Don’t promise me dreams
When you come next time around
Blossom the flowers of the season to come
Solitude & Loneliness
There should be many similarities between you & me
No not Those similarities
Which hurt me
My share of happiness
Has been very limited
Maybe that is why
I am perpetually smiling
Especially
When I speak to you
No, not because I am solitary
I was left to solitude
A long time ago
I have now become quite used to it
But loneliness
I have experienced loneliness
for the first time
You make a word out of me
You are very personable
Because
To the one you belong
you cannot attribute any criticism
Is this necessary
To be personable
I knew this earlier on
But you made it obvious
Like I make things obvious
When 1 prioritize them
So that they may coexist
And they may separate
And their presence may be felt
While designing costumers
For various bodies
I have always kept in mind
That the ores who wear my ensembles
should to get lost in the crowd
You would surely understand
how painful it is to lose one’s identity
or to lose ones way
Because
Until I fleet you
I am just a thought
But you make a word out of me
I don’t want to share you anymore
Were you a mirror
I would place you
on my dressing table
Walking to and fro
I would sit in front of you
I would see myself emerging and disappearing in to you Were you a piano
I would play you
Until
your serene melody
Heard the sound of my soul
It Would not matter
If my fingers exhausted their functionality
In accomplishing this task
Where you a house
I would decorated you in a way
That at all times
and everywhere
only I would be visible to all
Where you a fabric
I would use you to stich an outfit
Which would complement nobody but me
Were you a chair, a sofa or a bed
[ sit enclosed in your arms
In front of everybody
On without tossing or turning
I would enter peaceful slumber
But you
Are neither a mirror
nor an instrument
nor a house
nor an object
you are but a human being
Divided
And thinking
Appearing as a share of somebody else
I would not want to
divide you or share you anymore
A sad poem
(Tribute to Mr. Murtaza Bhutto)
Death is right here somewhere
Near us
among trees
on the roads
Right in front of us
Inspite of that
We never ponder over
how our encounter with death could be
In the form of bullets
which
may enter any part of our body
The neck
The shoulders
The chest
Or legs
Who pulls the trigger
We hardly discover
Even then
We don’t think
Even then we keep imagining
Today we have done this
Tomorrow we shall do that
without contemplating whether
we would survive through the day
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