Poems by Ayub Khawar

Poems by Ayub Khawar


A Poem In Between Life And Death

O! Life,
How we are sitting at your threshold,
Having in hands 
A begging-bowl of prudence,
The eyes hold a dream to see
The colour of a seasonal rose,
But our lips have clenched unstamped
Complaints since ages.

O! Life,
We are sitting at you threshold,
See just for a while
And whisper to us
Which is the night for us
Who bear delicate dispositions,
When in the *anchal of that night,
The wind will convert our dream
Into the mirror of dream.

Which is the day for the journey
Through the desert of desires
Just to have a touch of yours
We have enkindled in the tent of heart,
The lamps of your ‘Being’,
But no trace of your soft fall of the feet,
Voice, presence and fragrance.

See just for a while,
Our souls on the brims of our lips,
But only to hear a word of consolation.
O! Life look,
How we are sitting at your threshold,
Having in hands the begging-bowl of prudence.

*Anchal: A light thin colourful covering that is worn on head by the Eastern women.


Poem Between Me And My Poem

In the yellow muddled morn,
Thinking of waking up,
From the green sleep,
To place the bowl of dream,
At the threshold of sun
The day breaks,
Then I leave the bed recollecting the courage,
To pull up the stone of day,
On the top of evening,
And fill up the lunch-box,
With a hope to accomplish,
All that is necessary but half-done duties,
As soon as I step out the threshold,
I and my route go somewhere else asunder.

The sight of thoughtful eyes,
Astray in the lonesomeness of noon,
In the empty street,
At the road-crosses,
Then in silence-assumed,
Horrified drab houses enfolded,
With ragged, sharp edges bricks,
Squeezed within their own selves,
Dazzles with shine of some impossibility
From all directions.
The black moments, from head to toe,
Chain the heart with some nameless fear,
While walking onward,
The route vanishes itself,
I go somewhere else,
And thoughts go astray somewhere else.

The evening devoid of stars,
Honked by the troops of darkness,
From all directions,
Force it to the canopy of my heart;
Terror of lances, daggers, swords, shields
Blow out the glow of eyes
As harsh wind does
In such darkness
A hand cannot feel the other,
Myself terrifies me,
Pulsation breaks from the heart,
And becomes a frozen drop of blood.
In such frozen darkness the collection of words,
Stringed on the cord of pain shatters,
I go somewhere else,
Lines of the poem go astray somewhere else.

Between me and my poem,
The lonesomeness sinking in the marshes,
Of day and night,
In the abyss of my inner self,
Fragrance sprouting from the tree of pang,
Doesn’t get the passage,
And enters through the arches of my chest.

A breath comes and the other goes,
And to this chain of breaths,
This fragrance perfumes to the gusts of pain
Adorns loneliness with gems of dew,
Hanging on the lashes,
Then strikes a stone of the yellow morn,
Upon my torso through the windows,
Of green sleep,
In such a way as I roll down somewhere else,
The poem goes astray somewhere else.


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