zeeshanr Poetry (45)

Wet eyes and a crazed will are not enough;
Nor are accusations of a furtive love;
Stride in the bazaar today, shackles on your feet.
Stride with arms spread open and in wild abandon;
Stride with dust-covered hair and blood-stained shirt;
Stride, all the beloved city watches the road.
The official and the commoner;
Sad mornings and barren days;
Arrows of slander and stones of insult.
Who but we can be their companion?
Who in the beloved town remains free of guilt?
Who remains worthy of the killer's hand?
Broken-hearted ones, prepare to leave;
Let us stride to meet our death today.

Imprisoned though we are, but not alone!
Everyday the breeze from the home-land’s dawn,
Arrives imbued with the fragrance of memories,
And,
Returns laden with the pearls of tears.

Imprisoned though we are, but not alone!
Everyday the breeze from the home-land’s dawn,
Arrives imbued with the fragrance of memories,
And,
Returns laden with the pearls of tears.

Imprisoned though we are, but not alone!
Everyday the breeze from the home-land’s dawn,
Arrives imbued with the fragrance of memories,
And,
Returns laden with the pearls of tears.

How do I describe the relationship between you and me?
Narrations depicting love have no close simile.
There are many tales on union’s ecstasy and separation’s
torment,
But this state of mine is not inscribed in any document.
This love of mine which encompasses separation and reunion,
This lingering pain, which I have carried for years.
This secret love which I have kept concealed from all –
“Ages have gone by since I held you in my arms”.

Again has someone come, sad heart---no; no one
May be a passerby ---will go somewhere else
Night declines, the stardust scatters
Drowsy lamps waver in the buildings
Every path, after long waiting, sleeps
The unfamiliar dust has blurred traces of footsteps
Put out the candles, take away wine and jug and cup
Lock up your sleepless doors
Now no one, no one will come.

The mind tells the heart incessantly –
So sweet is the life at this very moment;
The oppressors, with their venomous concocts,
Shall neither triumph today nor tomorrow.

Messiah of Crystals
Pearl, crystal, goblet
Once broken is broken
Tears cannot mend it,
It’s lost if broken.
You gather the shards
Save them for naught
There is no Messiah of Crystals,
What good is your hope?
Perhaps these fragments hold
The chalice of your heart
That haughty angel’s perch
The nectar of life’s sweet agony
The world snatched your chalice away
Smashed it,
Scattered that nectar into dust
Cleaved the angel’s wing
These colorful shards are perhaps
Fragments of those dazzling dreams
With whose brilliance you decorated
Your bed-chamber in ebullient youth
Beggary, toil, hunger, pain
Kept smashing at those dreams
Brutal was the rain of stones
What could these crystal skeletons do
Or perhaps, in these fragments
Is the jewel of your honor and your humility
The envy
Of the high-statured ones
The jewel was craved by many
Traders, robbers
In this land of thieves, the poor
Can save either life or honor
These goblets, crystals, these jewels
If whole, carry some value,
Broken, they merely
Prick, cut, evoke blood-tears
You gather the shards,
Save them for naught
There is no Messiah of Crystals,
What good is your hope?
On mended collars of memory
The heart does not linger
Unmasking, masking truths
How can life be spent like this?
In the workplace of Being
These goblets and crystals are forged
Everything is replaceable,
All wants can be fulfilled
Every hand that reaches is a helper
Every eye that looks, fortunate
There is no end to riches here
No matter the robbers who lie in wait
Looting, robbing cannot empty
The coffers of Being
Diamonds on every mountain
Pearls in every ocean
Some,
Wish to cordon off this wealth
Auction
Every mountain and ocean
Others fight
Break down those walls
Foil the schemes
Of the thieves of Being
They grapple, fight
In every village and vale
In every happy home
On every lane
There are those who blacken all around them
Others who light candles
Those who set fires and
Those who put them out
Every goblet, crystal, jewel
Is enjoined in the fight
Arise, all idle hands
Are summoned to the fight.

At night my lost memory of you returned
and I was like the empty field where springtime,
without being noticed, is bringing flowers;
I was like the desert over which
the breeze moves gently, with great care;
I was like the dying patient
who, for no reason, smiles.

If you
Look at the town from here:
In concentric circles
– like a jail –
There are walls all around.
Every path – some prisoner’s footmarks;
But,
No milestone, destination,
Or a well-wisher’s stand.
If someone moves too quickly,
Then one wonders:
Why has there not been
A warning shout to stop?
And,
If someone raises his hand,
Then one ponders:
Why no jingles been heard
From his manacled arms?
Look at the town from here:
In all that crowd –
No person with dignity.
No being with reason.
Every proud man
– enchained as a criminal.
Every pretty maiden
– proclaimed a slave.
Those shadows far away,
Dancing around the lamps!
It is hard to see from here
– an assembly of mourners,
or a bunch of revellers?
Those colourful images,
Scattered on the walls!
One can not tell from here
– are they blooming flowers,
or someone’s blood smears?

Is it the odour of blood,
Or the scent of my beloved’s lips?
Feel –
From which direction arrives the morning breeze?
Is it the Garden greeting the Spring,
Or the Prison opening its doors?
Listen –
From which direction arises the song of glee?

So much politeness, yet we remain strangers;
how many meetings till we are again lovers?
How long before we see a spring of unsullied green?
How many rains before the blood stains wash away?
Heartless were the moments ending the pain of our love,
Lightless were the mornings following life-giving nights.
I longed to beg forgiveness, even complain as lovers do,
but my heart's crushing defeat gave me no respite.
What I had gone to say, Zeeshan, risking all -
remained unsaid when all else was done.