top of page
IMG-0373.PNG

Now, I am here.

The sun glistening off of the gold windows

Amid carefully manicured flower pots

and "100% natural" lemonades.


The smell of Channel No. 5

from the hotel lobby

brings to mind the hungry back home.


I sip guilt with my sparkling water.


And yet,

The shiny new toy-

The compliments on my gel nails-

The ease-

Oh, the ease!

Forces me to admit

Money does buy happiness.



a circular path winds its way through lush trees

grass blades glistening in the sunshine

they dance to the melody of the breeze

rustling between newly alive leaves

they seem to be in love,

while I fall out of it.


I see

clearly

in HD

I see

fog

reality is discoloured at the edges

like old photographs exposed to bright light

a little too bright

a little too long.


I walk,

one foot in front of the other, soundlessly

my feet carry me

but the harder I try to live

the quicker I disintegrate


the more alive the world gets

in April,

the more it pulls on the seams of

me


I unravel to the melody of the breeze

rustling between newly alive leaves,

they seem to be in love

while I fall out of it.



In the gentle sunlit garden this winter, I sat among dying leaves. The northern breeze- how mischievous! She played hide and seek with the trees and brought to life the grass, which swayed in rhythm to Ghalib's poetry playing in my ears.


The beauty of the golden light and the freshness of the unkempt grass reminds me of the fertile soil at home where you are. Yet as my gaze falls upon the tree near me, I see he stands tall with his arms spread proudly. He finds strength in knowing the spring shall come back one day.




And the little bird perched on this stage seemed to me to be declaring,

bāzīcha-e-atfāl hai duniyā mire aage

hotā hai shab-o-roz tamāshā mire aage *1


The melody of her song comforts me; this too is home. Here too, I am wrapped in the warmth of the sunlight, the way I could have been in your arms. Here too, the earth nurtures life. Here too, I breathe joy.


Here too, the circus continues. Here too, the children play.


*1

My poor attempt at translation:

The world is nothing more than a children's playground in my eyes.

The daily happenings amuse me, for life is but a circus.


Link to a much better English translation by Rahul on his blog, "Bad Moon Rising"

bottom of page