Paper Flower

A summer night’s dream Dreamt in many languages Carving the same name On whitewashed walls Squinting against the 3:30 pm sun Swaying in the reluctant breeze Always in the same colour Even when stripped of all colour I only see you in the peculiar pink of the bougainvillea of my dreams

Trigger Warning. (Sort of)

Hot chocolate, sunshine, books 3 days, trees, wood, a soft bed, a nook by the window, no network, food that nourishes a healed body, a healed mind, a healed soul. Cheese, music, wine, cool breeze, firelight, a long night, eyes not swollen by sleep. eyes not clouded by fear. eyes not glazed by memory. persistent,…

Before the New Sun Rises

Am I doing the cliché, looking at a poem, and thinking of you? Did I make you smile, bitterly, Looking at this poem, and thinking of me? There are two magical words in the language of poets: Qurbat, is one. You’d know, I’m near. I had to leave, The part of me behind, The one…

Imaginary Home

There are imaginary homes I made In a life Semi-charmed Love Was one of them; You, another.


Do you see them, in hundreds? Dancing to the river’s music The breeze carried. Do you see the forevers etched in their veins? To be dead tomorrow.


There is a lot hidden, under your skin. Memories travel unbidden, under your skin. What countries lie unmapped, unexplored, in wait, Their languages in riddles, under your skin. Their dried up oceans have now become heaps of sand, Perhaps there are pearls hidden, under your skin. Those sights and sounds and smells you remember so!…


Have you been bold enough to write in red? In life, Red may have told you of its grandiose of love and passionit’s twin mistresses.Do you remember a life before that? When red only glared at mistakes? I chose to write our lives in red.I’ll let you decide if this will be one glaring error Or another, that…

To an Ocean

I picked a few empty shellsalong your shore.Empty homes of your childrennow long gone;Echoing you, the breeze, andtheir conversations with the sand.I wear them around my neck,at a home away from you;Little kisses, a sunset, and loverest on my bones.


مندروں کی خوشبو سے مہکتی شامیں میرے شہر کی بھٹکتی شامیں تیز سڑکوں پہ اٹکتی شامیں تمہارے نام سے چہکتی شامیں رات کے دامن میں چھُپتی ہوُئی سی روُکتی کہیں ہچکتی شامیں اپنے دائرے میں سِمٹتی شامیں شامیں تُم تک جو کبھی پہنچ نہ سکیں شام کو تھک کر گھر چلتی شامیں मंदिरों की ख़ुशबू…

Secret Letters

I write letters to you. Letters I’ll never post, Letters I’ll read and reread and imagine your replies to. Should I have used the bird stamps? Or the blue ones with the airplanes? Would you be home when the postman got there? Where would you tear the envelope? Would you make a clean cut Or…