Nowhere have you seemed to land, such is the length of flight
Ghazals found a new plight, choosing silence, reviving the flight
Your absence perked couplets too smug to evoke destruction
Not a day passed memory was a bite, Oh! the pain before a flight
Beloved! Vigilance is useless, you are too predictable now
Now the very sight of you banking eyes means heart’s flight
I have heard the music pouring from strings inside dark harams
women tucked in beds write verse, keep their imagination’s flight
I tied many ideas around your braid you swung on bright days
with winter each drizzled pensively, charmed by your hairs’ flight
dipped in cinnamon the pale green sticks brewed aromatic tears
Love made my steamy eyes searching quite in a sensual flight
dead bodies smoked under debris was the last unbearable sight
afterwards ghazals revolved meters, a new muse just took flight
When I took you the The Royal Mosque you trembled with hope
hands clasped tight we joined for a congregation, the souls’ flight
Downright immersed in rekhta the ghazals have paid me boon
The poet settles for a hybrid flourish, surely a privileged fight!
No tree remained stable after being caught in wind
Some leaves are just couplets falling aimless in wind
How many days passed since you did not bother to braid
Can ghazals survive with you and your hairs flying in wind?
How Aelous extracted stories from Ulysses in exchange
fated to live an exile he exulted as the keeper of wind
Pavana holds a beauty over elements running a chariot
What the deity does not know that it unleashes wind
The Irish bard, spectacled and tuft-forehead waited long
Maud & Iseult Gonne did not yield to ‘monstrous’ wind.
Bemused! we cannot plumb the enigma behind creation
Ghalib asks from where come clouds and this very wind
The smoke covers the skyline of Lahore above the dust
Every structure is choked by bridges blocking the wind.
Last time I held you in arms and you gave me dewy eyes
Now ghazals wipe the memory drowned by a nasty wind
When the anklets resounded the fire colored marbled floor
I searched for the origin of the flame conspired by wind
Inside The Royal Mosque you ran for solitude in a corner
There in the middle of ablution pigeons fluttered wind
The evening is too heavy, and at night your face reappears
The poet shudders into memory by ghazals carrying wind.
Under an autumn tree leaves piled crinkling a hush
Even summer’s lush memory withered wanting a hush.
Splintered, a thin curtain wavers on the creviced door
The wind hurls a mighty gush, and then the usual hush
Without much effort I made you a subject of my ghazal
Cheeks connoting blush, fingers on lips, you said “ hush”
The red mulberries burst on the palate like juicy words
The lateral flush suggesting silence a synonym of hush
The princess tiptoed on the plush grass flailing her arms
her anklets echoed, clutching bangles, in-between a hush
Remember that brush of elbows inside The Royal Mosque
arms and hands mingled, our souls found the missing hush
Somewhere you wait for me to read the ghazals afresh
The desire for maqta, the rush for closure, ends on a hush.