depending on the diseases
we have been suffering from,
but I am sorry to say when I came here,
I was just a patient of my instincts,
I don’t know how many genetic disorders
gifted by you,
were hidden in my genes,
now I have been caught by many other diseases,
and by now I have died many times in fear
now I am afraid of me in this quarantine,
my phobia is just only one
what if the disorders in me
start reproducing like cats and dogs!
I had thought I would end my journey as a creditor,but my bank statement tells I am ending as a debtor.Dear God! If you are love,if you are a peace loving dove,please help me and write off my debt,otherwise I shall be constrained for a theft,I shall steal hearts of the crowd,I have no alternate…
when it’s total darkwhen there is a pin drop silence.Your heart is a book of fluorescent pages,go on reading these luminous pages.Stop for a while on a pageyou cannot read itslowly and smoothlytouch the page again and againfeel it and smile.Time had written this pagewhen you were blind in love!
With nationalism as an opaque trouser,And religion obstructing the browser,Even on the beach in a skin color bikini,Whether it is a maxi or a mini,Swimming goggles and the swimming cap,All are unseen; hairs, eyes and the lap,Even behind her lovely looking smile,Covering ugly hatred with a beautiful tile,Society is something else in its inside,The nude…
food value and sweetness on the higher side,tasteful in the winter for a casual tide,still fresh enough for the nature’s rapes!
Na sirf roshan hay daru-ul-insan shaheer-e-kaun-o-makan nabi hayn,Hay malik-ul-hamd khud sanakhawan waheed-e-haft aasman nabi hayn.Wuh hadi-e-kul jinan-o-insan imam-e-karrubian nabi hayn,Hay aap hi ki sifat quraan khuda ka husn-e-beyan nabi hayn.Sahaba ban kar gulab mehke shamim rashk-e-adan hay unki,Wuh bagh keyun kar na ho baharan ke jiske khud baghban nabi hayn.Naseem-e-sahri hay wahy-e-rabbi yeh lab yunhi…
They speak only after a mental fatigueBut a poet is a victim of nature’s intrigue,His heart is inspired by a quick impulse,It’s not his pen, sweetheart it’s pulse,Beauty when touched its sleeping waves,Deep in the ocean from the unseen caves,A propagated wave started its dance,It’s not a poem it’s thirst of romance,Emotions of a victim…
