Dream

A wish, a supplication, a desire to see an elegant beauty of endurance, the only conceptual truth that the heart knows and brain keeps trying to carry out. The ability of synchronizing pictures into a flow of a perfect scene like notes of the music aligned on one sheet producing mesmerizing beats and sinking hearts in an ode of classical melodies. A series of phantasmagoria that develop in the darkness of the night like small parachutes of the dandelion forming a beautiful yet too delicate flower. This is a beauty of the dream rising from nowhere, when even the psyche holds no hint if it is playing along the mass lying in the strata of the comfort cozy place, contributing to the creation of a fantasy. The aspiration is just not for a dreamer to see and enjoy, simply for a persona it is an ability to set a foundation during dark and host it as a fortune to the world during the day.

With the Oceanic depth,

Flowing and then resting forever,

Within the cast of the gambler, “the red mass”,

They mimic the truth and the lies of the world.

Away from the lips,

Untouched by the foreign ink,

They die poisonously for one thought,

From where, none ever returned back.

Dead! As if the poet was never born,

The couplets stay, echoing within the core,

To whom the pensive mood was a friend,

And the virtual calmness, the reflection.

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P.S: This is student’s dream. Difficult to understand and harmless to be executed, but enough of strength needed to get it finished.

~A.N

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ONE LAST TIME

The veil that kept hanging between two,

Burnt on just one sight.

To dust it was lost forever,

While in an inward eye-

droplets still float to extinguish the fire.

Running through hurricane of the feelings,

A voice broke in a clumsy fashion!

“Neither an inheritance of love it was,

 Nor it belonged to a fashion of modern living?

 Then why I believe you to be a dearest,

 But find you far from even being a friend?”

 

Watching a step of mine tendering backward,

Like the last seasonal snow snuggling in the soil.

Exerting hard to scroll up a voice from the chest,

“Harshly I can’t even think of sharing a word,

Swiftly, like an autumn struck leaf falling to the ground-

 Such choice has been nailed out far before,

To questions:

  I would have shared desserts for calming you,

       and explaining true,

But the choice is none!

For answers I can just be lulled and share a comfort,

For I know to both we are the dearest and I bet that is so true.”

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~A.N

“Take Me Home….”

Like the sunlight waking up from the dark,
Forgetting all flaws of the past,
Nurturing a day in the lap of the spring flowers,
Take me home and settle me same.

Like the shades of the supper time,
Birds rushing to fill thy crops and collect the grains,
Tired! Still too young to feed thee home,
Take me home and settle me same.

Like the moonlight settling in the dark,
Making promise of a beautiful time,
Cuddlng in a twinkle of the stars,
Take me home and settle me same.

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~A.N

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“The Divine Call”

In the heaven-
A song of welcome was sung,
The choir was loud-
A youthful face was a guest.

The fairies, the birds and the flowers,
Dancing, singing and tossing their heads,
Waiting for a blossom from paradise’s chest,
Cheerful, colourful and the sparkling eyes,
Fate of which the angel of death did declare-
Hearts skip a beat and faces turned dull,

Some crying-
“How can it be a farewell?
How can it be for an eternity?”

Some murmuring-
“It was an end of her dream, And
A step into the real world now.”

Some silent –
“Addressing the self,
Consoling the fear within.”

And all –
Trying to believe,

The Allah’s delivered truth –
“Yesterday, it was a tragedy
Today, it was a farewell
Tomorrow, it is a belief
And memory now forever.”

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~A.N

“Believing the Gallows!”

 

Taking our clocks back by a year, I remember the 8th Feb as just another ordinary day, smuggling and crossing over the thin line between the two dates, eight and nine. Too calm to hold the secrets of execution, very much strong to maintain the silence, leading to the gallows and still briefing us about nothing. 

Like the faithfulness of a man, it (time) too fell prey to an anxious silence, a deserted belief, destined to the beautiful morning that faked a life like an icicle meeting up the bright rays descending from the sun on an unexpected harsh winter morning. 

We all are destined to death, for its beauty and in hope of paradise we keep briefing ourselves about good and bad. But who knows how, where and in what situation we going to leave. Indubitably, no men stay immortal, though remembrance makes one so.

9th of February, as in today, would have never meditated enough to be remembered for an age to come, generations to move on but the tragedy made it believe the smuggling agony by the seconds that passed by. Over the will of Almighty no one’s supremacy does rule. This to him was known only difference is we would/could have never believed the cause to have been so.

Undoubtedly,

“To ‘HIM’ we have to return,
Today or tomorrow, it will be our turn.”

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~A.N

The Prophecy of the Childhood.

The alluring blossom time,

Reminiscence for the mature nights.

The locale friends –

School time greetings and giggling on secret meetings.

The evening visits –

Flying kites and racing old cycle tyres.

Euphonious trilling of the rhymes,

Echoing in the streets and waking up the oldies at times.

The grannies running after,

And the children jumping in laughter.

A promise of the memorable time,

With an innocence on ride.

Playing with the virgin snowflakes,

Warming hands with the cold lakes.

Burning face in the fields,

Fighting on runs and betting on spinning blades.

Art of believing the life under shades grey,

Covering miles together making new pathways.

Those childhood games and the peerless smiles,

Forbidden stories of the ostensible modern lives.

The Prophecy of the Childhood~A.N

Etiquettes! What’s that?

The cold wave appeared more intensified and the warm vapours were rushing out of the mouth as if they were in a hurry to slip up into the sky and add a little warmth to the air. Each bit of a moment was adding to the beautification of our university, the University of Kashmir. The seven storey huge building, the Allama Iqbal Library, from the gate appeared as if being packed in the mist. O’ that beauty. The sun was all stuck in the clouds and they certainly were not interested to let it shine today. As the day progressed the cold wave too did escalate but I didn’t feel much of the dipping temperature. Ah! How could I forget? I was going to meet a friend after some five of more years and this was filling my soul with the warmth of the love. Thus, it was enough to stand against the odds of the temperature.

It was afternoon, by then I had finished all my work and she called. The cell rang in its old melodious tune though this time I was too curiously waiting to hear it. I picked the call without a lapse of a minute and inquired where she will be meeting me. So, the lawn of the MCA department, Kashmir University turned out to be a venue. Woah! I am meeting my friend. I was excited. Back in my head I was thinking about her reaction, chalking out how and what we will talk after such a long time. Well! As I was walking towards the venue each step was driving me to the memorable moments we have spent during our school days and in no time I reached there. I wasn’t able to figure her out. She had a muffler over her face letting only her eyes visible. Just like the way she used to do in our school days. Oh! I can’t forget she was too very particular about, “prevention is better than cure”? Ahaan! (I whispered to myself) She is there. She took steps to me, we hugged crazily. Hey! Finally we met after the teenage in the youth. This was obvious.

Before we could deeply get into the conversation we stood near a tree. Forgetting the rest of the world does exist too. I like all time lazy placed my bag on the bonnet of the car. Well! Being no shy to say I never liked carrying it. Now, we were in conversation talking about things that were hitting the tongue first and the mind on the other moment. I believe friendship is all about speaking without thinking. Once you think before speaking, the person can’t be your friend. Anyway, the time was in a hurry as if riding on the cheetah, you know it happens, and a ball from nowhere hit my arm. For a moment I was like a stone has been hurled by someone with all the force and that hit me but I still couldn’t peg what exactly happened. I turned around and saw a boy approaching, I didn’t have a complete look over him. Urgh! I was pressing my arm in pain. I wasn’t at all astonished that a ball hit me but the moment he said, “Oye meinai O kaha tunai nai suna (I did “O”  you just didn’t listen)”, that arrogance which was palpitating on his tongue and the disrespectful tone is something I can’t stand. For a moment I stood stuck without a word. Somewhere I was going against my own words, “Girl you need to be strong”. I questioned myself, “How on the earth I gave him authority to disrespect me? This of course isn’t me”. I forgot I had a historic meeting with an old chum of mine. I forgot that anyone is around, I passed the lawn. Listen! Yes you. Next time when your ball aims to a person don’t forget bothering your tongue and speak up a sorry and instead of the lower town language better yell, “excuse me”. He replied, “Oye theek hai” moving his body left to right and right to left as if he was a B-boying. That made me quite sure why he is not  good  at speech for a reason he couldn’t balance his body which obviously clears that his head wasn’t also in a balanced state. “Oye” is a word which is most disrespectful to me and I wasn’t ready to leave the place before making him say, “Aap”.

“Speak to me in a most respectable manner and while speaking make sure you keep distance”, I said.

The scene turned more panic to others when he started heading to me as if he was all up to charge me. Well! I wasn’t afraid though I knew he will not give even a second thought while slapping me. Such were his etiquettes. He appeared no less than a frustrated student who had missed his all moral science classes during the school days and he proved that when some boys were trying to take him away and he wasn’t ready to move off or just give away courtesy a space and bother to say sorry. There in other boys appeared and asked for the same. I left the place made a point by my presence, “To tolerate nonsense is to offer someone a space to disrespect you”. Surely! I will never let someone point a finger at me.

Being hit by a ball doesn’t matter. We do sometimes even at home get injured even more badly than this but then there is point of courtesy, the nature of proving the wealthy etiquettes taught back at home by parents and teachers at school. What more right time than using them at a place when they are demanded but he miserably was lacking them.

My point of sharing this was to make it clear that today it was me and I stood up demanding a respect for tomorrow you never know. Why get hit and turn mute, then hear a low language against yourself instead of an apology, take an injury home and then complain boys are bad? No! They aren’t bad but it is just that some are and your inability to speak up against that number give away a freedom to them and offer them luxury to make their own mythological rules.

The strength isn’t always about power in arms, 

But the courage you have, to stand against the odds.

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                                                  ~A.N