Wednesday, 24 July 2019

Wolverine Verses


Woven in the threads of metals
I spew out
Memories in silver 
Few stories in steel 
Ages ago, 
those moments which died
Amidst the cracks of ruins
to iron the wrinkles of time 
far from behind 
are running rampant upon
the windstorms 
Melts away the Sky
Thunderbolts in pieces fall
and slips too from the riverbed
the pages I painted in clay 
While drawing you 
Descends along 
the muse armoured
Generously 
It splinters my pores from the flesh
The fingers bleed
In the direction of your streets 
Where would you hide my love?
These rejuvenated  verses 
have promised to bring you back home .


Paras Ali /2019

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

I have come to You

The spaces which occupy solitary words
Of an unwritten poem
Those spaces I wear
I have set myself free
from the rumble and grumble
of the heavenly thunder
to get sink in your
umber depths
till my last sunset
Lying dashed into pieces
upon your ripples
by-and- by
Fending off  treachery of time
See my Sea I have come to You

For whom you have kept open your door?
The traveler has steered towards the shore
Your part in his story is done
The gone ones never return
Like your forefoot
Begs each second
the tresses of the Palm tree
to be wholly yours
Beyond reasons
Beyond imaginations
this way
slipping off in the pockets
of hopeless hopes
See my Sea!!I have come to you

Paras Ali/2018




In search of the Shore

I have set my sail                                    
 to that landscape                                   
 Which is on other side of mountain waves                                                     
The Stars are the mentor                  
Their twinkle is guiding me hour by hour                                                             
 I am nigh to reach                               
When and where I know neither                                
As my glance dwindles;                              
The more i see the more                      
 The miles elongate,                            
 The sight of the shore fades                                       
On and on                                                                                
I row and row to a distance long.   
Athens has come, nearby is Rome.  
Beloved! How far is my home?                                                                                                        
The search lights are black in the middle                                                                                 
 They are now wary of bidding farewells.                                               
 The empty envelopes in my attic                                                                       \
are eyeing the tides since ages                                                                                                   
Awaits the food Ma has cooked                    
Awaits her eyes which no one has wiped                                                   
Those ruins which lords and ladies have denied                                                            
 I wish to tell them                                             
They are still gay and grand                             
My hands long to brush                             
From them their dust                                                                                                                 
In this enormous infiniteness                                          
The desire is to                                       
Lay beneath the soil of my own                                                       
Beloved! How far is my Home?


Paras Ali/2018


Thursday, 3 May 2018

I cannot Name it


There is something missing 
In those trillion images
Sculpted on the coins and currency notes
Engraved on the letterheads,
On the bills, on the keys and the passports
This is not the one I set out for
Has the heart to buy new abode sold its god?
There is something missing in that baby’s kiss
Innocence-starved,
Filled with friction
Nothing but an electronic smile he floods
His lips and my cheeks
Near and part at once.
Did the womb teach him about bounds and nations?
There’s something missing in my father’s words
Caged in a glassy fence
He embraces the camera
While I cuddle back its lens
I only know him as a combat medic fixed on the tank
His skin and the face in memory lie blurred
Is He only real in the picture?
There is something missing in the sky
Tossing around constellations of drones
Colorless rain is now a parchment torn
Buried miles away from its home
Human lights fly with mighty feathers
Perchance no wings of poesy are left to flutter
Is the banished Sky like the wounded Earth an asylum-seeker?


Paras Ali/2018


Tuesday, 3 April 2018

An Open Letter


Dear Flesh!

 It’s not my first letter to you, I always wrote to you whenever in the late hours of iron night, I saw you calmly sleeping by my side, exhaling whiffs of indifference, in between us nothing but centuries like two characters meet somewhere in the epilogue, and whenever lavender lining of the sky descended down our cottage where only I lived. In both despair and happiness you were the first one I narrated my own version of our story crowded with comforting excuses to rescue your status as a protagonist in my life. I walked rough trying to recreate myself with the substance you needed like the ripples dissolving gently in the colorless eyes of the sea or like a dream which bricks its own house and later demolishes it.
Remember? When the raven with his claws clenched in blood landed on your expensive shirt, mounted over the rope to get dews of the sun, and you so much wanted to kill it for spoiling its grandeur, a gentle voice murmured inside you to be gentle and that was me. Though I convinced you not to be a murderer but I forgot those blood stains on your shirt though washed a thousand times never extinguished rather it chained your skin in beastly selfishness. In moments, I saw your clay melt from an angel to a Human who is governed by the bodily desires. For the reason, to win you, to please you, I turned myself into a Poet, so that my words can caress your restless throbbings and cushion your eyes in a healing Hellenic embrace.

Do you know how poetry treated me? At times it drifted me to the soirĂ©es of saints and sometimes,  it left me unarmed dying at the hands of my so-called friends ‘words’ and other times it asked me to be a messenger to narrate the story of zephyr to the Milky Way gurgling mournful sighs . But I kept on talking to you though my tongue you often cut-off, as you hated my nagging.

You on its reverse had all the reasons to defy my attention. You were part of that world where carnal desires bulb the caves of flesh sellers, where money is worshipped in the temples, where fake identity markers are sculptured, and where rights are gruesomely skinned alive to live long. It never mattered to you when down by the streets of the sea, alone I cried seeing the tale of my heartburn and fleeting beauty unheard. When you had trillion of sentences to shoulder the affected souls, I gasped bare on your door, for your single word, for your only gaze and for your empathetic cuddle.

All the wars I fought were for you to turn you victorious. When I saw you turning on the waterworks whenever his memories walked closed and autumn reminded him of you, that day I tattered my own garments to patch yours and I gladly sacrificed myself to the inferno of annihilation just to give you one more second of a joyous life. I died many times to keep you alive. Still you say, I am on the verge to lose my dignity in your eyes? Still you claim to be owner of that chastity that never belonged to you?

Things would have been different if I were not by your side.     
                          
Dear beloved! We are made to part, I am immortal and you are mortal. This paradox only illumines books of fiction but not reality. I am sure till the time you will open this letter either I will be gone or your eyes would be deprived of celestial light. Like my previous letters this letter too would remain unread but I am sure some day crawling among blurred shadows, unknown faces and strange smiles you would seek for someone you once knew, someone you yourself said good bye.
              
Yours

Soul

Paras Ali/2018

Thursday, 22 March 2018

Sleepless Verses


Tongue-tied
Stand I
In the hope of sailing away
by the swollen waves
to those shores of semi-shut doors
Where I have to wait no more
For the affirming eyes,
For the sacred poise of caressing hands,
For the sourly-sweet voice;
For the world
Where pawn dies to rescue the king
In the game of chess
Which never belonged to him
For those bonds,
for those songs
Which bloomed among thousand scratches of
a disloyal mirror___
a chapter of timeless errors.
May tonight the dust of stars
Flushes out the tomorrow’s dawn
As my arms long to embrace
and lips yearn to pour a kiss
upon my self-loathing verses
Like me
they too have not slept for nights

Paras Ali/ 2018


Monday, 5 March 2018

Cathartic Spring


The fall lays bare in its enclave
Its sighs are muted by the thrashing waves
Spring has set to swirl
For once more
the darkness in frenzied throes
Around the temple of twilight
Once again zephyr rakes up
the hay of gore
And the sun tears up
the clouds of scented flowers
till oceans slurp the drops of musk
Finding that instant
when Change marks the moments
 I too have offered my self
My carcass, my words and my breath
to keep the flame high
to keep your alluring silence alive
 Would then Spring turn to my fall?
Would I be able to gain the Paradise I once lost?

Paras Ali/2018