I sometimes miss it:

a turban and a harp played --


for me by a boy.

If knowledge is off,

there are only wishful dreams --


as moral guidance.

as they
shuffled by
she told her friend
“i always look
forward to this
time of year
when the first
tinge of yellow
touches the leaves
with the contrast
between shade
and sunshine
a comparison
of polar opposites
where a gentle breeze
can chill
or relieve
one making you
appreciate the other
once it has gone”
i couldn’t help
but take note
of her poetic words
as i surveyed
those same trees
glad to see
swaying hues
of green against
shadow-dappled green
feeling fingers
of sunlight
still breaching
filigree tree-shadows
to warm the skin
of passers-by
while overhead
a pastel blue sky
mottled with only
staccato wisps
of gentle stratus
paint the vista
leaving thoughts
of the days to come
when this spectrum
will shift
and these colours
must change

May the flames of my heart
become the fire we start
between us and the storm

May the furnace in my soul
be the heat for the coal
that keeps our children warm

May the spark of my mind
become the flint that you find
lighting the darkest dawn

May the air in my lung
breathe the breath of the sun
and birth life into a love reborn

May the jewel in my eye
Have you searching the sky
and all the riches heaven has sworn

Ek zindagi hain farheen ki
Aur hain dus mod
Farheen ki khoish raktay hain sabhi

Par farheen ki khoish hain koun
Souchtay chalogay tuh shyad smajaogay
Milingay sabhi tumay
Par phir bhi farheen ki khoish raktay phirogay
Dhondna chatay tuh dholo
Har gali har mouhala

Milingay haar koi par
Dil ki baat hain dil tuh sirf
Farheen kay pass hain

Dream, tell me
what have you heard
from the gossiping stars?
did they let my wishes
fall into the hands
of hummingbird nests?
did the quiet ocean blue
bring waves of things untrue?
Were you deceived by piano keys
lingering songs & eulogies?
Does the sun cleanse your lethargy
or are you like me?
Where it never reaches you in time
before everything fades to a quiet dark
tell me, Dream.

In the troposphere of your life are the ready clouds to precipitate
The clouds which are for days condensed of your acts
The acts of your kindness, selflessness, dedication and the lot given into other lives
And on the day of memory - a day worth celebrating
Let our wishes be the steams that melts those beautiful clouds
Let the rain soak your soul wet with joy
A joy that really make the day special
Special enough to preserve you even as you are to us forever.