♫heart·strings

Another cobalt blue sky lit by innumerable stars. Tiny, bright pockets of fairy-light. We sit just by the river, taking in the fresh scent of dewy grass, soft wind, and the feeling of our togetherness.

My feet are crossed and my heart is full. We don’t have enemies anymore – neither Time, nor the World. We are doing fine.

I stand up and step into the blue river. Your hand is in the water and you are splashing at it gently. As my feet touch its cool, smooth surface, we hear a strange music start. It’s coming from a distance but it feels so very near, so very soothing. Or was it from our hearts? I imagine stars coming closer – those tiny pockets of fairy-light falling to dance with me, and I look at you. You are smiling too.

Similar posts: Skin, Wings, Sea calls, Soulburst.

سوئے محبت// For still remaining

mivt_randomlyabstractجب کبھی
میں ماضی کے ان پیلے اوراق کو پلٹتی ہوں
اجڑی محبت کی کسیلی بساند آتی ہے
جیسے لاش
رکھے رکھے سڑ چکی ہو
ساتھ ہی
ایک تصویر امید کی
نظروں کے سامنے ناچنے لگتی ہے
کہ جب وہ ہچکی لے کے ٹوٹی تھی
اور محبت
ان ہی تاروں، جگنووٗں، تتلیوں اور پھولوں کے درمیان
بے دردی سے چاکی تھی
ایک جنازہ دوبارہ اٹھتا ہے
ایک ماتم پھر سے ہوتا ہے


Every time
I open
This yellow book of our lost story
A funeral takes place, again
Not of hope, for it died long ago ( and nothing pierces my heart more than my brave warrior’s last breath )
But of every moment still saved from the blots

Sometimes it plays in slow motion,
Other times, happens in a blink.
Each time though, one more piece dies
Of what is left
And how I curse this mass for still remaining.

I·dyl·lic

img_4786_randomlyabstract

Amidst sky hues,
Setting suns, misty blues,
Silences lapsing into eternities, infinities;
Our poetry calls us to listen.


Took this on my return route from Nathiagali, Pakistan. Got inspired by the daily post’s challenge to share it because this trip meant all sorts of magic to me.

(This week’s horizon makes me want to show it again. I feel a connection with this one.)

tsk

they are all growing old
old and apart.
none of them truly excited
about anything at all
and as they stand close,
shoulders touching,
you hear them whisper,
dewy-eyed:
happiness is not a goal.
you nod
and stifle a giggle.
they’re all the same!
all, winners in this game

An Apology

Here is an apology
For each tear, every cut on your heart
And everything you feel you deserve one for
But never got.

Here is that apology which couldn’t reach you before
For your lost years, or lost months, or lost weeks
Or just lost days-in-between.
For the sound your bones make when you pull up from a non-sleep
To join another meaningless chase.
For the voice that no more chokes
On hearing, or saying, the word sorry
For your uncontrollable sobs of yesteryear
The memories of which you’ve swept under your chest
To be crushed by the burden of this same meaningless chase we know nothing about.

I cannot mend what is lost
I cannot even change what got wasted but I can hope
And I do. I hope for peace to find you and provide you with just as more strength as you need
Just more strength, as always,
Until you become your hero.
Again. Only this time more truly.

With love.

To move on

How easy
It was
For you
To move on
And fall in love
With this guy
And in his arms,
Say:
You’re home.

How easy
You say
It was for me
To move on
And fall in love
With this other guy
And call him home.

How easy
I ask
Do you think
Can it be
To fall out
Of a home
You’ve always called home
When the landlord
Of His Heart
Decides
To throw you out
And say:
It is done.

How easy
I ask
Do you think
Could it possibly be
To find
The curtains, red, of your passion
Lit by fire
That extinguishes never
Even after
You’ve sprayed
Countless bottles
Of healing water.

How far
Had we come
And how far
Are we now.
But do you see
The scars
I still have
Just about everywhere?

And right now
You stand
And ask
How easy
It was
For me to move on
It was not
Easy at all.

free

There comes a time when
Deleting people and numbers and letters and songs
Becomes easy.
As if,
They weren’t entire chapters in your life but were
Mere sentences.

(And sometimes, you have to call that upon yourself.)

A Sonnet on the Starry Night.

One, two, three stars so bright
Come lay next to me, and count
Twinkling, sparkling before your sight
Tell me, what do you think of this amount?

Spurting beams of silver so fine
Soft trails they leave while playing around
Tell me how you like their shine
Or does it leave you too spellbound?

Twenty, thirty, this might never end:
We can count and count until morning calls.
Their smiles say they do well understand
There are less chances we might name all.

It might also be true they know secrets of God
And so they dance, His love they applaud.

This is the last one for the Writing 201 challenge as it finally ends today after two weeks. Our form was “sonnet” and theme “pleasure”.

Ghosts of our love.

I make the world’s best coffee.
I know this because you said it.
You said it because you meant it.
You meant it because you loved me.
You loved me why?

I stand here in my house – once what meant “home” – and shiver like a leaf
Because the enormity of this place seems terrifying without you and I feel I can’t do without my roots.

Walls shake as your laughter echoes, the defenses I had made come crumbling down
I can no more understand where to look for you – or not to – as my feet take me running round and round

My ears are ringing now with a voice that isn’t yours, my vision blurs with something that should be tears
My mind is on fire and my heart in a sea, and my room and its clock and its bed and its floor
And your pen and your shirt and your watch and your sheets
And your smiles and your eyes, and your eyes, and your eyes.

Then you come and hold me – out of where?
Whisper something soothing like a prayer;
Running your fingers through my hair, you hold my gaze and say: “darling, please take care”

I listen to you and sit down.
Cross my legs, bend my head, begin to count.
I notice that my breathing calms and the knots in my body do unknot
As your scent enters into me and your soul takes a spot.

Of our home- Dreamsville.

Once upon a time in Time,
A man came panting to our town
His eyes were red and head tousled,
On his face was set a frown.

He said, “I have come from a land afar
To question you of your false fame, sire!
My feet are tired but my heart won’t rest,
Until I get my answers – oh, need is dire.

You are people of a town so great
You live and sell, and play with dreams
It is here that they are born, from here do come
Our hopes and goals and smiles and screams.

But I have been dreaming now a dream for long
It seems to me  like a thread without end.
I toss and turn and shoo it in sleep,
But it goes nowhere at all, my friend.

Tell me why you spun dreams so eternal
Why for us humans you did not care?
Our capacity to hold untold is controlled
We can only bear too much of despair.

O people of Dreamsville! You say dreams breed here
Why can’t you find for me a closure to this nightmare?”

Hearing his plea a woman from our town
Stepped forward, smiled, and began to speak:
“Dreams, my man, are portals to great truths
They surely aren’t much for those who are weak!”

“When we send you a dream, it is for you to complete
Interpret correct or not, but to follow its lead
When you see a dream that seems everlasting
Go ahead and nurture it with struggle’s feed.”

It’s almost 4 a.m here. It took me an hour to write this one but it’s important to me because I thought I could never write a ballad*. It’s not perfect but it’s a try, and it was FUN creating this whole thing. It is in response to our poetry challenge 201: Neighborhood, Ballad, Assonance for which we were supposed to write anything related to a “neighborhood” or sense of it, as a ballad like it was done in the formative years.

* ballads are dramatic, emotionally-charged poems that tell a story, often about bigger-than-life characters and situations, and their rhyme scheme is a-b-c-b.

Sad whispers of the mo(u)rning…

 image5

Move him gently

Anything might rouse him now.

No prayers nor bells

Nor any voice of mourning.

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells,

And bugles calling.

I should die, I think.

His face bears a wrinkled smile of completeness.

From this heart: all evil shed away.

But his sights and sounds; dreams happy as day;

And laughter?

Is he so hard to stir? Was it for this

That he slept at all?

Did he sleep at all for this?

 

(Written in response to Writing Challenge 201: Found Poem. This is a kind of poetry composed of words and letters you’ve collected from elsewhere, and arranged in a way that it gives a different message. Our theme for this was “faces”, which I’ve used in two ways. One is the face of this person in my family that I saw yesterday. He is awake but he is not awake. He is just….there. Second is the face of the greater thing that leaves us all helpless before it. Nature, death, disease. Anything like that.

Our assignment also included the task of adding a chiasmus which is a reversal in lyrics. I invented one in the last line. Apart from that, the words of this poem have been taken from four random classical poems of English literature including Futility, Beautiful Old Age, The Soldier, and Anthem for Doomed Youth.)

Lamerick

Once upon a time, a silver doe

Came out of nowhere into the snow

To the pool it walked

Harry followed, shocked

Limerick ends. Next you’ll never know.

This in response to the the Writing 201 challenge which required us to write a limerick (9-9-5-5-9 syllables, a-a-b-b-a rhyme scheme) on ‘imperfect’ but guess the only thing imperfect is the poem itself, lels. Used enjambment. The theme, in case you can’t recall (or haven’t read), is a chapter from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows where the pretty thing comes to his rescue while at the forest.

The-Silver-Doe

The universe smiles with me.

“Sea waves kiss my feet. I bend to hold wet sand in my hand and close my fingers for a while to feel. It slips away when I open them again but the lines on my palm glitter with a soft silver gleam. I turn back and night shifts and I find myself in another place. There is no sea, no waves, no wind. But the inside of my hand glitters still. I lay back down and find grass beneath me. Soothing and serene. I touch some strands to gather green. It tickles, softly. Your name I write then, on my skin, and smile. The universe smiles with me.”

Written in response to writing challenge 201: “Skin”. (Write a prose poem using internal rhymes; choose whatever meaning of skin speaks most to you.)

Truly Yours.

To you, I want to give flowers–I don’t mind that being cliched–

Roses, wrapped in ribbons. Letters, soaked in perfume. Stars.

Unnecessary though it might be, I want to tell you again and so often

Love, how much I have come to love you that I’ve now begun to live you.

Your thought is my drug, your memory is heaven’s mercy,

Your presence is an air without which my lungs parch up.

Oh the Sun of my universe, the Light of my soul!

Undying is my adoration–like a forever flowing ocean.

Remember this: my gift to you is my heart. I am yours.

Some day you’ll see. That some day, we will be.

Written in response to Writing 201 challenge: write something about a gift, use a simile. Poem form: acrostic. (The first letters of each line together form a special word which is the theme here.) Hi.

Lost in losing.

cry for help: unheard

you were so busy scrolling

mom. she needed you.

needed_raHaiku #14 ~ Written in response to writing challenge 201: write a poem about/against/in homage to the screens in your life using alliteration somewhere in 5-7-5 format. They used the words ‘addictive, comforting, inescapable’ for its glow. I’ll add destructive, distancing, and definitely depressing to it. Image via fotolia.com.

From last course: Bestow, please.

You can’t play with matches, but you can play with hearts.

Nighttime’s longish plain hours.
I stare at the sky but don’t see you. Instead
it is the vastness of blue patterns with glistening silver balls:
on repeat, on repeat, on repeat.
I sit on the grass.

Life for me has been simple,
much like that of stars.
They stand at their place among millions, and shine
bright some days and not-so-bright the rest,
waiting to be wrapped
into the Eternal Blanket at last.
They don’t reach the Moon like I can’t reach You.
I can’t move.

And the desire–only the desire fills me with so much fear I tremble like a sick man
with its fever.
I will embrace a sadder ending, I guess.

I stand.
I walk on the grass and tell you in my heart how I love
the wet, tickling feel of it.
I wish you were here but I wish I would stop wishing that soon.
I need to move on, like we all do.

I never knew where I was heading to until I found myself
stranded and alone.

I have missed your presence on many occasions.

I have known the void–the unfillable void–
and I’ve tried everything in my power to help it.
Only, it just grows.

They tell us not to play with matches.
Why don’t they teach us ways of protecting and surviving instead?
If you can list me horrors of things that could bring harm,
why can’t you freaking save me? Or tell a remedy?

Fire burns, yes. But so do feelings.
Did nobody tell you: you should not incite in others what you have no intention of serving?
That breaking hearts is just as lethal, that being in someone’s tears
just as dangerous as is blissful being in prayers?

Stars disappear every day, seeing life after dark after life
after dark.
You won’t care if I tell you how I do, too.

Trap

Stuck

In this labyrinth you call life;

A series of unsurprising oddities and I,

Unable to find the exit door.

The liquid in this bottle is stinky. My hands tremble so.