I was good at numbers
I was called to count dead
I was good at loom
I was asked to weave shrouds
I was good at tilling land
I was drafted to dig graves

Losing you is not an event or occasion..
It continues, happens over and over again..  

I lose you when i see a bike like yours..
When comes the favourite tv show of yours...

I lose you when i see your childhood pics...
Your proud uniform and your p.o.p. clicks...

I feel like holding you and kissing you...
Loose you every night i start missing you...

I lose you when i cook your favourite food...
I loose you with my deserted motherhood...  

I lose you when i wake up in the mornings...
I still clean and arrange all your belongings...

I lose you when any brave heart is killed...                                                        ­                     When the void in  someone’s life not filled...  

I lose you when i find the pen.. your toy...
Will keep you alive in my writing O my brave boy...

-A young martyr’s mother’s voice

Autistic Rainbow

Let me paint my walls in hues of red, blue and yellow,
Inscribing its matrix deep into my marrow,
To lift my soul above the waters of filthy processes,
Counting the complexity of its shades each morning.
In their domain they fumble daily to cope,
And insanely we at times laugh at their struggle,
When in reality it is our inability to understand,
These loving persons who bring innocent love.
Shame on me, as they paint my canvas in colours!
And I miss the opportunity to enjoy their unique joys.

When absurdity is the show,
What else does then remain?
To be branded with the tag,
"Stupid" you are... yeah, stupid I am!
I see the world with clear eyes,
No calling brown black or Tan white.
The moon travels around the sun,
Not the sun travelling across our skies.
I like to call a ***** a *****,
"Stupid you are!!" modernity demands more.
Duality... not my way or inclination,
Even if modernity demands it.
Gone are the days of morality and modesty.
****** seems to be the new trend,
Truth and courage relegated to the rear.
Now if games are not played or graft taken,
A label of "Stupid" is then attached.
Then, it seems that "Stupid"is my moniker,
As such, then, I shall wear the name proudly.

I hear stories of an ancient land so pure.
I see photographs of bluer than blue skies
over a lake of molten gold.

I drink kahwa flavoured with almond and saffron
and add honey, sweetened by bees from the valley,
my hips swaying in a crewel work on wool skirt.

I hear songs of freedom, I know people who fled.
The muezzin prays for peace over bloodstains and tears
while children still play under walnut trees.

Clouds gather to pray at Shankaracharya Temple
on a mountain dipping its toes into water
while empty shikaras speak of visiting ghosts.

Mothers whose eyes never tire, looking over the sunset
for long lost sons; wives who still lay out their husband’s
slippers on a carpet with frayed edges.

Postmen deliver letters to addresses long abandoned;
a generation of elders, eyes of agate, gnarled fingers, brew tea
surrounded by memories of children killed, daughters *****.

I write for all people who live in war.
I write for the age of innocence to return.
I write for soft rain to wash away sin.

I write for the return to reason.
I write for peace to flutter gently through groves
of apricot, almond, apple and walnut.

Feel the pain. Hear the refrain. Smell the emptiness.
This is now. This is now. This is not in the pages
of a fading history text. This is now. This is now.

In a moment of silence and solitude,
I stand dumfounded in my inner being,
Unable to understand
this life's turmoil.

What to say, what to do?
And above all how to move?
Lost in the labyrinths of my mind.
Oh merciful Lord take pity on us,
Bestow grace, in our hour of entanglements.

Enthralled

To feel the fresh morning
breeze,
In a desert of simmering heat,
Your smile and fluttering
eyelashes are akin to such.

Calm as the midnight sky,
Showering in a cool spring,
Your soothing voice on the
phone washes over me.

Vastness of open oceans,
Connecting the vast continents,
So too does thoughts of you
Fill my heart ... bridging the
distance.

Rhythmic your walk and sway,
Captivating is your movements,
My thoughts center on the desires you titillate.

Welcome song of opening
flowers,
The alluring notes and scents,
You bring all that to my mind,
Capturing me, I'm enraptured.

Your demeanor excites me to no end,
Exciting and wonderful, your beauty,
For you I am ever ready to serve,
Your love has me fully enthralled.

© Perveiz Ali

Progress?

Past:
The days were ever beautiful,
Golden rays and singing waves,
Soothing were such greetings.
Enthusiasm fed by nature's gifts,
Birds dancing amid bright colors,
Spirits raised into heights aloft.
Cheerfulness embedded in goodwill gestures,
Happy steps among aromatic breezes,
Many smiling and giving greetings.
Encouraging words given freely,
Unselfish acts abounded the streets,
Calm nights bathed in twinkling stars.

Now :
Cursing mornings and frightful rays,
Rising to yet another day of misery,
Slothful and devious conspiracies weaved.
Curtains drawn... scared to open,
What new horrors to behold delayed,
The nights wrongs, no rush to behold.
Morning meal's meager if any at all,
Now out into this cruel reality to forage,
Bracing for what fate will now reveal.
The birds sing of sorrowful tales,
Their melodies seem sad and bleary,
Merchants washing fronts..is that blood?
Checking faces to see if any is missing,
Heads shaking hearts pumping in fear,
What next will be the news? Paradise hijacked.

© Perveiz Ali