'If I found the one I long to see, I would not cry for peace
of mind
Among the hours of paradise, if one like you I’d find.
After destroying me do not bury me in the house in which you
dwell,
Why should someone looking for my grave find your house as
well?
Do not put to shame the wine server’s oath by which you’re
bound,
Know that every evening I drink from wherever it is found.
What Majnoon did I could do for you to see
If of pain and turmoil within me I could be set free. '
-Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
In the wisps of ashen memories,
I can clearly identify life, revolving around serenading
words, of wisdom and care
In those moments I re-live the glory of yesterday, one where
the abyss was a voice, charming as an aurora, and warm as the winter Sun
Peripheral emotions that had smitten wholly, bound only by foresight
at the horizon
Horizon. Limiting in its wake, often does define, that what
makes hay eventually settles, sublime!
Is that what memories seize to become when the present
aches, the voice of helpless mewling diligently disturbing clarity, of mind, (of
heart -with the former’s demise)
In the times of story-telling, I have heard plenty,
In the wake of surreal musings,
I have clearly conjured one of my own, in the woods, on a
cliff- ‘neath the daunting Sky
And in that moment I have submerged myself in every beat of
your heart, seeping slowly with each breath, amalgamating the air with
fragrance of the sea
Once resentful, I shall now salvage, what this world
conspires against
In my freedom, all you will have is me.
A demi-urge once, reeks in the glory of coming a full circle,
one in which I have done the rounds and called your name
I shall willingly give without despair, what I have found
Freedom, to be me
