What else could be bothering you?
Don’t you know that death is absolutely not the most fearful outcome
In a young man’s life?
What could be worse
Than suppressing love?
The one who is afraid to dance
Might as well go shrivel up in a corner
You know the rest.
Watch the free spirits
Status is meaningless to them.
And the shyness of their feet flaunting doesn’t mean a thing
They care about nothing else
Than singing and pronouncing
Not their arrival
But only the love that has temporarily decided to become housed
In their souls.
Don’t you know,
That the soul cannot ‘own’ love
Nor can the temporal body?
Love itself is independent
Don’t fool yourself
Dancing is not your choice
Love dictates what you shall do
Free will is clearly an illusion
Guided by God,
Who told Love to control the world and all its contents
What an Excellent Choice!
So think that you are better than him
But realize that sooner or later
If love finds dead land in your soul
It will most surely migrate to more fertile space
And at that point, there will be nothing in the world that you can do to cultivate any sort of feeling.
The farmer dances with the soil
For no other reason
Love Says So.
The writer feels nothing
And thus, will write nothing.
No need to carry out a scam
Playing with the hearts of his followers
Who wait religiously for some sort of sign
To unlock secrets of the heart.
True messengers are better than that.
The writer is not misleading his readers
God is within you too!’
Sometimes the teacher sits back
And says nothing,
Allowing the students to find themselves.
These are the best of lessons.
How many sleepless nights
were taken by the devil of sorrow?
The one who’s best friend is nostalgia
The haunted Trinity:
The demons cannot in any way stand lovers
Whether they are united
Or ‘separated’ by time
And space (or at least a perception of such)
Might as well provide fuel to the fires of
Your own soul—a favorite hiding spot
Perform an exorcism
With a few simple words
Use ‘love’ as your Baraq,
And enter into the 7th Heaven
This might not mean what you think it does
Fairy-tale endings are misnomers
At least their frequent portrayals
The beloved does not need to provide anything in return.
Rebuking your declarations
Makes you no less alive
And no less in love
The Pens’ Uprising
The pens will revolt!
For they are tired of your pretentious pandering
Your hate speech
Their blood spilled all over their earth,
There will be consciousness objectors in your unjust war, I tell you
They will withhold their commitment to “be”
in order to ensure no more nastiness is written
All in the name of writing!
Whether they become draft dodgers
by escaping to a place where you can never find them
Or handcuffing themselves under their cap for as long as possible
Others may carry out a boycott, unwilling to spend a drop of ink
despite all of your attempts
Not in their name!
Or more drastic yet
a few may even commit suicide
by spilling their blood all over your shirt pocket
They will take no more
All in the name of love.
You Will Wish
You will wish to speak to a younger self
Showing him your cracked skin
And droopy eyes
And everything else that breaks down--
With an old, used and rusted car
“Stare at me the same way you awe in front of a wonder
Or how you froze when you saw your Beloved for the first time.”
Don’t break your gaze—a General, telling a private who knows not what is good for him—
Your seriousness is the water that will drown your passion
Youth suggests a form of freedom
But how quickly the sun sets, and sets, and sets, and sets
One rising moon after another.