If life was music,
then we’d be the words.
Capturing every nuance,
in every minute of everyday.

We’d be the melody.
A piece that tunes unique.
Encompassing the lightness of flightful joy,
the strength of surety
and weight of doom and darkness.

We’d be the story.
Written by the will of the universe.
Intricately ornate...
True...
To each our eyes and hearts.
Arranged most haphazard
yet so beautiful.

We’d be a symphony.
And we will be the music...

Only to our ears.

.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

My love,
I am totally dependent  on you,
Do not force me,
Do not hurry me,
Expect less from me,
I am sick,
Let me rest.
Be there for me,
Kiss my cheek,
Love me,
Hold my hand.
I am muddled and lost,
I need you to manage my everyday tasks,
Tell me how, simply and clearly,
Give me a sense of dignity,
Help me to focus.
I may become aggressive  dear,
Distract me,
Lessen noise around me.
If I insist on wearing same clothes,
Buy some more pairs of the same.
I need you my love, more than ever,
I need your love and care.
Please don't be angry,
I know you have a lot on your plate,
It is difficult for you,
Please put up with my terrible
moods,
With you around I feel safe,
I feel happy and comfortable,
Be there for me till I am gone.

/
One day,
With the absence of my mind
Ran to the river
What might cause for getting the creeps
I called out to her tune,
Would draw the magnitude

Which  made,
A stream of love
Reserved my chest with a colorful sailboat
I was moving
Along the unknown way with playing flute
Then came one of the exotic path

The distant villages,
Then along the earthy way
The meantime
When I became tired,
Have to rest
In the shade of green

Dropped the melody of birds
Plucked the flowers,
Hoped the song with flute
Then suddenly
I came to your home yard
You heard my mystic songs
And to be loved,
Beloved--
 
Was filled with songs of bird
Sky, Air, Meadows
That earthy way
Stars stood up  
Filled the night sky
The river grew with Silver Moon

Yet Fill with the moonlight
Follow the river down
To My old boat along the moonlit
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen

When words form
but the voice is muted,
strings of sentences -
like loose lengths of yarn,
just swimming...
swirling in the currents
of the wash.

They meet,
they connect,
they get tangled up
with each other.

What had before made sense
now swells larger,
more intricate,
more tiresome.

It all converges
into a ******
as the spin cycle ends.

What’ll emerge
is a convoluted mess.



I’m a mess.

And then,
I get hung out to dry.

I would pick the moon from the skies,
I would rip it and break it and pull it down, towards myself-
pull it up, towards you.
I would hang it on a chandelier and then turn on the light bulb
and your face would light up more
than from any sunrise this world will ever see.
I would collect the stars,
I’d throw them on the floor and onto the walls
and then I’d make you walk through them,
on them, in them; on my soul,
through it, through vague nothings and dead loves,
until you finally reach light.
I would get the sun, too,
I would sneak its rays through the curtains
and plant them in your smile,
in your glance,
in your mind,
in you.
But it would all be in vain.
This room, so close to the street, already is
our entire universe.