If the night could laugh
It would have the rhythms of your voice,
My favourite lullaby

If the light of an autumn dusk could could see
Its eyes would shine a bister glow
Of the gems that plate your irises

If a fleeting midnight's breeze could speak
It would have your voice
Whispering that same words you love to chime

If only the night could breathe
Perhaps it would be as beautiful as you

I haven't got a lot of sleep this week
and he seeps athleticism like a sickly sweet
Melted galaxies give me the head rush I crave
Dazzling salmon mountains, a riptide to part the waves
Bister crystals reflecting their own source of lights
Canyon voice reminders that this will have to suffice
I inhale him
and see it is he I fear more than anything
This is my choice, on my whim,
I'm leaving just so I will have the chance to see him again.

A soul’s vine is encased with demise.
Towering stalks desiccate to bister mummies and
Aflush dreams of romance capsize into sour, obsidian soil.  

Exhausted leaves crumble when the sun goes down
And amber tears of stinging sap drizzle from hollow sepal’s
That once hugged tender safad petals in the raw night
Like a child clinging to their eham biar yadashte.

Eclipsed roots search for taskeen semblance.
Divest thorns flourish on their throne,
Devouring golden seeds of promise.

Tishna fruit wither into ember dust,
Particles brushing away in the restless wind
Until all that lays are flattened memories

Forgotten, forsaken, fanni.

Word Search
Machana Ruh (roo): A Wilting Soul
Safad: Pure milky white
Eham biar yadashte: That feeling of something from our childhood that gave us inanimate affection. Something we, still to this day, can not let go of because it carries all our intimate memories and emotions (Like a teddy bear or blanket).  
Taskeen (Tash-kean): The warm feeling of home
Fanni (Fa-nee): Mortal fragility
Tishna: When a person is dehydrated to the point of death

By the aging stately oaks, with their crowns of hirsute branches, we stand. We stand beside these towering canopies, raking and burning the dry leaves which have fallen to the ground, covering the landscape like a bister afghan. The charred debris being borne away into the smoky air, aloof until the sprightly embers pursue. Searing **** swirling round and round before cooling rapidly, then dying without a sound.

In the distance, I see the local church bells swinging from their axles -the clappers striking the sound rims-then tolling in full tones for the listeners within a one-mile range. The ripe fruits in our garden tree weigh down the boughs like diadems, and  within inches of our outstretched arms, they hang.

And the children play tag, romping in the yard yelling, "You're it!" and, "Not it!", all thru the evening hours. A smile across your lovely face lets me know you are enjoying the remaining day, and I take more pleasure in that than I can aptly say. Then we take a break from our toil and sit in the hale shade of the gallant trees, you drinking sweet tea with me, as we agree, we should avail days to these rare autumn liberties.

When I do sum the moments of the dial
And spy the bold day to darkness fall,
When I survey youth advance the while
And bister coils to white unfold for all ;
When soaring trees so leave their leaves,
Which formerly did a great marquee make,
And Summers' blooms yet bound in sheaves,
Stillborn in a tomb with webs on the grave;
Then of thy allure do I inquest, I inquire,
If thou among the ebbing tide must go,
Since lovers & beauty do themselves retire;
And shrink as swiftly as they once didst grow;
Then what else against the passage of Time
Can ensure survival, besides a timeless rhyme?

Is ghar ki pari **
Sabke dil me sukun **
Char kadam chalti Tu
Fir gir jati **
Kabhi darwaje ke biche
To kabhi zameen ko bister bana leti **
Khud masti kar
Fir chilla chilla kar shor machati **
Ye oo ko lo mo to ta ta naa baa
Kya kya bol kar sabko
Urdu sikhati **