Thursday 28 September 2017

Moon of an Unknown Country

A stranger Moon of a foreign country 
Amid the hubbub of gale
the leaves quiver ,beats the rain , 
and smashes the wind hither and tither                                                  ,          
I Take my lodgings under the date tree                                    
Strangled by the darkness of an unknown country                                          
 I watch motionless ,the eminence of stars fading away                                       
My allied soul , my childhood love : My Only Moon                                               
 To and fro does sway                                                      
Leaving me alone in this wild night                                       
Joint by joint, it sees me sink from its sight                                                         
As if it never knew me                           
As if it was never mine

Paras Ali/2017



Reality of Dream !!!


Life offers you a road to dream ,so, the art is to stay in the mid-way___ the way which margins ingratitude and rebelliousness. This path makes its map in our imaginations at a very early age . "Go , Keep on moving and be Happy again " , a child's first murmur to his ear by a real story's book wizard , could be a mother or a gran. Then comes a mentor from your playgroup to the last class of Academic career : 'Dream Big , Dream High , no matter how hard you fall ,keep on going ' . Last , comes old age where if you are left dissipated by winds of all life' stages , you are taught , "You are never too old to set a new goal ,keep on trying till your last breath ."                                                      

 We whole life wait for the sun to rise and assume that the buzzing we have heard close by is a nature's divine call to make sure presence of our destination . This anxious wait followed by positive pats make us dream___dream like titans.  Then in a blink of an eye , the straight road doubles and Fate asks you to make choices : to go in the direction of the gold glittered shoes all your life you wished for , or to chose to be a part  of "The Great Caravan" because "The Great Caravan" after all belongs to the most important relations in your life.  The dreamer stops stone-still while fumbling in his pocket of wits he comes out with the thought " My people are more important than my dreams ."  

His dictionary adds up another word : Regret. Only his heart knows the pain of not braving enough to set off for the road , he never dared taken .Years pass by and chances begin to slip from his fingers at a much impeding pace. In this journey he is handed over a gazillion motivational books , enclosing ever inspiring stories and folk lore about heroes who survived slumbering giants , crawled over banks of thorns and ultimately successfully crossed seas of hardships. But what for ? 

In reality, A Dreamer if rushes forward to his goal is not a dreamer but a rebel to many because Sacrifice , Patience and Gratitude are the contents of happy life , the same people who kept you imagining all your life good fortune of Goldilocks, flying carpet , a Miraculous Genie and ideal conclusion of Cinderella step back and would ask you to quit your path and sacrifice for a noble cause . Yes almost all of us to our capacity sacrifice , we scrunch our ego , we envelope our dismay of living with the people we never liked and we pretend to be okay among the camaraderie of all those trials we never expected . 

Life moves on with an acceptance that every living has to pay a wage. For one cult you are tagged as coward for not chasing your dreams and for the other school of thought no compromise of yours goes appreciated as for them you did nothing exceptional. For few wise lads, " Jo na mil Saka use Bohol Ja  " 

The world with its duality offers you ears with acute indifference. In this long run the agony of losing your dreams is less hurting but it tears the heart apart to know at some stage of your life that the most trusted people : Mother , Gran, Your Favourite Author and your inspirational mentor lied to you for dreaming high. They never told you in life dreams holds a secondary significance because  saving relation is another name of  a " Sublime Goal " itself. 

Life not exactly plays a trick upon the dreamers but it works on give and take principle to balance the sundry faces of the world. If it gives you a bed of thistledown , then it may ask from you a body of steel. If it gives you night , it asks from you in return muscles of a labour. If in case it does not compensate you back , remember to look down people below your status and most importantly learn dangling your feet in brooks of all kinds.  
                                     
What about the mid-way path of dreams I started my article with ? Let's not talk about it , let's behold to the idea that some day when Lord would ask us to empty our pockets on His Table  we would present Him the Baggage of unsaid words behind our never narrated story and Slayed blood of our dreams for winning His Creations. 
                                                      
 Collecting the tears shed by humans                                                        
 The listless Sea perhaps lost its atlas...!!

Tuesday 26 September 2017

Children of my Town

Soaked in silence, drenched in sunset   
the paper boats of my town lay slayed
Shiver no grass of the barren parks
With the marching thud of twittering feet.
The breeze has forgotten counts of hide and seek
and coral puddles have dried out of thirst
to be splashed by angelic heels  
Where went those songs, those childhood rhymes 
of dauntless poets who ruled all seasons of time? 
No pillow now hides a milky tooth 
Would now no fairy , to the adults , come to greet? 
Giggles and laughters are now a story of tales 
The rainbow of innocence has gone so far leaving behind no trail 
How fortunate we were once born as kids !!!  
In the same town of mine  
now mothers give birth   
to only sane adults

Paras Ali/2017




Votive Threads

Nestle down ,one by one.                   
blue hyacinths and sweet violets                                         
Upon the Red Sea's bank            
Whizzing , their petals boom                                            
As the chirping breeze nearby blow                                     
To some they are the flags of the flower's league                                                 
To me they are the votive threads                                                          
Tied by the soil on the wavering stalks ,                                       
For making polite requests to the lord

Paras Ali/ 2017



A Pleasant lie to comfort my aching heart

Hands in hands , feet drenched in carpets of sand 
                                          
He might be picking up the best of words for his verse 
                            
From her radiant eyes; his ever new darling. 
                                                             
A shooting star meanwhile ,will  
                 
 i hope let loose its curls,  
                                      
a spray of dusk-perfumed-clouds would descend down
                                                            
And then first downpour of Monsoon 
                                          
Would sing my saga to him 
            
which he has long  forgotten   
                                   
and dismissed as another chapter of the past 
                              .                                  
Bewildered and smouldered he would see my visage
                                                    
Rippling In every chord of the tidal harp   
                                                                                
Waves would drift him to his memories  
                   
Perhaps he too would burn with a longing of me  
                                                 
Ah what a pleasant lie to comfort my aching heart......!!!

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