author - "Rafiq Sandeelvi"
Strange Are The Cadres Of Being Suddenly, a visage With a hushed leap Rushed past the mirror Black and yellow stripes Like waves strung together Suddenly, the dressing table trembled The clock’s golden reflection shuddered The body – wrapped in fever – thawed out In the microcosms of blood In the self and attributes Are uncanny secrets In the sieves of faiths and doubts Are a thousand cracks Strange are the cadres of being Just now, I was wide awake Groaning in deep pain Then, how did I drift
When The Day Dawned The day was yet to dawn. From the warmth of my cosy bed, as I stepped out of the house, the entire town slept; a gigantic cocoon, in its depth, the silkiness of existence, folded in the mystique of darkness, in the aura of a wasteland from ancient times, as if the roads, fields, houses and trees cast by a magic spell; time, to its core drunk with antiquity, environs perpetuating colour. In the timelessness of eternity, in the mute fog, people in their bed-chambers crouched
It’s a camel ride, and I In a desolate street Of a ravaged city Holding the worn-out leather reins Drive towards that home On whose threshold A sorrowful woman is tethered down With a cord Of my promise A sturdy cord, weaved from heart-strings Bare-headed, for many centuries Teary eyes Eyes with the glint of an ancient star Anxious to imbibe the smell of my ashen robe And to hear the distressed grunts Of my brown camel. The same soggy corner of the chamber Where one night When wooden arrows
The Red Blanket Pale, consumptive face parched lips sunken cheeks withered ribs lifeless knees sweaty joints the chest - like a bellow gripped in stridor sagging, eternally half-closed eyes Dense, phlegmatic breaths a whirlwind rising from the spine spiraling in the head blending with the blues a chronic pain in the ancient tuberculosis blood writhing in the veins the body, wasting away. What do I do? this thick, grubby, red blanket has enveloped me from head to toe I want to kick it away I
Strange Are The Cadres Of Being Suddenly, a visage With a hushed leap Rushed past the mirror Black and yellow stripes Like waves strung together Suddenly, the dressing table trembled The clock’s golden reflection shuddered The body – wrapped in fever – thawed out In the microcosms of blood In the self and attributes Are uncanny secrets In the sieves of faiths and doubts Are a thousand cracks Strange are the cadres of being Just now, I was wide awake Groaning in deep pain Then, how did I drift
When The Day Dawned The day was yet to dawn. From the warmth of my cosy bed, as I stepped out of the house, the entire town slept; a gigantic cocoon, in its depth, the silkiness of existence, folded in the mystique of darkness, in the aura of a wasteland from ancient times, as if the roads, fields, houses and trees cast by a magic spell; time, to its core drunk with antiquity, environs perpetuating colour. In the timelessness of eternity, in the mute fog, people in their bed-chambers crouched
It’s a camel ride, and I In a desolate street Of a ravaged city Holding the worn-out leather reins Drive towards that home On whose threshold A sorrowful woman is tethered down With a cord Of my promise A sturdy cord, weaved from heart-strings Bare-headed, for many centuries Teary eyes Eyes with the glint of an ancient star Anxious to imbibe the smell of my ashen robe And to hear the distressed grunts Of my brown camel. The same soggy corner of the chamber Where one night When wooden arrows
The Red Blanket Pale, consumptive face parched lips sunken cheeks withered ribs lifeless knees sweaty joints the chest - like a bellow gripped in stridor sagging, eternally half-closed eyes Dense, phlegmatic breaths a whirlwind rising from the spine spiraling in the head blending with the blues a chronic pain in the ancient tuberculosis blood writhing in the veins the body, wasting away. What do I do? this thick, grubby, red blanket has enveloped me from head to toe I want to kick it away I