Poem 5

From the ashes
of my dreams,
I decorate the floor
and again
stare at the skies
lying in wilderness.
Before crowds choke me
I want to kick
the comforts and
make decorations for her.
and then march to my
own funeral chanting
Allah! Allah!
Also want to make
working friendship
with sorrows,
wring the neck
of all questionmarks
and declare,
"O darkness of the shade,
may you spread all over!"
Truth rings so false
that illusions seem
cosy. Swallow the
words looking
at the line of fate.
Doomsday was promised,
then if it doesn't,
what can mere bushes
do?

Poem 3

I recall,
like the sweetheart
after she jilted,
the holy chant,
with the announcement
of the Holy month of fasting.
I have misplaced
the memories of the Holy
fasts I kept, like
the dreams of Aurangzeb.
the desolate Faquir recites
the Holy prayer,
like reading a detested verse.
I announce my religiosity
by reciting the Holy prayer
with the dryness of Bhishma's
mindscape.
It is necessary, you know,
to move your lips
with the hymns
as the bells keep ringing.
Like the stooping religiosity
of King Lear's abominable
daughters.
Shouldn't there be riots
between the believers
and the non-believers?
No, but you are a Hindu.
How come?
And I am a Muslim.
How come?
Both are untouchables?
No?
How come?

Poem 4

When you come
Begging for votes
Spraying your friendship
Like a sudden bout of
Asthma,
The charming froth
Of your affections
I am not going to lick.
You can’t stand
The throbbing of life
That rolls out tears.
So, carry on.
I’ve put out all lights,
Knowing well no one will come;
The sun never, not even the fireflies.