Shall I ever talk




Gather the pieces rendered asunder
The day morose city melted
Against a bruised gaze,
Glints of vision punctured
The only unaided eye
Battling rivers, in the days gone by.

Moments conspired, thus was it meant
Miles became dumb, skies bent
Bearing out a slashing silent scream
Horrendously levitating steam
Child of an undeciphered, drowsy dream.

Shall I ever talk
Of those rheumy eyes
Sunk into a decrepit sleeve
Abandoned in virtue, dissipated in sighs.

Shall I ever talk
Of wilting stapled pinions
From a smothering window
Of a strangulating, glum room
Where you cant smell the rain
Neither the fragrant wafts
Of rain soaked dust
But only stare, and hear
Gruffly spattering
Against magnanimous papery walls.

Shall I ever talk
Of those briny waters
Percolating the leadened air
Caressing lacerating quarters
Of sooty souvenirs scratching my brow
As whispering tongues continue to sow.

Shall I ever talk
Of fading undusted memory stacks
And their unabated reminiscences
Of rosy apples and green almonds
Half baked plums and jacketed walnuts,
Of milky corn still sought on soggy cobs
Of life playing upon the lips of jocund mobs,
Of rustic hands soaked in walnut dyes
Of yellow candles burning those liquid eyes.

Shall I ever talk
Of smoky clouds, diffusing
In azure sky. Of summer breeze
Sobbing in the arms of fractured trees
Of evening sun broken upon
A procumbent creek; torn !
Glassy and timeworn.
I hear Jehlum too reflects the sheen
Sometimes when I do not see
It hums, to my plugged ears
The crinkled chronicles of our history.
Arrest not my wandering gaze, darting
Chasing the ruins of parched tears
For perceptions are hazy now
And contour blurs
Of those snoopy silent colors
Drawn out upon that proud raiment.
I lost the cadences
Of that caramel voice
That lulled me to fall
For sanctity of poise.

Its been long, since
Sixteen golden falls wilted me inside
The texture is stale now
And moons still in exile
‘We shall rise in Fall; again
Here in Kashmir,
As leaves turn crimson
And Chinars sear.’