My Words He Never Read

He was looking for the keys
In his knotty imaginations
To earn me freedom
To emancipate me from the iron barricade
As i was encumbered,
As i was trammelled
Behind the bars of my never written story
He wanted to turn my eyes kaleidoscopes
By wiping the sweaty despair
Slipping past my thoughts;
Forming a pool against my unsettled paddling heart
He collected Falcon's feathers
To help me dart from branch to branch
He begged to the Spring
To hue again my depleted plummet
But Fall turned to his wishes
His desires to see me flying ruined
As he never knew
All the keys of my rusted lock
Were in his Eyes
For i was caged in the words
Which he never read

Paras Ali/2016

An Unlettered Soul
Muffled Alphabets muttering from beneath
The heavily layered cacophony
Of animals, insects and birds sounds
Sneakily and Silently,
Vibrating in my solitude
To be a poesy
Or a tune of a mesmerizing flute
Thriving impatiently to write a song of their own
On the unlettered soul of mine
Which was born deaf and blind

Paras Ali/2016

Aren't I and thee both Alike?

I thought I had lost your image
While residing in the grey thickets
Of eclipsed snow-bitten numb orchards

I thought I had lost  you
Among those dried woodlands of my misty self
Whose ghosts guise in the shadow of copper elves

I thought I had left you behind far away
When I was attempting to untie the knoose of falsehood and reality around my eyes
But I was much wrong

As I sat to gaze upon you
After a journey of a million miles
Like skinless fingers feel the touch of dew-drops
Like a wingless-bird smells the scent of a drowsy dawn
Like a thorn flushes while accompanying a crocus
Like a worm inhales the first droplet of clouds
And like a sunflower's bride bares it's bosom to the sun

I found you
I recognized you...

After years of segregation aren't I and thee both alike?
As you are still a wandering wave exasperatedly waiting to touch the soil
And I the drenched paper boat
On the fathomless stormy sea learning to float

Paras Ali/ 2016
Photography by Joana Kruze.

You are safe in my blood

I am exiled from the Earth
I am banished from the seven skies
Laid dejected....
By the sputtering , coughing wind.
Grumbled by the thunder,
I am split asunder.
My wet words have leapt off
Of my rain soaked pages...
No landholder i am...
Accused ,
Punished,
Fallen I am from my mild meadow.
The butterfly sun has teared my shadow
The pangs churn my wings
No nightingale inside me sings...

My Love.....
Take my Word...
I won't scream
Reds are swallowing my greens
Pangs and cramps
Mowing me down
Disfigured and disrobed
I am ostracised in my own town
Still I won't scream
Still I won't squeal

I am afraid the echo of yours
Would come out of my whispers
You are safe in my blood
Swaddled and encased by my veins in blue
Each day my thousand dreams worship you...

Copyrights Reserved to Paras Ali/2016

 

Painting Credits : Dilawer Omar

A Muse Murderer

My incertitude insecurities and precarious fears
Of an unfixed feminine soul
got alarmed when a spine-chilling  shadow slithered across my forehead
I felt pomegranate seeds were curling around me opuline beads
Before i could name it Elathan, Apophis or any other demon
Dressed in the demonour of a hellish duke
I guillotined it's head, hackened it's breath from my battle-axe
I slaughtered the shadow's eyes from the worst tear gas
of my scared being I had kept dormant for years
The blood shower of this unknown existence
Reached atop a silver howling moon
The universe all together mourned and thundered
The silver streaks set the reality unleashed
It was no man, no beast, no demon
I was mislead by my own faulty illusions
Alas Alas Alas another Catastrophe another Murder
I killed The Muse , I slaughtered the daughter of Zues
I martyred some one of my own Kind

Copyrights Reserved to Paras Ali/2016

The World as a Void of Nothingness

Sanity is on the fag end
Logic is on the posterior hindmost shaft
Of the mountain where the victorious hero stands.
A black nimbus forms an aureole
O'er the coronet of this Sphinx
What he is writing?
Frozen patterns other than vowels and consonants
His Digits between zerO and One
Layers and layers of Invisible blacks and whites
His ink floats in equilibrated stillness
Of Vaccum at it's apex
No imbroglio, No catastrophe , no Armageddon
If not hell then it could be a heaven?
Or is it equator of elliptical crust where snow sprouts fire?
This is the pinnacle of human understanding
Godlike maturity,
Not lunacy, not ecstasy
But a silent Silence of topmost growth
Has begun.
Do not beckon to him
As he can not turn back
He can not move forward either
The Hero has now stepped
To the world as a void of Nothingness

Copyrights Reserved to Paras Ali/2016

Alone at the Sea

I was a somnolent fish,
Thriving to breathe with in the stabbing brine water
Of a half empty aquarium
Where unscathed was the regime of spinous fins
I was swirling, wheeling and melting
Tapping mercilessly against the crystal glass walls of my abode
Then You appeared like a saviour on my roads
You brushed my unbraided hair
You straightned my tongue
And techniques to deceive fish mongers from you i learnt
I never lied I was a mermaid
I showed you twisted marks of arcane alphabets on my ribs
You knew well my nose was lifelessly bulbous
I never lied, yes my tail had hollow bumps
Today, in the company of Octopuses, sharks and Whales
I see you nowhere, from me you avert your gaze
I see you nowhere though again and again I turn back to the shore
You pushed me far to the vast, endless sea
Keeping yourself entangled in the orbit
of still inexplicable sorrow of your own
Where all lies together mock
And my single bare truth all over mourns

Copy rights reserved to Paras Ali/2016

Pacific Blue in the Azure Universe

He wanted to put in silence the clanking diamonds of snow colliding with each other. At the moment his thoughts were wondering to clamp shut the stampeding tornado and those fog-shored tangerine leaves beneath his feet. His fingers in no seconds briskly struck the vibration mode of his cell on and not to a miss a single moment he buried all his gadgets in the bag; to catch a single murmur of that black-soot eyed girl murmuring in hush tones some words to her friends. His heart was thumping behind his snow-bitten ribcage and his eyes thrashed a little while he observed her as she settled her Bulgarian rose muffler around her chiselled neck and her sly lowering of gaze when burnt orange high beam of a car's light flashed across her almond hue hair. He found in his droop shoulders a sudden chill when her eyes welled up with tears which one usually has after a hard laughter. Earlier he has never seen faces well lit with contentment but never the less she was a miracle on the toxic planet. She was different, a princess far away from the jaded pollution of the world where men shout, yelp on each other and ramble around aimlessly .

 He neared her to smell her aura redolent of sweet lavender but in seconds when she felt the shadow of countenance of his unshaven beard, unkempt pale red eyes and unwashed face, she disappeared like rain drops vanish on the mounds of quagmire. She was indeed a character of a fairy-tale which gave him the message that He still was an another undesirable pacific blue in the azure Universe.

Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali/2016.

Starving Soul

That pasturage of penury,
Where scant is the grass of life,
Inadequate for every soul to graze,
That passes by this precinct,
Of insatiable souls,
Is my eternal abode,
The more I feed on this grass,
 Herculean grows my craving,
I never get enough of ‘’life’’,
To surfeit my perpetual yearning,
My hollow incarnate is starving to death,
For I am tired of being a parsimonious cannibal,
 Or an Ideological philanthropist,
 Or a benevolent butcher who feeds himself to eat his own carcass,
 I lick, I spit and lick back again,
 Apparently lifeless cells are turning into syllogistic brains;
 Swathed in blood of Pharaoh,
 or a fallen angel gluttonous of life…
 Let my silence sing amongst death valleys of million meters high,
 Let this hoggish wish of breath no more survives…

The poem is a joint work of my dear friend Iqra Hassan and Paras Ali/2016.

Lost Childhood

Crumbled bracelet

Pulverized bangles

Of Pink, Purple and sapphire

Few dismembered crystals of the studs

Cracked creamy glass vase

Some splintered hair bands

Churned dotted butterfly pins

And a dim picture of a two eared

bleating woolly baby lamb

I collected these antique pieces of mine...

Alas I could not locate my bygone childhood

Perhaps I have gone to the graveyard of wilderness

Where mature Humans make their nest

At this no-return-zone ,

My small brain is still ingrown

To understand the changes an adult meets

Copy Rights Reserved to Paras Ali/2016

A Tribute to women of Pakistan  who are beaten every second day from their husbands, brothers and sons and there character is always on the verge of assassination. Their dreams are forcefully crippled by cutting their wings because a woman has no right to fly high.

I Dream of a Day

Among all those false hopes
I out and out love this one ,
Some day her preposterous poor persona
Would add incandescence to her meek shadow
That day her gold tinted flaxen hair
Would burnish her own head instead of his fist
That day She would carry no nettle rash
From his worst claws, from his deadly kicks.
That day all her bruises would dry
All her bashful tags would fade
I dream of a mirage
Where she-roes would see their names on the altar stone
When no splendiferous she warrior would die anonymous
A night when no autumn would collect
the crispy crunch drops from a sold Barbie's eye lids
A languor siesta, when he would forget to hoodwink
Her diamond coated gold admiration for him
That day she would not die for her moneyed beauty
That evening she would earn her latent Identity
I whim to see respect for her character turning his feudal Lord's dearest duty
That day a son would place her mother's name as his surname
And  all her nerve-wrecking endeavours to rear a mighty man would be paid
She would be eared
Her dreams that night would be taken into account
That day he would realize
She has been buffeted, harassed, piqued and pained by him
Above all he would understand she is a mere mortal statue of clay
That day in ostentatious show cases she would not be placed
Among all my false hopes..
Among all my false hopes...

Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali/2016

Hibernating Thoughts

Come to Calendar in little latish Dear March
Let my lustrous thoughts hibernate more
In the inscrutable, wintry brain of mine
and inside the esoteric womb of this heart
Let it be a foetus of paly eyes
Which out of insecurity do not measure heights
How do I tell thee March?
My thoughts are cherubic children
Who cuddle serpents after being deeply bitten
My white collared syllables can not armour them
Against lascivious pomposity of this universe
My thoughts like to fly high among galaxies and novas
I can not tell these toddler cells
A poison has inflicted upon their feathers from my contagious cancer
Before Spring sets on sale
the posh-ticket toys which I can not get them
Let my thoughts sleep
In long noontides of January
Come To Calendar in a little latish dear March....

Copy rights reserved to Paras Ali/2016