A laugh is not a pretence
I wanted to tell you that, Urooj
And maybe to myself too
Because I know you saw peeps
Of the vacancy
Nestled in my skin
And I too was acquainted
With your queer sorrow
That rises and falls
With a schedule of its own
We saw the jolly winds flirt with olden trees
And heard many a strange talks
In golden fields of youthful wheat
And mustard flowers alive

But we ran too, didn’t we?
I pointed to the slender tree far, far away
Count as I go, I said
And count you did as I rushed
Rushed clumsily on
My feet twisting in troughs
Eye-lashes fighting dust
Twenty, you shouted, as the tree grew
But I barely heard
my body singing a battlefield

You stumbled through the ploughed soil
Hardened through suns
Crushing the remnants of harvested wheat
beneath the flat soles of your sandals
(who wears those to a field?)
Then more
Through soft, chestnut soils
Trying not to damage the baby onions
And I laughed through my burning lungs
A smoke piled up in me
Yearning to gnaw all away

And we licked the gusts singing gossips
Of sour, raw mangoes
Then relished the cool water that
You forced the earth to puke
(I still don’t get how that hand-pump worked)

And I know you sneaked along a wilted rose
From your sister’s grave
And wept, quietly sniffing
Seeing her in all the birds I pointed out
All the leaves dried to immortality
In my notebook
I too treaded through rows of childish guava trees
And struggled to will my ghosts away
I too got stranded in the insolent rays
of the dusty sun

But we joked still, didn’t we?
And when, on the way home,
I reminded you stories
Of the silly children we once lived
Your laugh glimmered all around
And mine mimicked

And the radio was ****
So we swam in our own private silences
Got lost in the rowing birds
And I know, at some point,
All the dead days
And all the rotten mangoes
Seated themselves in the car
Along with us and our shackled beasts
And the villages and the stalls and empty fields
Ran past in silence

But we had laughed
When the restless winds nearly sent me
Tumbling down the tree
And we had laughed when
The freshly-watered soil tried
To **** us under
And a laugh is not a pretence
Urooj, a laugh is not a pretence.
I wonder if we know.

Mischievous little moon
You are beautiful
I wonder if you know
Though you’re often told
(You know
You can take that hood off
It ain’t cool
You look like a squished football
or an orange rotten from one side
No offence)
But really, you’re beautiful
It is strange
I have words, but none better
Yet beautiful is so much
Mustard flowers
And bluebirds
That girl down the street and her bright-pink smile
Mother’s laugh
Myself too,
Sometimes

But I do not mean that.
I cannot compare you to Arabian Jasmines
Or Sapphire stones
You’re beautiful
unlike all
I think everything’s like that
sigh

But there’s this moment
In the middle of a breath, in the middle of a day
Unbidden
It sprouts sturdily out
Like a Morning Glory seedling
In the midst of a Mint shrub

When it drizzles
And I lose my body for a while
My eyes fixed
At the knitted pattern of the chair
Mother places scraps of stale bread
For the crows to finish
And little brother, not so little now,
Rants about his Minecraft battles
The dragons he defeated
And forts he conquered
(through massacre, but let's not talk about that)
He complains about the sun
(It is not square, and, well, it is real)
Mother complains about his complain
And, vaguely,
I hear the traffic
Four storeys below
That of cars and bikes
Gossiping and giggling
An ambulance
wailing

I think
Someone might be in it
Wincing and pleading to go faster
Or maybe silent, a still god
I think
I still have my test to prepare
I think
Whatever
**** the test
I think
That darkened bird
And its undeniable existence
Is kind of offensive  
But it’s pretty too
Rich purple peeks through that night
Blue and gold
And silver as well, a little

Mother talks about my climbing rose
That’s taking over the balcony railings
And a kite soars by
With a hoarse hiss
I think
Did I sleep last night?
Was I awake?
Perhaps, it was a lingering in between
I think
My brother looks so much
Like that crow
I think
****, dude, he really does

I voice this epiphany to him
And I get a smack
He gets one back
‘Cause mama didn’t raise a sweet
Frail butterfly
But, dude can he hit
I hit him again, which is unjust and dangerous
one must not meddle with little brothers
But mama couldn't groom the idiocy out of
Her daughter
I think
You've tickled the snoring beast
Now flea, you idiot
I run, he runs
Mother squints up in the sun
(Look who came to see the show)
I run, he runs
I laugh when he stumbles
And falls

Cement rough over his innocent skin
Clouds dripping on

It is strange
Those moments
I lurk through loudness to the quiet of my flesh
Then sneak into the noisy life within
And yearn for peace
All about
I flutter with a merry dancing
In my bones
And something weeps, weeps
Weeps on

I think you’re beautiful like that
A divinity I cannot touch
Nor see
A hymn I dare not grasp or
Or perceive
But I need not.

For you, on whose
Oil painted skin the stars did sleep
For you again,
Who wept, wept in vain

I’d tie a butterfly to the unwavering sky
If only as a frail worm to
lure the fish
But did we not swear to leave the winged
alone?

Yet, there they are
Causing a reckless havoc
Trying to tear open the blue
And I’d shoot them down
But the ground is ours you see

Wounded and bleeding
The dying, as a fish, squirms
A broken spear pinning him in place

And I will keep on burning this dirt
To bricks
One betrothed to other
With cement,
Your own strange creation
The one you pour out your flutes
And pluck out them strings
Like fresh born weeds
dried and crushed

Songs upon songs
We set free up the yonder

But here is a bubble that will not be butchered
Like our sacrificial blooms
Ripened and fat,
This untouched pomegranate
Ravages itself

Long did our labor weave tales out ruin
To build us a shell
Within which we now reside

Unhatched

How do we do? It is pretty
A sight
The sky chokes on dirt and dirt
Drowns in the blue
Time, a trapped moth, flutters about
It collides around in its blind frenzy
And will not settle

I keep on
Painting our dry clouds
Birds still peck at gleaming stars
And you
You live, live in vain