Butterfly.

BUTTERFLY

Butterfly,
Why do you always rest on flowers?
Because they’re as beautiful as you are?
Because of the nectar?
Is that why,
She won’t look at this simple boy?

A Picture.

Gray clouds, on the canvas
of blue skies,
look pretty
with the pastel colors
of your dress.
With infantile curiosity
in your eyes
you look at me
and I see
the beauty
of nature’s imagery
of angelic dreams
of milky streams
of a childish fantasy.
In all your simplicity
you beautify the picture
give color to the scenery.
With your innocent smile
you bring to life
a universe
inside the frames
hanging on the wall.

[I found this on a piece of paper in the same closet i found the notebook in, among termite bitten old dictionaries and my dad's professional books. I think this is from last year.

When i want to write i usually write on a piece of paper and throw it in the closet and promise myself that i will make corrections (i.e work on it) later, but i get bored and lazy and don't return to those papers, write new stuff and move on. But that happened in my pre-blog years, lets see how i manage now.]

[WIP]

Little Brown Falcon

OMG. I was going through a really old, dusty notebook of mine and i came across this. I couldn’t help but smile when i read this. It isn’t half bad really, considering the fact that i wrote this a long time ago.

Little Brown Falcon

Little brown falcon,
why don’t you fly?
Are your wings not strong enough?
Or are you afraid to try?

Little brown falcon,
Are you afraid of the sea?
Why do you look below?
Just let it be.

Little brown falcon,
Do these winds scare?
Do you not realize,
They will help you soar?

Little brown falcon,
You are so little and so brown.
Fly, don’t you want to grow?
Be a king, wear a crown?

Little brown falcon,
Why don’t you fly?
You know you will succeed,
Only if you try.

I haven’t made any changes in it. It was written by a boy who was sincere and I have no right to change it even if it has mistakes.

Little Boy Who Died Today

[The little boy in fact, died long ago]

The little boy who used to wait
Alone under an autumn shade
With fear in his little heart
Dreading the nightmare about to start
The little boy who told a story
Of the future with hopes of glory
That little boy died today.

The little boy who made you laugh
With his crazy little happy masks
That used to hide his face so sad
The kind of face that could make
All your smiles burn away
That little boy died today.

untitled

Raindrops fall from the sky
Loudly, and mock the tears.
The two friendless drops,
Are silent,
Because they know that if they whisper
They will be louder than the seas,
If they drop,
They will be more devastating than floods.

Bored

I’m tired of making my own dinner.
sigh.

..On love, [Jerome K. Jerome]

“When the passion is passed; when the glory and the wonder of Desire-
-Nature’s eternal ritual of marriage, solemnising, sanctifying it to
her commands–is ended; when, sooner or later, some grey dawn finds
you wandering bewildered in once familiar places, seeking vainly the
lost palace of youth’s dreams; when Love’s frenzy is faded, like the
fragrance of the blossom, like the splendour of the dawn; there will
remain to you, just what was there before–no more, no less.  If
passion was all you had to give to one another, God help you.  You
have had your hour of madness.  It is finished.  If greed of praise
and worship was your price–well, you have had your payment.  The
bargain is complete.  If mere hope to be made happy was your lure,
one pities you.  We do not make each other happy.  Happiness is the
gift of the gods, not of man.  The secret lies within you, not
without.  What remains to you will depend not upon what you THOUGHT,
but upon what you ARE.  If behind the lover there was the man–behind
the impossible goddess of his love-sick brain some honest, human
woman, then life lies not behind you, but before you.

“Life is giving, not getting.  That is the mistake we most of us set
out with.  It is the work that is the joy, not the wages; the game,
not the score.  The lover’s delight is to yield, not to claim.  The
crown of motherhood is pain.  To serve the State at cost of ease and
leisure; to spend his thought and labour upon a hundred schemes, is
the man’s ambition.  Life is doing, not having.  It is to gain the
peak the climber strives, not to possess it.  Fools marry thinking
what they are going to get out of it:  good store of joys and
pleasure, opportunities for self-indulgence, eternal soft caresses–
the wages of the wanton.  The rewards of marriage are toil, duty,
responsibility–manhood, womanhood.  Love’s baby talk you will have
outgrown.  You will no longer be his ‘Goddess,’ ‘Angel,’ ‘Popsy
Wopsy,’ ‘Queen of his heart.’  There are finer names than these:
wife, mother, priestess in the temple of humanity.  Marriage is
renunciation, the sacrifice of Self upon the altar of the race.  ‘A
trick of Nature’ you call it.  Perhaps.  But a trick of Nature
compelling you to surrender yourself to the purposes of God.”

[They and I, Jerome K. Jerome]

Whispers

The ashtray’s full, and the open window
Lets the smoke outside
Towards the full moon.
The warm summer breeze from the sea
Blows gently and touches my face
Like your soft velvet scarf did
Last season.
I sit on my desk and write lines
Lines you will never read
But I write with the hope
That this zephyr will lightly blow
Their whispers to your ear.

Birds

If i steal your pain,
- safe in your eyes,
with your unshed tears,
said the crow to the nightingale.
If i wrap sunlight around you
when the winter hurts
your delicate wings,
if i cover the past,
like frozen dew on autumn leaves,
with the intricate nest that oriole weaves,
if i kiss you where it hurts,
be your wings if you can’t fly
be your light if you can’t see,
will you give your songs to me?

History repeats itself in Jalib’s Pakistan

Kahin gas ka dhuan hae
kahin golion ki baarish
Shab-e-ehd-e-kum nigahi
tujhay kis tarah sarahein

——————————————–

Zulmat ko Zia, sar sar ko saba, banday ko khuda kia likhna
Patthar ko gohar, deewar ko dar, kurgus ko huma kia likhna
Ik hashr bapa hai ghar ghar main, dum ghut’ta hai gumbad-e-bedar main
Ik shakhs ke hathon muddat se ruswa hai watan dunya bhar main
Aye deedawaro is zillat ko qismat ka likha kia likhna
Zulmat ko Zia, sar sar ko saba, banday ko khuda kia likhna

[Habib Jalib]