I order my heart to be patient 
 
"And I ordered my heart to be patient:
Be neutral as if you were not mine!" 
                                               -Mahmoud Darwish 

As the hands of time remove 
The veil from their schemes; 
 
As the new breed 
Of foxes, hiding

Behind a forest of people, raise 
Their heads;
 
As the new legion 
Of peacocks 

Master the craft 
Of seducing the marketplace;
 
As the silver footed, democracy, princess 
Turns into a bondmaid;
 
I order my heart to be patient.
As the butterflies of change
 
Spread the pollen 
Of fear and hostility;

As the herd mind gets intoxicated 
By the opium 
 
Of "Us versus Them"; 
As the amygdala overrides 

The frontal cortex; 
I order my heart to be patient

©️ https://www.poeticnoesis.com/

I create a royal road to my misery

I create a royal road to my misery:
When I judge myself,
When I judge others;

When I am oblivious 
Of my thoughts,
My emotions,
My senses, 
My actions;

When I live in my past, in my future. 
When I ignore my present.

I create a royal road to my misery:

When I intoxicate the air of life 
By complaining, by comparing,
By criticising;

When I am unforgiving,
Ungrateful,
Unkind,
And wrapped up in myself.

©️ https://www.poeticnoesis.com/

Perhaps it is not your famed beauty
 
(In her absence, I created her image - Mahmoud Darwish)
 
Perhaps it is not your famed beauty
Creating this absence. Perhaps 
It is waking up to familiar faces, walking 
In familiar streets; hearing 

An Azaan, or Guru Granth Sahib 
In your neighbourhoods. 
Perhaps it is feasting 
On a Wazwan, or enjoying lamb skewers 

At Khayam Chowk, or maybe
It is blathering with friends 
On a bridge railing, in a college 
Canteen, or in a paint shop.

Perhaps it is strolling
On that, amorous, residency road,
Or growing up listening poetry 
Of Sheikh-ul-Alam 
 
And Habba Khatoon.
Maybe it is the joy 
Of Eid shopping, and lining up 
In front of grandfather 
 
For the Eidi.
Maybe it is the aroma 
Of fresh bread, and the taste 
Of Nun chai, in our mornings.
 
Maybe it is your women tying 
Their prayer threads, whispering 
Their modest wishes, to the mausoleums 
Of your Sufi saints. 

Or maybe it is hearing 
Shameema Dev, on Radio 
Kashmir, sing. 
Maybe it is just watching 

Your face, in every season, without 
Carrying the sack 
Of longing in our hearts.
Perhaps your memories 

Shall continue to orbit
Around our yearning souls,
Like satellites, until eternity.
Perhaps all this excavation 

Of memories, this leaning
On our history, this living 
In the past, is the story
Of every uprooted plant.
Notes-

• Wazwan- a Kashmiri cuisine 
• Sheikh-ul-Alam - A highly revered Sufi saint and a poet of Kashmir 
• Habba Khatoon- She was the last queen and celebrated poetess of Kashmir. 
• Eidi-  a Muslim tradition to give small sums of money (Eidi) to children on an Eid day.
  

©️ https://www.poeticnoesis.com/

O my unruly mind

O my unruly mind
I ceaselessly try to harness 
your unruliness
with the rationality 

of philosophy, 
with the objectivity 
of science, with
the finality of holy texts.

I try to tame you 
with the magic 
of poetry, with the rituals 
of faith, with the wisdom of sages:

I even try to order
with the art of mindfulness, 
with the habit of journaling, 
with the promise of houris; 

yet you always find
a way, out of every bridle, 
with your habitual conniving, 
monkey tricks, and reptile winding.

©️ https://www.poeticnoesis.com/
​

​O my soul
 
O my strained soul,  long have I dreamt about
Seeing you fly joyously; high above the cloud.
Long have I known your gravity-defying nature
With an inherent longing to fly to your creator.
Long have you moved like a crawling reptile
Collecting dust, grime and shame in the exile.
O my squatting soul, long have I seen a shame
In your eyes; loaded with heaps of self blame.
Long did I try to freeze my dragons for your joy,
To set you free, from the heavy fetters, to enjoy.
Long have I invoked you to glide like a bird
Away from the green grazing of this goat herd;
Look straight into the eyes of a noontide sun, 
With your winged feet; and go for a higher run.
Enough of this squatting, cringing and crawling,
Rise and dust off your wings for an inner calling.

(2013)

(Gushing Fountain-USA)