Low Immunity

Love comes to them like The common cold Claiming the face, the body, the mind Eyes hazy, senses dazed, Breathing laboured For the while it’s there I envy them Such easy lovers For love departs as quickly As painlessly As it arrived Leaving no trace behind Just some faint fuzzy memories It seems I have low immunity because Love has come Like raging Small Pox Spreading slowly Burning under the skin It marked everything Senses, Vision, Speech, Touch It left me exhausted Scarred with open wounds Healing in slow agony The craters on the face, on the heart Never gone I must have low immunity because Love for me was all consuming Relentless Leaving me marred Carrying signs forever Of my Disfiguring Love

The Land of Rasputins

I come from the of Rasputins With crazed fervour And glazed minds they rape and plunder My beautiful Land of humming brooks and sun-kissing mountains and brown-sugar sands The Rasputins set alight the universities of Reason lest the learned become mighty They cast shadows on Intellect So it remains chained to their beards Alas my friend I come from a land of Rasputins Who multiply like 'Agent Smith' till whereever one looks One finds that all faces, all minds, Have become that of Rasputin (London, Jan 2011. On the assasination of Punjab Governor Salman Taseer)

The Tattered Comforter

Urdu in the air, children in the streets The eucalyptus smelling sharper in the heat Family, sunshine, rickshaws, mirth Sweet scent of the monsoon drenched earth Oh the sounds, smells, feel of my land I belonged here, no place more grand Like a soft comforter enveloped in love Heaven on earth, nothing better above Today my comforter is in tatters Run by idiots and mad-hatters Dismal, ruined, infested by vice held together by blood sucking lice Nothing remains of its warmth Inhabited now by the foul stench of death And tales of horrors foretold Throughout its once fragrant breadth (Karachi, June 2013, On the massacre of mountaineers at Nanga Parbat)

Love like Small Pox

Love comes to them like The common cold Claiming the face, the body, the mind They can’t breathe For the while it’s there It departs quickly Painlessly Leaving no trace behind Just some faint fuzzy memories To me, Love has come Like raging Small Pox It spread slowly Burning under my skin It marked everything Senses, Vision, Speech, Touch It left me exhausted Scarred with open wounds Healing slowly, painfully The craters on my face, on my heart Never really gone My love was like the Pox Relentless, all consuming Leaving me marred For the rest of my time With signs of my Disfiguring Love (Karachi, June 2013)

Munni and the Man Eater

It tickles her The kosherness The almost platonic Justification of it all It pleases her The harmless proximity The unspoken possibilities With a practicing seducer She sees his charms Flattered and amused She delights with abandon in his company Smiling at the subtle affirmations of her womanhood Assuring herself of the The safety net So filmsily around them Like foam in the wind And thus She allows herself To enjoy the flirtation The attention Of a sexy face And thus She maintains her chastity Munni Revelling in her association With the Man Eater (Karachi, June 2013)

Random

Random friends With laughter in their eyes Across a table Comfort In the randomness Random conversations Between to-be lovers Inter-laced fingers Anything other than random Seems inappropriate Random kisses With still-strangers At the beach With sea salt on their lips Anything other than random Is obsolete While labels define Randomness Gives ease Of letting things be In the sweetness of now (Karachi, March 2012)

Random

Random friends With laughter in their eyes Across a table Comfort In the randomness Random conversations Between to-be lovers Inter-laced fingers Anything other than random Seems inappropriate Random kisses With still-strangers At the beach With sea salt on their lips Anything other than random Is obsolete While labels define Randomness Gives ease Of letting things be In the sweetness of now

The Great Love Story

It has come to me as a rude shock that you are the great love story of my life You're also the reason there is a open cavity in my chest Like a tree was pulled from it It took many restless years Many ardent reassuring encouters That the memory faded And breathing became lighter And Then Across a crowded room I see you My heart flutters I realise My eyes have searched for you All this time It is you The Great Love Story of my life Etched across My tired heart with a blunt blade (Karachi, Dec 2011)

My Picture of Dorian Grey

When you look in my eyes You smile For you think you see A reflection of yourself in my eyes Of the way you were, all those years ago It saddens me but No longer I see my beloved in your face Your skin is sallow With countless random indulgences Your mouth droops at the corners With the aftermath of meaningless pursuits Your eyes are lidded with excess of forgotten lovers You are my picture of Dorian Grey Once so beautiful So captivating Such that my heart would stop beating when I looked at you But now...... I wil not tell you My Dearest for I have loved you too well, too long I will not tell you My Love, May the gods be kind And you go on forever As the picture of perfection You always believed yourself to be (London, July 2011)

Frozen Kodak Moments)

You Sitting across the table Smiling at me with eyes brimming with the newness of Us Click! Me With stars in my eyes beaming back with fire works of joy in my heart at You Click! You are the sweetest love I have known Breathless, exciting and terribly innocent I have frozen snippets of my time with you Which i keep under my secret pillow And ever so often take them out and my lips curve upwards involuntarily at a sweet or sexy memory You Me Forever sweet In frozen kodak moments (London, April 2011)

Talk No More

Please dont ask me my favorite colour, Actor, book, song, place Dont chat to me about the weather Or the movie you saw I like you But please, Must you want to talk to me Must you try to read more behind my smile than what you see Must you poke your nose in my mind, in my heart (London, Jan 2011) Conversations, my Sweet Are highly over-rated And very tiring But if you want to hold my hand It is yours If you want to kiss me My lips are yours If you let me take a moment of quiet peace In the comfortable nook of your neck I am yours But ask not to look into my soul in return It is not a theme-park you can visit to marvel at the The Grotesque and the Magnificent there No It is not for you to see When you can have all else, why do you still want to talk to me?