The Mundane Artist

I think of you as I stand here; The flow of a river has never been this serene. I remember looking at Beas river when I visited Manali. I looked from the balcony of my hotel window, a good distance away and yet, The ferocity of the river frightened me. Now I stand at the edge of the river And I have never been at peace as I am now. Is this some magic that you have cast through your words? Or is it my bias that is dictating my feelings? We will let it be. I hold it in my hand; The thing that is your solace. I wish you were here today. It is real, this day. The Jhelum looks “so clean, so ultramarine”. The day I came to know you, I promised you that I will take you home, Didn’t I? I promised you I will not let Kashmir be abandoned in the mailbox, And here we are, I fulfilled my promise. Now here we are, This is YOUR home! This is where you belong. I hold your solace, the postcard from Kashmir. I know your soul is buried dee...

"Ghazal The only language of loss left in the world is Arabic- These words were said to me in a language not Arabic. Ancestors, you've left me a plot in the family graveyard- Why must I look, in your eyes, for prayers in Arabic? Majnoon, his clothes ripped, still weeps for Laila. O, this is the madness of the desert, his crazy Arabic. Who listens to Ishmael? Even now he cries out: Abraham, throw away your knives, recite a psalm in Arabic. From exile Mahmoud Darwish writes to the world: You'll all pass between the fleeting words of Arabic. The sky is stunned, it's become a ceiling of stone. I tell you it must weep. So kneel, pray for rain in Arabic. At an exhibition of miniatures, such delicate calligraphy: Kashmiri paisleys tied into the golden hair of Arabic! The Koran prophesied a fire of men and stones. Well, it's all now come true, as it was said in the Arabic. When Lorca died, they left the balconies open and saw: his qasidas  braide...