Exactly five years ago,
you told me gardening is for the soul,
and for this mellowing mind,
your words have begun to bloom.
On an appointed day, should our hearts
be warrened within a rooted home,
may we build a Charbagh
over this English lawn.
A small Persian dream,
water and walkway,
shade and sun,
for seven generations,
familial fun.
From the first floor,
immerse inside a songbird symphony,
barefoot into morning light,
to dance among towering trees.
From the second,
greet the blue sky at the balcony.
Sunrise would conclude the prayer,
sunset, the coals of masala tea.
And from the third floor,
through a mural of glass
admire the gardens and greenhouse,
indoors and outdoors mirrored as one.
Beyond the garden, the water moves east.
Beyond the water, a canal bridge west.
Beyond the bridge, a park to picnic with
Barbari naan and the butter of our laughter.
Children, saplings, or ducklings,
the lessons remain the same.
They must learn the patience of a seed,
that care does not end at the self,
and the most ambrosial fruits
are delivered by the gentlest hands.
Exactly five years ago,
you told me gardening is for the soul,
and for this mellowing mind,
our souls begin at our roots.
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 6:08 PM UTC
The bounds of my imagination
will not fully realize your beauty
until destiny seeps into dreams
and dreams seep into destiny.
So I drift asleep to stir awake.
What joy, here you are!
Twirling
among the clouds,
in all perceptions of
a snow-white sharara,
flowing like a Dervish
enchanting my soul.
Reality is more fortuitous
than the artisanry of fiction.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 5:54 PM UTC
I always admired your wish to kiss the clouds,
free as a Shaheen, rising beyond ordinary routes.
In truth, I share that dream with you, skyward and practical.
Let's begin slowly, without haste to prove a point, so Dancer,
would you take a romantic hot air balloon ride with me?
With metal wings, we would lift off from your second home,
the gateway city, and turn northwest towards the mountains,
crossing the Rockies with the land towering beneath us,
until we pass the canyon wildlands and follow the great river
named for where we first met, all the way to my River Valley.
Both cities in this province should nest within our hearts.
Not one home replacing the other, asking us to choose,
but your family and mine, near enough to return when we wish.
May we arise a life where they know their grandparents well,
with love waiting for our goslings at both ends of the road.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 4:31 AM UTC
A king who knows only crowns and conquest
might covet you like the Kohinoor,
as if love could be cut, clasped, and crypted.
But even if every diamond east and west of the Indus
were woven across the ceiling of the Diwan-i-Khas,
arranged into an illustrious imitation of Isha,
I would trade the whole palace
and every Shalimar Garden beyond it,
its stallions, its gold, its marble,
its Timurid Ruby and Peacock Throne,
for one suspended moment beside you,
stargazing under the jewels of the heavens,
knowing no object of desire in this dunya
could ever rival your star-blessed light
sent by The Light of both worlds.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 2:14 AM UTC
Of every star farewelling twilight,
hers
was the most radiant.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 1:36 AM UTC
But a man just might.
I did not set this table
to impress an empty room.
I arranged every light
to deseed a doubt.
You wonder
if a man may be thoughtful
without self interest,
without instruction.
The wax has already confessed.
The candles know first.
You flicker,
I soften.
You flicker,
I give way.
I give way.
You brighten.
The flame is not innocent,
nor what it melts,
yet the pair sweetens the air,
and argues with the dark.
Between the candles,
I placed flowers in the center
for you to doubt them,
then want them more.
Ask,
Did he grow them himself?
Did he agonize over each petal?
Why did he choose
the camellia over the rose?
No man ever unable
set a table like this.
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 2:55 AM UTC
Time pours around us, bright and thin as glass
Each golden second slipping through our hands
I wrote your name with hopeful joy in sand
And watched the tide erase what destiny planned.
Between my fingers, to where it went to lay
Inside the hourglass that holds our days
Every falling grain is a memory to name
To teach me to treasure, treasure what it weighs.
Thus I carve your name on Petra stone
Where storms do kneel and faithful pray
So preserve these letters until the final horn
When mountains rise like dust and blow away.
Till then, be safe where sand and sunlight run
Let healing be the hymn your body sings
I love this Earth more deeply now
As it kept your here among its fragile things.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 6:17 PM UTC
O princess of this poet's court
By your crown-shy heart
By two gardened hands
By the angel on your right
May you whisper me the fruit
Indirectly in your shyness
That is king among our gardens
And dearest to my love
Allow me to fashion us a lassi
With pearls to grace its glow
A blend reserved for us
From any fruit you muse
Apr 12
Apr 12, 2026 at 4:48 AM UTC
On this day of birth, I take a glance
Into the lower drawer I've kept for years
With gifts for you wrapped in steady hope
A secret trove of "someday" and "God willing"
Waiting for the moment we meet again.
From journeys stretching across the seas
Here rests a piece of Alhambran art
A symbol of two lovers drawn as one
Arabic verses yearning for dark-bright eyes
For even in Andalus, I only think of you.
Some presents gently touch the past
Do you recall the penguins, the giraffes
At the zoo, when time felt endless and kind
I found a friend to more than break the ice
And dream of mending those smiles undone.
Tucked beside, a journal yet unfilled
A passport not of borders, but stories to write
For living skies, winding prairie roads
By every place these restless hearts may lead
I'd cross the world to grant your dream date.
And last, a honeyed gift not meant to last
Chocolates brought home from palatial lands
From Geneva's quarters to Ankara's cafes
Remains only Belgian chocolate
To bake a cake with my sweetest half.
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 11:54 PM UTC
Is this not the penultimate night
When the ancient skies of Punjab
Withhold their breath from envoys below
Seeking the crescent's whisper of light.
From the naqqar khana, the drums wait
Still, as a teardrop on the cheek of patience
Yearning for twenty-five greetings
Reconciled by moonlight lone.
If the crescent appears, the drumsticks flair
While cannons sing across the garden-forts
Proclaiming Eid in thunder and rhythm with
Gilded processions of pearl and brocade.
But if it hides, then like them, I wait another night
For what are moguls, what of grand parades
If not the celebration of finding reflected light
Among star-jeweled expanse.
I am no Badshah, no keeper of empire
Yet I wander like their vice-royals
Loyal to the prudence that you are
A secret never surrendered to the night.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 3:47 AM UTC