Even though
They'll continue telecasting
Cricket on the TV next room.

But
One day
If you feel like coming
Don't forget to comment:
We changed the position of the sofa
The way you wanted.

Monday, 13 February 2017

Sitting Cross-legged

Old age makes a
Sloth out of you.

Whenever my grandmother sits
Cross-legged
It takes her legs
(which she thinks
Do not at all belong to her now)
at least
Half an hour to
Come back to their usual position.

Not a good sight to experience.

It however made me
Think about poetry in general.
The style in which I write about you
And the way the poem comes out.

For example
If I make this poem sit cross-legged
By making it think about our intermittent tiffs
It would take the poor soul
Enough time for it to come back to
What those tiffs were originally intended for:
To display to the world the side effects of love.

Friday, 10 February 2017

For Greta Gerwig

One day
If I meet her
I'll tell her
"Greta
Live life a little
Don't always act.
It disturbs
The equilibrium of my heart."

In return
She would say
"Mubashir
Live life a little
Don't always watch stuff."

Together we'll giggle
As the California sun would go down.

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

Puzzle

One day I'll
Assemble all
Your oddly shaped emotions
Interlock them with my moods
But never ever complete you.

One day
My love
Ill buy you as a jigsaw puzzle.

Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Adversary

Of all the contemporary loves
That stand between us
The only one giving us tough time
Is as ancient as the feeling itself.

Our love only has God as competitor.

So buckle up baby
We are here to lose each other.
But
Let's lose each other in love.

Friday, 3 February 2017

Balcony

Our balcony
Is nothing like any other balcony
It's not posh
Nope
It has no expensive railings.
No fresh flowers bloom at the corners.
No swings either.
No chairs no center table.
None at all.

Actually
It lacks everything a balcony should've.

It however is full of pigeon shit and love.

Thursday, 2 February 2017

Bluetooth Love

You may find it funny
But the other day
Even a puny bluetooth speaker
Reminded me of you.

You get the idea na?

Source there
Sound here.

That love!!

Tuesday, 24 January 2017

Happy Parasol

You know
When it is
Windy and rainy
And someone is out
With a cheap umbrella
And its canopy flips up
And it yearns
To be free and floats away
In the limitless sky
As if the umbrella
Has a life of its own to commit to.

You know that? Na?

Well
I feel like that
When you memories rain inside me.

Monday, 23 January 2017

Successfully Installed

This is
To inform you
That your love
Just received
A major update.

You both can now
Roam inside each other's bodies
Without disturbing the universe.

Regards
Ministry of Destiny

Saturday, 14 January 2017

Chronos

Which is not to say
I didn't love her.

I loved her a lot
From deep down the dust ridden
Dungeons of my heart.

The only problem
I had
However
(Or rather she had)
Was that she had
Clocks nestled
Into the pupils of her eyes.

I
On the other hand
Never believed
In the vagrancy of time.

We were never made for each other.

Wednesday, 11 January 2017

Subtle Prop

You won't believe
What saved me that day.

The day when you came
And raised a tumultuous storm
In my life.

What saved me was
A cheap second hand
Paperweight.

How flat was my world before you?

Monday, 9 January 2017

Loneliness

At one point
In the never ending history of hope
Each one of us
Has somehow happily presumed:
That day's first raindrop
Fell on me.

(We are that lonely)

Thursday, 5 January 2017

Monday, 2 January 2017

Minus 6 Degree Celsius Poem

You know
That's the thing
Which I like about
A minus 6 degree celsius poem:
The moment a pen breathes it out
It suspends itself
A bit longer in the air than the normal ones.

Touch its cold structure and you feel
The warmth of the words.

Sunday, 1 January 2017

Concentric Cartography

She says
We will go south
When we are old.

She doesn't know that
Since I met her
I've broken the compass needle.

She's all my directions now.