Drive Home

'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