Wednesday, June 7, 2017

I am home

I am home


She never left
Not for a day
Not  when she was in those faraway lands
She never left
When the birds returned with myriad downs
And roses and honey and the china silks
She walked away
From the shocking shades of the sunset
Her sun was crimson
And fire, her moon
She walked away
Somewhere
Where the distance of a whisper did not matter
Where the fragrance from the oven would waft in
Never to surprise her
Because she was there they said
You are here
Her eyes would look at a mirage
She would see herself in her lands
Among her abstractions
Beading a string of her moments
Her passions
Her escapes
Her spaces
Now the string in her hands
 And steps ahead
Loosening the memories
That lie embedded in the stones
 Scattering them
Each drop echoes
A story in her heart
Of  familiar lands
one bead on every step
till the last one leaves the threads
All stories merge into the dipping sun
No vestiges no traces
Just an empty cup
On the black table,
a toast pops up
Slightly burnt at the edges

I am home




                                                                                      Ghazal…5.6.17  over a cup of tea

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Sketches in literature

Sketches in literature : Shamim Hanafi writes definitive profiles of writers, evaluating their contribution