No matter the wreckage, my mother’s always there, With warm milk and a dollop of sweet honey to soothe my bruised heart, And I get scared every day that she cures me – Will she leave me helpless with a mouthful of forevers? _______________________ The above four-line poem was my … Continue reading Ammi
Used to drive a wedge between two good friends –
Not the usual story
But now made a commonplace, bitter rivalry
Peaceful as they were, turned into chances for war.
Never did this happen
Now there was no peace – strange times.
Turned into a violent man, no longer your neighbor
Ahmed was now livid
Their bonds were now frayed and frail
Was in a chaos – above the din and distress
The colonisers rose victorious
They could sleep peacefully on white beds.
(Written for an online course organised by the University of Iowa.)
She inscribed letters on to the page, The curl of her a, the bend of her n, They brought reminders, Small, nostalgic ones. The curl of her a, the bend of her n, Formed phrases and sentences, Small, nostalgic ones, They filled the … Continue reading Pantoum – Writer’s Block
A knife recoiled from the blunt truth. It could not cut at its sharp edges, That poked fun at all the grudges, That I could ever hold. Poked fun and reminded me, Of all that I could never be, And all that I had … Continue reading Blunt truths
Someone’s been pulling me away, From everywhere that I’d like to stay. I’d like to remain in this no-man’s territory, That has no leaf, not a single tree. Pull me away, but not too much, Let me remain just right where, I can spot, … Continue reading No-man’s land
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,
You try to see each one, as
an Indian, a Pakistani.
a Clever, a Meek.
But I tell you,
don’t group them,
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
who people the world,
and are as unique,
as fingerprints that dot,
gloves, walls, pens, paper,
my hands and yours.