The Indifferent Sky

With splendour sky etches a copper orange on the elm trees
No sooner leaving a blanched almond trail over galaxy
The exquisite diamond of hers flickers in its ash grey rim
Hark hark hark its periwinkle blue bracelet clatters jauntily
Even while snipping evening,  Sky squeezes last drops of  alloy crimson
In the valley of ghosts still the fuchsia sky is juvenile and scintillating
Unyielding, adamant and ruthless she my mother never mirrors my melancholy
The radiant sky perhaps like the people of earth is a narcissist
She only lives to be noticed

@ Paras Ali/ 2015

Potrait

I never want any of your silvers glancing twilight
It envies me when amber sun-beams asserts on your skin its right
You do not know, orbed-moon plug pearls
To brighten its puce sky, earthly jewels are its earls
Rain Dropping low your lashes is your first love
I can not stand thunder-shower cuddling your curves
I die hard each day when indigo sleazy smog
Blurs all the distance and stand between us like a rock
I want nobody near you
I pray nobody touch you
Not even meadows, grove, billows and willows
I have caged rosy orchards, i have locked each door

I have heard pages turn yellow, they do de-age
I have seen blue,yellow, purple ink shortly gets fade
If i wrote you
Books would captive you
Fingers of readers would touch you
I want none.
I want you to be virgin
My Love! I have squeezed all my heart's hues
From my blood i have brushed
Yours and Mine Portrait....
Frozen in time and space
Copy rights reserved to Paras Ali 2015

Dying dreams inside the Pearls

Nor the Pearl's fear ever wrenched the  vase's heart neither any of them wished to trick their better half. The slightly puce shaded pearls and the crystal vase together had measured the delight of flickers of light slithering over them and then swirling around their hollow hours of wilderness. The life inside the vase has surpassed the life outside. How often the twigs tapped on the window panes, birds sung to their young ones lullabies and wind rattled against the frangible pearls , the vase sat there with its eyes clamped shut. At times from the lower fissure of the blinds wan moonlight from the starless sky, crawled to the room and cuddled straight the numb creature of glass but no sound , no tinge helped them to stutter to life. The roots of autumn have shackled the glass balls and the vase and the agony of dying dreams have made them indifferent towards pastel blue, opaque onyx, turquoise and olive greens of spring.

I wonder these pearls were my ancestors enveloped by the subtle sheen of crystal who once lived in the sand castles.They had cherry lips, coral pink cheeks and black brows. These  humans were like big massive rocks crashed by the giant waves of the sea. Their bodies would have slackened each time they caught breath to observe the splendour of the oysters lying close to them. Indeed they were like empty toys from inside but from outside they transformed themselves into burnished pearls.

I  am also residing inside the emporium of grandeur and lustre and  some day I'll turn a pearl too and later nor the world will make any difference to me nor the flames of my dying dream will make my presence felt to the multi-canvassed world.

I die a slow Death

I begin my day with crescent-sun which wave a wand
On my Life's fatigued crashing meteor
The tiny pocket of air  to my ocean dark deep eyes give currents
I hiss, I murmur,I stand , I walk ,I run
I can see the cluster of arms around me
Bopping up and down over my side walks and alleys
The noon sun pulls back noose from my neck
Layer by layer the day's dews cut my unkempt haze
 I am living, yes I breathe, I can feel with in me hope's heat.
The cosy sun drifts me to a peaceful lap
I dream, I dream and I dream
When I wake, the twin shadow of yellow tinges are gone
Another world, seeds of darkest deserts are born
I grope in the dark, I can not see
Vineyards are blanketed, starless night gulped all my fields
Unacknowledged unappreciated I am back to quagmire
I each day travel between dawn and dusk
Between indignations and contentments
Each day I die a slow soft death.

@Paras Ali (2015)

To The Critics

Don't you see my lords
My book has out and out white pages
Empty Chapters and skeleton free alphabets
No words i have scribbled,
No pattern of thoughts
No finger prints of mine nor traces
Show you are Mighty
Prove you are Potent
Burn my each end
Turn me a limpid monument of disobedience
But take my verdict
No book on myself I'll ever write...

@ Paras Ali (2015)

He says , "I am a slave"

Were you a king then you would know
The king of justice your words doth lie
I was not an inborn slave

Was not i
A queen?
In the isles of my father's blood
Tangled with in a crystal sheen
Did not my mother's veins feed me?

At times named
A baroness
A countess
An imperial Monarch.

Cushioned by her brawny muscles
Abed i reigned ,
Womb's three trimesters.
To have my single glimpse
Did not you cluster all the negatives
Out of x.ray films?

You bite her dust
You trim her words
You Clip her bones
You chop her flesh- laden zones
Of the one
Who was born once
A high-born Dame