I can not Love you

Holding on to my memories?
The one who is an aloft lilly in the cactuses valley,
The one standing on fork ended roads of life
Where breath is not even in good terms with her
Whose Helen is feeding on her own snippets
How Long would you collect my broken feathers?
Or thrive to resolve my knotty threads of pallid Identity?
I am Half truth or Half haunting Fantasy
A residue of burnt hopes
Where only insects of fear breed
My Troy you can not own
It's a battle of myself with my own innards
Forget me forever
I can not Love thee
Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali/2015

My Grammarly Emotions

When tickled pink , an adjective I am 

When cyclone writes on my face it's mighty objection

They say: I coil, swirl , polarize

Like a restless verb often does in the company of adverbs

Later in moments if I manage to wear my invisible crown

 I am fixed in a case of a noun; a hypocritical clown

My dark circles are their favourite metaphors

They extract similes from my lonesome Life's chapters

My skin's hues are in their custody too

I act , I read

I rustle, I chatter

I smile loud, or I wink

I often on my miseries sing

And then above all I am Noticed

Like a closed-ended story I am read

Where do I hide my shattered dreams?

Their magnetic pull drag unwanted atoms in heaps

I doubt no bone of my own

Belongs to me Alone

Copyrights Reserved to Paras Ali/2015

A tiny scented-candle murmured:
"O lord make my flame few miles high
So that i can reach the sky
I wish to burn in fractions of seconds
The mole in the middle of the moon"

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The Editor brought the poem to theatre

A tallow-stick,
Black Pencil,
Russet shadow,
Bald meadow,
Fuzz
buzz
tick-tock
tick-tock
And ruse the rustle
Moth in wax shroud
Panther, puma
Into Blood bouts
Moon-burnt-beam;
Together
With Aliens, Birds
And hunched smoky spectators:
Clip-ed,
Edit-ed,
Trim-ed and Punctuate-ed,
The ab-surd Object d'art
To tantalize,
Fawn and Flaunt
Arcane whispers of my Heart
Ah.... In the Most Original World
Masks are to be worn by my Words...
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Who am I?

I am a thousand bits of paper on a leaf
Waxed together by affable honey bees.
One corner of it is tucked
To the right claw of dead vulture's carcass
Hanging on the tree, shouldering a deserted nest.
While my other half is hooked
To an urn preserving ashes of godlike humans.
Here beats no wind chimes
Nor reigns the kingship of time
No compass lives to set the sails of my shards
Here Movement has breathed long ago it's last
Even then i am on the verge to fall
I know i will go down and my bits will drown
Because i can not escape my own gravity
(Paras Ali, 2015)

I do not write for you

Like a honey bee i have taken a thousand flights
Around the city of primroses, pearl blossoms and Jasmines
From the swishing bullets and booming guns
To the stenched fungi infected fields of slum
I have squeezed and compressed a brilliant nectar of words
My whirring of broken wings have heaved a sigh
To the dead silent haunting nightmares
Yes i am an ordinary gray-eyed wingless bird
Exiled long ago from the sky of Hawks , falcons and Eagles
Dare not flutter your huge feathers around me
Your perfection can not beset me
Don't even try to buy my words
Think a million times before you read me
Err not even in your day dreams
Not even my tiny suffix belongs to you
Nor i write for you
Neither i sing for you


Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali/2015

"And then the December Wept"

Listening the loud commotion,
The Serene December clomped towards my castle
To borrow some bits of hope for the mourning horizon
It saw with in my grotto black blotched moon
Abandoned from the light-laden rain of moonsoon
Few forlorn petals of a bud
Before turning flower were daggered to death
Nameless odours of my youth
Mingled in the poisonous brook, gone crude
And my plagued embryo of wan words
Burnt to Ashes before their formal birth
After witnessing my this wealth,
Poor December cuddled me tight
It could not resist ,it failed to forgive
Gathering me in it's arms,
Atlast like an imaptient Child
It melted and cried

Copy rights reserved to Paras Ali/2015

(My dear friend Amna Ali motivated me to write something on Stockholm syndrome and here goes my meagre attempt to depict a cordial relationship between captor and Hostage)

"Get her a Medic , else she would die soon", shrieked my father but I was constantly pretending to be okay despite of the fact that it's clapper claws had still its gripping tooth marks on my cerebral bone. The pain at the right corner of my head was chomping my nerves to the utmost level of numbness and it's fangs were bricking it's potent existence with each passing moment.

Though the razor-shaped fangs had drained from my eyes each diminutive speck of my blood yet I mustered up my courage to look across it's demeanour. From my pusillanimous finger and timid pores I swiped the misty clumps on the mirror opposite to it and it's deportment aflamed my eyes

I chanced upon see it's aureate eyes first and then my iris slipped to his mighty built that was nonetheless a casket of gold and red. My pain started to fade no sooner I glared across it's stormingly ferocious jaws crunching December's soggy leaves. The more it was plucking out my hair, the more I was gaining moments to notice it's vexed and maddened looks. It's Machiavellian tricks shackled my attention and sent me to a quagmire where my captor appeared handsome more than the man of my dreams. It has everything all my life I looked for ; An unsettled spirit of a soldier, a diligent truth lover and an unmasked apathetic man who has murdered from his own hands the faulty promises of love. It was not dressed in virescent hues like Spring rather it was attired in respite free December having a ravaging thirst to spread vandalism around the alleys of the world. Yes I found so much truth in him and to be honest I being his hostage fell in love with him.

Till, today during cold December nights in the disguise of migraine it comes to jolt each marrow of my brain and like the willows, brownish bare trees and unkempt frost I learn the definition of devilish truth not hidden in things nor in transient colours.

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'Nature be a Witness'

(In the memory of ten year old Fahad APS Peshawer)

Who unlid your Ben ten's water Bottle?
From tip to toe its Straw is Burnt
WHO turned your lunch box a Chalice or a Grail of Blood?
Nature be a witness my Child died of Hunger and thirst
How From your Body your soul  robbed off?
I wish to the Mother Your Picture Could Talk

You longed so much to see
Your pet peafowls,pheasants and parakeets
Adorning with their Colours every limb of tree
Now Flutter their duplets and triplets in violet and puce
Had Hour glass not stopped you to blue
You Could  have seen too dreams come true

Why should i pick your blood deluged shoes?
When you died of red's dearth in your tissues?
Why should i take pity to the bits of paper fallen to the Floor?
When they doubled on you the blazing flames to four?
When fire whittled off my flower's throat
Nature be a Witness The seven seas even closed their doors

copy rights reserved to Paras Ali/ 2015

Art

Moon-arms, a numb frozen smile

Plastered pear flesh glued to beguile

Trim-chiselled nose Flask -filled brook eyes

In Electrifying enormous silence

Dead Desert's Dune on parched lavender lips

And Puffed parasol of Emerald Silk for the naked ribs

With all blandishments, the sculpture, Incised in glamorous clay

Well equipped to battle the ageing Play

Tis Touting Infinity to the sublimity of Art

Poor Statue knows not  Stygian valves of Human Heart

Can Mona Lisa ever feel the anguish of snow on Head?

How do Keats' well accounted Urn can sense

The remorseful hours , kicks and pricks when ashes end end burn

How the high-mettled Holy Grail can narrate the Blood's tale?  

Can foreign Stone explain the pelvic outbursts?

From a thousand- yeared-womb instead of bud ; when Volcano erupts?

Dear well versed, artistic sorcerers to turn your Art Eternal

Humans are sacrificed on Altars to be ultimate Mortals

(Copy rights reserved to Paras Ali 2015.

I will Remember you no more

He knew I  was a meagre  frosty blue flame

To test my patience he went up the sky

His cloud yawned and drizzled on me showers of thunder

He muddled in my blood

He filled my every heart's sac

I rose again 

I flickered back

 

Today, i have stabbed my own heart

 I have Spilled open my each vein

Beneath, besides, behind i can see

I am drenched, I am deluged and thoroughly wet

The trails of myself are now red

No matter even if i don't survive

I hav promised to myself

I will let you go

I will let you free

I will remember you no more

Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali

Doppelgänger

With the advent of winter,
I shall blanket my noxious soul,
In fur-lined coats, ski boats and magenta mufflers
Yes my this tightly cloaked camouflage will shield me against meadows of mist
While my baker-miller pink nose, my blue-gray hands and snow frozen lips
Will help me bury deep my venomous devil
But if ever the yellow stampeding dews blew away the frothy cotton of back clouds
I am scared, I am afraid
The fair-eyed sun would glare through my flesh
It would align me straight in the monolithic front of mighty monsters
And would send me to long hours of slumber

Copy rights Reserved to Paras Ali/2015

Oh Dying Sallow Eagle 

Other than you...
Who else knows better?
The Dawn's and Dusk's tinge of Colour,
The lioness Sun,
The Maiden's Moon,
The Balmy Breeze,
And the Sky shouldering her Vanities,
From River's Billow to Willow trees

Sky longs to see you wheeling down
Circling and swerving round and round
She yearns to get numb
In Thy Featherish Flutter
Against the temple of Air...

Wake up Sallow Eagle!
Cloud's Steeps and slopes are still to be curled
On Bride-to-be-Sky knit some Pearls
Preen to Perch High
Soar with roar...
Fly somewhere Far in the Ringletted Sky
Wake up Sallow Eagle!
Take for the Duchess Sky an enormous flight

Copyrights Reserved to Paras Ali

Rustling zephyr mutes moaning murmurs of crinkling crisp leaves
Like sobs of dreamers are zipped to see their castles swirled beneath big wheels
(Paras Ali)

Crime

Let us we

You and Me...

Commit a Crime

In the sinless world

If  not in time

Then in space utterly divine

Disfigure your Angelic soul

on the heightened heaven's pole

Scream my name

then i will do the same

Standing on the farthest mount of East

This way

Someday

Our Echoes will meet

The distance of life and Death will breach....

Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali, 2015