Your Fragrance Is Engrossed In A Strange Dance / Poem by Ayub Khawar

Poem by Ayub Khawar


Your Fragrance Is Engrossed In A Strange Dance

The wind swings holding the hem
Of your anchal that hangs on the rope,
The bow of colours of your anchal dances,
Amid flowers and butterflies
On the restless surfaces of its own waves,
As if the magic of your fragrance twirls,
Concentrating points of its own feet.

The leaves bearing stamps of autumn
The days scattering like dead leaves,
And those people who approach you
To be honoured as the host of your beauty,
Your clandestine fragrance,
Never let them be able to get stable.

When your folded fragrance,
Comes out from the cage of your chest,
It coos like a pigeon,
Like two wild pigeons,
From the wings of which,
Emits your multi-layered fragrance
Like the wild whirlpool
Comes out of your rustling desires,
And begins to flow in its own illusive torrents.
You don’t know where your graceful fragrance
Would take you in the lost routes of which forests
But this dancing wind knows,
That the grey coloured mole
Adorn on your beauty bone,
Awaits for whose lunatic touch.
The exhaustion of the half dead anklets
Propping their heads on your auburn ankles,
Know, that you are accustomed to stitching dreams,
Like wings of butterflies in your cushion,
And you sleep in the blue rain,
That impinges at night on the tree of day,
And while being asleep
You leave,
The incomplete blessing of your gaze
To smoulder under the blazing snow,
Taking it for a conspiracy,
Of your own mysterious desire.

O! My beloved,
You are a priestess,
A priestess that descends the stairs,
Of my world of creation,
This creation of art,
Is an album of the multiple dimensional universe,
In each dimension are hundreds of indistinct dreams.
Which form of which dream,
At what time, at what angle,
And to what extent someone has to dream,
Not everyone knows this, my beloved.

O! My beloved,
Those who seek forms,
Out of formless objects, holds a distinct vision.
O! Priestess, with multi layered sight,
Your eyes seem like Iranian almonds,
They are very delicate, soft in nature and probing,
Though they are confidants,
Yet they don’t look at each other,
If they do,
They see everything in unison.
These eyes are kneaded together,
In a strange paradoxical relation.
Whatever they see,
I don’t know if they tell each other or not,
I don’t know if you know about it or not……
But O! My beloved,
The quality of absorbing the scenes far and close,
Is the real essence,
Is the moment of union,
The eyes touch the scene,
And it descends into the corneas,
In an instant, they embrace and dissolve,
Into one another,
Then they leave impressions upon the minds and hearts.

O! Priestess!
Even if you keep your eyes,
Under the shadow of seven curtains of wisdom,
Don’t try to avert your gaze from love.
You might be aware or not,
That love is very spiteful
In the haste of deceiving love,
Don’t end up deceiving yourself
For these mirrors have always been fragile.

Who could ever know you better than yourself
Do you know!
What the embodiment of your self-guarded
Replete with flights fragrance is!
In reality, it is a magic of the forest
The impact of which,
When embosses wonders of love
On your captivating heart,
You, being afraid of losing,
The treasure of your being,
Put on the waves of the ocean of honour.

Whenever you unfold the untold,
Leaf by leaf, under the layer of fragrance,
A silence takes over you
You don’t even talk to yourself,
But you don’t know
This breeze knows about the layers
Of your multi layered fragrance
Concealed in your mythical forest,
It doesn’t speak at the moment,
It only swings holding the hem of your anchal,
That hangs on a cord.
What if,
It takes away your anchal!

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