Have you ever been consumed by an idea
like a walnut, hollowed out from inside.
No, not by breaking it
but by letting it be
on the table, untouched
until it begins to roll itself
and cracks on the floor,
only to find the void
that exists within it.

Yes, ideas are powerful
but so are they – consuming!

twisted tree

twisted tree

 

 

 

i paint on
the shadows of time1435
and whatever was left behind
in absentia.

whimpers are benign
and loss, sublime
the nude dementia,
speak of heaven to me.

hovering, towering
the gates of dawn
the squeaky Azaan
find me, will you?

Ik Nukta

Death is strange,
not a stranger.

I cried
not for long.
I missed
not for long.
I was the one
not for long.

Memory is what keeps us alive.
Memory would be dead too, soon.

And hence, I killed myself
like everyone else.

So is birth, strange!
But not a stranger,
not anymore.

I found me
and I was alive.

When I lose me,
I die
even before Azrael’s descent
even before death.

Death is strange
but not a stranger!

Summer’s Dream

Between sea and smoke
where shall i seek you
when there’s no moon in the sky
and my finger grow frail
in your absence
where shall i paint you?

When the lights go off
will the illumination too?
The Fakir at Dargah knows
not why he is blinded.
Beloved is all he sees.
Beloved is all he seeks.

I am a refugee
cloaking fears and desires.
Seven masks for seven days
I am all. I am none.

Carefully creased memories lie
intertwined with folded threads of my being
I am afraid, I cannot wear myself
anymore.

But, let’s hold hand,
and walk in synchronised steps.
Let’s jump over the gates of
thoughts and free them all.
Let them fly away.
We are our own thoughts.
We are our own captors.