احتمالی بندشوں میں جانفشانی قید ہے
کر کے دیکھیں وار تو پھر زعم ہوگا آر پار

Zeal is restrained
in the boundaries
of “what-if”s
Give it a go, so you
know, whether
your claim lives !

Couplet and translation ©️Arshia.
Have you ever had an open box of cornflakes
slip out of your hands
(at the precise time you were constructing a poem in your head)
and scatter all over the kitchen
like the fragile egos of self righteous partisans
(creating a bigger mess if you trample them)
and thus, you find yourself on all fours
sweeping a recently swept floor
once more.....

We’re brought up looking for divine expedience in any mishap that happens:  
“Maslehat” they say.... there must be a hidden benefit in this!
“it’s a small loss in lieu of a bigger one that it prevented”...
....and we tune our frequencies from ambition to complacency....
year after year,
generation after generation,
till that becomes the default station.....

I even start looking at the benefits hidden in the mess at hand...
I’ve discovered crevices under the stove where my cleaner never reaches,
(now I can prepare an admonition for her
—-wouldn’t have happened without the corn flakes.... thank you!)
I imagine worse scenarios.... it could have been the bag of flour, or the spice jars .... or.... glass bottles.
The work instantly becomes less tedious, as I weigh it against shards of glass and invisible weapons of potential exsanguination....
oh shukar , shukar, shukar..... Alhamdulillah.
It’s ok, it’s only cornflakes....  

It’s only cornflakes, and my attitude.... ( that’s in question)
keeping things together, even when they’re crumbling,
cleaning up messes, and counting on second guesses,
Using crafting glue and bluetac to hold up foundations
( this doesn’t merit any recommendation!)

A friend once said, “ sometimes you have to let it break, so that you can build it better....”
but what is better, when each damage is a consecration  
that is the conundrum of creation
it’s all a substrate
it’s all a message
its all salvation
I had told my friend, “listen I don’t know how to use metaphors,
and I only have a few of my own,
will you give me some on loan?
I need them to break and remake my ache.... “
The silence meant yes.
I could take all the phrases,
all beautiful words, all dictions, all praises
In these clumsy hands, ( since the heart understands)
And if I spill them like cornflakes,
no matter what it takes,
I’ll find a way, to scoop them in a poem.

A.
20.9.18
These events actually occurred
I sent my senses
out across the galaxy...
From the farthest corners
to highest peaks
to deepest caverns
I sent my defences
in the other direction
knocking walls
between thoughts, feelings, reveries
rummaging through memories

The squads returned empty
having wreaked havoc
inside and out

In the meantime
inspiration called, and left
appalled  
to find me absent.

A.
7.12.18
#truestory
#missedcalls
Writers life, inspiration
Arshia Qasim Oct 18
With what I see, I draft a sketch
(and not how it should be)
I fill details, with all your loves
minutiae like Versailles, and such
colour here, a sculpture
there, a broken heart, alcoves
wainscotted with toil(e). some
envy carvings, poetry: a decoupage
of words,
said over years, re-cited
into countless tears,
ripened ensilage and patterns
recognised surprise,
through my hand I trace a line.
How I see, what I beget, is
defined as mine
stand and be yourself
through traffic, silence, and mindset
and if you don’t remember, know
that I do.not forget.
Love is curation.
Arshia Qasim Oct 9
a thought diary:

Now the ratio of exhaustion and ambition is just right
Now the need to respond to each stimulus is subdued
How the curtains have cleared between sight and insight
How the walls have crumbled on each lofty feud
————————————————-

All this while, time unwinds with its every revolution
And the axis of the roll is tethered to rest
Whosoever can withstand the decree of absolution
Will remain unperturbed with the purpose of the test
—————————————————-

From the cafe-fed pigeons and the debris-drunken bees
To the mendicants and paupers on the streets of the famed
I do ponder the encounters that happen in your being
Some I know, still there are all the countless and unnamed
—————————————————-

On the ripples in Danube river scribbled with light
The distinct reflection of serene Budapest
And the splendour of adsorbing all dimensions of ‘might’
Till you don’t have to prove yourself to the rest
——————————————————

On your face, I can trace , all the lines of an epic
Every fold is two sided: one gory and one glory
I chose love, all above, for in the maze of theoretic
There are so many ways to tell the same story
—————————————————

It’s what I learn in struggle that I convey in song
What I earn in endurance , I adorn in grace
Thus every gain, with its pain, does truly belong
One has to burn in the soul to light up ones face
————————————————-

You have the same hospitality for all your guests
Whoever loves you more, will perceive more of you
It’s the lived experience that defines the quest
It’s the intent, not content that sanctifies Wudu
—————————————————-

But still I wonder all the loves that embellish your ways
And the promises in your narratives that echoingly roam
the same streets I tread and the same night and days
As I lose myself in you while I’m looking for my home
—————————————————-

Travel is a state of mind, and home, a station of the heart
How far we go is measured from where we start
You’ll see, in the trajectory of an encircling path
Aein, our beginnings and ends are never apart.

©️Arshia.
18.8.18
Budapest
Arshia Qasim Oct 9
گزر کر ساری جہتوں سے وہیں پر عین آ پہنچی
تمہارے تک مسافت میں نیا چکر سہی ، ہمدم

Having traversed all dimension, I’m back where I began
Oh beloved, in my journey towards you, hence starts another span

Couplet and translation. ( mine)
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