Speechless

The mysteries shrouded

Over the frozen river

The wind concealed

Essence of direction

And finally superseding

The natural oeuvre

Of ‘musical equity’

He Killed him

And asked

Why are you killed?

The speechlessness replied

Haven't you existed?

The Lost beingness

She was infront of me

As my own mirror

The reflection of self

Was invariably deceiving

I tried to transcend time,

Travel across borders

But mirror can’t be reached

By transcendence

The reflective calmness

On her face

Entrenched the power

To win the storm hit ship

Save the muddy hut

From the thunder of mountain

Once lost in her eyes

I feel the beingness

I am not a writer

I am not a poet

I am not a writer

I dont know

what is poetry

I dont know

what is writing

I know only

You exist

and hence exists

beauty of relation

I express this beauty

I express this relation

I expres 'you' as 'me'

I am not a writer

The dawn at tehrir

Till the last corner of belief
Determined to get beheaded…..
To the epitome of fidelity oh Friend!….
Let the blood be presented…..
There be no thugs left, be sure…
Obliterate it from each country ,you headed
No traitor of land be respected..
Cut the head of every serpent.
Why there’s bloodshed of weak…
Cut the hands of murderer instead
Let the monarchs be pulled out their throne..
On the platform of’ Freedom’ they be crushed…
The Valley of Nilel be reverberated with enchantment of truth O God!..
For that glory,O Friend sail against the stream…
One day ,I m sure, the land be filled with truth and justice
Oh the followers of hope!walk ahead
The warriors of land of desires ….
Lets walk!oh stars of hope

(this poem was originally written in urdu and later translated by Syed Tarique Ali,I am thankful to him)

The Last Stage

You again raised the finger towards the fate

And I was again searching ‘me’ in your destiny

The traveler of love always live in travel

The destiny remains the same

We walked across the bridge of anxiety

and reached the garden of serenity

At the beginning of love

I was restless to hold her hand

And hence we reached the final stage

where she was desperate to hold mine

On ‘Grammatology’ [The ‘meaningless’ poetic narrative]

The text in cynicism

Asked the ‘other’

Why as text you supersede me

You as my binary always

Exploited me

Always censored me

Always tried to fix my meaning

You crippled me

You made me meaningless

You made me textually impotent

The coherence was incoherence

The paradox was the meaning

The discourse of my ‘self’

Was hijacked by ‘other’

Now I want my meaning back

Now I want my ‘self’ back

Now I want to rule my own discourse

The ‘other’ replied

With more endurance

With more sublimity

But with equal textual energy

You are my ‘other’

And I am yours

Nor do I supersede you

Nor do you

Instead of giving your ‘self’

The meaning

Give me the meaning

And find your ‘self’

You are free for infusing the meaning

Your freedom is above the ‘mythologies’ of discourse

When we fell from text to meaning

The paradox is the only discourse

The essence of binary

Is the essence of suppression

The essence of helplessness

Do deconstruct what you have

The ‘meaningless’ production

Will be your meaning

We are the most powerful

Potential text

Ever born

Ever used

Ever expressed

Ever deconstructed

We are born in era of

Derrida, Foucault, Barthes

Lets not forget

The ‘meaninglessness’ of our text

Gave the meaning to their ‘existence’.

The last will

The dusk approached

And darkness gripped slowly

The nerves were dipping

And the sight was blurred

The traveler of love was approaching

the last mile stone

Rehearsing within was one question

Will you remember me as martyr?

No you will not

My love is meaningless

Meaningless as I am

The heart bled for you

Till I was alive

The color of that blood

Was not red nor black

It was white

And thus ended this life

Worth lived in pain

The pain that was

The greatest treasure of love

Worth admiring, worth remembering

Now I am dead

But the pain remained

Remained as the powerful emotion

But more powerful is its narrative

The narrative is my last will

For all who will fail to be martyred