Plexus

The machine

doesn't recognise her, easily.

It labours to identify her.

The scanner fails to

read her fingerprints;

invalid data it states.

Error.

Biometric mismatch at other times.

She keeps cleaning her

calloused hands

time and again.

Finding faults with her body.

Retinal attendance displays the same.

Again, she blames her cataract for that.

However,

She's recognised, easily 

by everyone else,

in the very first instance.

At times, her side glimpse is enough 

for her to be spotted.

How difficult is it, 

I mean,

to recognise

a human being,

with a hunchback

and arthritis,

carrying office files here and there?

Ditches

Those scraggy somethings -

nobody spotted them

as distinctly and clearly 

as did the gallant firing squad -

if not at the same level though.

Vicious Circle

To breathe as if living

is an art as complex

as surviving.

To survive as if enjoying

is an act as involuntary 

as breathing.

In this vicious circle,

those who breathe longer,

think they have survived.

Those who couldn't survive

yearn to breathe longer.

Ascension

You are a child and have

fallen asleep 

in some random corner of the house.

Your father comes,

takes you up delicately in his arms,

to put you in your proper place.

The movement, however,

wakes you up.

But you don't want him to know that.

You love the very act -

the warm arms around, 

the tip-toed walk, as if 

putting you back into the womb.

You continue to act sleepy,

knowing for sure you 

can't ever journey 

comfortably than this -

the world within a world.

Half-awake, half-asleep

Half-lie, half-truth -

carelessly oblivious.

Person of the Year

To the one who endured it all.

Didn't complain.

Sobbed in the crevices of the Soul.

Woke in the middle of the nights

yawning for sleep patterns.

Held beliefs contrary to the popular.

Forgot that the calendar year comes to an end,

because actually it doesn't and understood

Life is a continuous halo sewed

with patchwork of struggles 

so intricately worked upon,

no one seems to notice:

a cloth sold in flea markets.

To the one 

mindful of the fact that

throes of survival are unpoetic

even when recounted at the year-end

to one's own family and friends.

Dissembling

Fingers sponge

the corners of the eyes and

make rivers disappear.

Knuckles persuade the nose

to behave.

Palms desiccate the cheeks -

an extended reluctant smile.

-

Hands speak an elite language

to a makeup laden face

burdened with grief.

Perfume

(for Ovais Ahmad)

He took his time to speak,

which he often does,

unknotting the moments,

to qualify it appropriately

so that

I understand exactly 

what he intended to convey.

petrichor - you know?

something closer to the feeling,

he paused.

The details then -

he bought that

particular perfume,

although expensive,

because its aroma reminded him

of something he couldn't enter

on his own.

Hence, throughout the day,

happily, 

even at night -

he carried his own grave with him

like some personalized pillow,

like crucial documents.

Throughout,

his body was his own grave.

He smelled Human -

spirited and decaying

hic et nunc.