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syed-rabea-bukhari
Indian A student of literature and politics.
I planted a cherry tree Four seasons back In a morose rain Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs And rows, of wild berries Running amuck in an unruly strain. The tree is a full bloom now Of white satin flowers Swirling against a beaming blue Tonight, as night keeps a vigil over my eyes I get under my squally Cherry Tree And suddenly I see it ailing Sick old moon peeps through its branches And I hear them crackle, not clear though Moaning unobtrusive, through a wicked grin. The moon lingers on long Shining painfully in the womb of night. I feel the stiffening wood coagulate in my veins As blackness suffuses unbridled In the cold wilderness of mind. April never was summer in Kashmir Look unto these dark skies Those pierce the ether yet once more Pelting mercilessly upon The ailing, armourless beings Whereby the cruel moon grins And my heart wilts with each withering flower Knocked down in the mud by The unsparing shower. Tears trickle down the smeared petals And I collect them into my eyes Till the plethora can no longer be contained I let them fall Into the capacious ***** of earth And in this cruel April rain My Cherry Tree shivers. Moans. Weeps. Over me.
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Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
The Cherry Tree
Restless souls. Caged in glass cabins, And sprouting steel rods Encase brittle skeletons Writhing upon mute white sheets Beneath a hostile white sky White curtains, white tubelights, white aprons, white walls And gradually whitening eyes. Have I not seen enough of white now? Here, where once again Life hangs in a mesh of wires, transparent tubes, beating monitors. Where existance is a hoax Of fluctuating lines, blue and green, Of limping dreams, unheard, unseen. Everything is same, only roles are reshuffled. Replete with frequent woes, of double ailments, There are moments Between two suns When I am lost In hollowness of being. Wondering whether "It is really beautiful to die together"
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Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
Restless souls
Here I sit, once again On the window sill Clutching the wood, golden auburn Perched like a tiny bird That feels so insignificant, so belittled Under this colossal, ever unfolding sheet Of universe. Stars are so distant, yet so close And there, that forsaken one Stationed aloof… At surface, a blue icy cold stone Yet struggling against that frenzied sea of black And shining___ the brightest, radiating warmth Lively gem among stones. Night skies were always silent Right from the day I learnt to consider And even today they are all the same Reeling under that mysterious still silence….. Yet at times The cold lull betwixt the stars- yelps And I feel a stir Right within this tender bowl of emotions Something arousing, blustering Causing ripples, tides even Agony incarnated! And I want to scream Scream my lungs out Out of each drop of my blood From every inch of my being! But have to settle down upon Consoling myself Upon choking suppressed moans Lip biting silent cries & melting mellifluous stars….! While, disarmed, by my casement I bear on, reclined.
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Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
AGONY INCARNATED
In this all encompassing darkness Hope turns to despair Not a single ray of light gleams Deafening silence pervades… Only wolves are heard Mourning death But of whom…? O father! Protect me For I cannot bear This sullen, sickening air Stinking!!! With the pungency of rotting flesh Of humanity. I see headless zombies Stamp bullet ridden chests Amid pools of blood Leaving a gory trail… No father! No! I dare not look beyond For this ‘Ghastly Spectacle’ Blurs my vision!
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Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
Ghastly Spectacle