Month: August 2015


Give me a pen and I will draw,

The wind that blows in my face,

Cold and comforting.

Give me a pen and I will sketch,

The hard contours of your hand,

Warm and tough.

Give me a pen and I will colour,

The stars that always smile,

Down at me with a sneering face.

Give me a pen and I will shade,

That leaf that just fell,

Hurt and in bliss.

Give me a pen and I will write,

Every contradiction that smarts me

And heals my wound.


Crossing borders, we try to see,

the many contradictions – two or three,

they are not.

They are many.

for the world is full of humans,

all unique.

You try to see each one, as

an Indian, a Pakistani.

a Clever, a Meek.

But I tell you,

don’t group them,

as nations.

Borders don’t count,

any more than coins do,

to a rich human’s bank account.

any more than an ant does,

on the treading path of a wanderer.

Think beyond these crafted borders,

that divide, multiply,

add and subtract,

all of our prejudices, all of our

greedy assumptions,

about humans,

who people the world,

and are as unique,

as fingerprints that dot,

gloves, walls, pens, paper,

my hands and yours.