Dunes

She told me my world is small. I smiled, I knew only a few who loved me and only a few I loved and I counted her among those few. Rumi says, "Destroy your reputation". I destroyed mine, her reputation to me mattered more than mine ever did to me. I could live my life with the constant and incessant name calling but I couldn't fathom hearing the same banter about her. When you belong to all, you belong to none. I tried to make her see this, understand this. I could have delved deep into the throngs of this myriad world but at the brink, I waited for her. For her. Why did I do this? Why did I wait for "her"? I thought I would look into her and see the reason for my suffering. I had suffered so that I would know what it meant to be alone at that hour. I had suffered because maybe I would know what suffering would look like. I did feel I would find broken parts of myself floating in her and she would find in me, the missing pieces of the puzzle.
I found courage, love and heart when I needed it the most. I do not know what the source of this was but I almost found it every time I reached out. And every time I did, it was for her although I knew I needed it so much more. How I craved to be held? I have been accused of being a kid but I never did actually grow up. I pretend to be a kid sometimes but most times, I actually do feel trapped in a man's body. Imagine my joy when she called  me "Her man".
All my colours belonged to her, every blue in the sky to the green in the field. The memories haunt me and will do so till I live out my days.
You could do worse, my love. You could.
Remember me when your days seem longer than usual and the nights unbearable. I shall be with you for I never left, how could I? I found you in the deserts of Dubai and maybe when the ocean covers all that we see, my thirst for your love will be quenched.
You always will be mine, for now and ever.

Oasis

As the caravan moved along, Ahmed was at peace. The sun beat down mercilessly and yet they trudged on. The desert around him seemed like a doomed lover’s call; alluring and deadly yet beautiful. The undulating sand dunes reminded him of contours of a different kind. His heart ached and his soul longed for her touch. The journey had been tough on him; on everyone. With water being scarce and the ration of food almost finished, the people were joyous and merry. It seemed that they had returned from a feast and were heading to another. Ahmed smiled and thought to himself, “Does hope really give us the will to live? Do we not lament our state when faced with less trying times than what we are facing currently?” He knew the answer well. With death looming, the people had accepted the inevitable and perhaps wanted to meet their end with a sense of dignity and revelry; as if to mock and laugh at the angel of death saying triumphantly, “I knew what lay ahead of me, so your arrival does not surprise at all.” Ahmed, confused and yet bemused took pride in that foolish belief; that we, after all may choose our place and time of departing. Man’s ego would not let him live in harmony; maybe it will let him die together.                                                                                                       As memories faded and time merged one thing to another, erasing a sense of any past there was or any present he was living, there was a triumphant shout ahead. “It is a miracle. We have been salvaged by the unseen hand.” Ahmed walked briskly and a few paces ahead looked upon an oasis. The sight of it filled his heart with gratitude and relief. People rushed by and found new life in legs that just minutes ago seemed that they had walked their last miles. The sight of men, women and children hugging and greeting was reminiscent of the Eid celebrations and yet this celebration was more true in its show of affection than its namesake. And then, as if time itself had frozen, he saw her face and heard her. He never could forget what she had said to him,” Let your heart be an oasis, always willing to give; not recognizing any tribe, caste or colour. Give and be not afraid of being emptied; like the oasis, your heart too shall draw from your soul the love you have given freely.” He had asked her then, with a furrowed brow,” What about the desert?” She had smiled and replied,” That, my love is your Nafs.”                                                                                                                                                He was jolted back into the present with Ameer exclaiming how he would get to Cairo and fix that cheat, Akbar, who still owed him two sheep. Ahmed laughed.

My People

Shattered fragments of a soul,
Float around the midst of a whole.
It's then one knows what complete means,
A collage of vibrant beautiful dreams.

Broken earth and the brook runs by.
Catchments of a life eroded.
Memories of a nation proud,
Nothing remains, broken people it's token.

Wandering...floating..A sense of longing.
Existing yet non-existing,
Living among the barely conscious,
Neither dead yet neither living.

We need a voice that will sound our thoughts.
A hand to raise us from the depths of despair.
A touch that elevates a spirit faltering,
A smile to lighten blemished days.

Remembrance

I woke up in her dream.
My nightmare was her's to live.
The pain I felt in her being,
The sorrow she felt was me.

Happiness coursing my veins,
Life ebbing out from her.
Smile that played on her lips,
Tears that rolled from mine.

The loss we felt at being together,
The joy in our separation.
Distant dreams remembered,
Oblivious to the present.

We stare ahead,
One from the unknown, the other from this realm.
At the horizon,near the end,
We will die, we will live, we will meet again.

There almost seems to be something enchanting and alluring to us,humans. Our battles, our understanding and our perception of everything surrounding us seems to be myriad and yet painfully pleasant. Scurrying and fighting to live and to make our lives better seem to be the only activity that we're bred to do. Figures, facts and the lot seem to heighten our aspirations and dull our senses as we are lulled into dreary and dreadful insignificance. It is impossible to think that our very existence seems to serve only one purpose; What I took for granted is herculean to say the least. As I watched my father work,day after day, I was led to believe that it was the norm and he was happy doing what he did. His job was what he was born to do and I believed that sincerely with the naivety of an eight year old. I'm twenty six now and nothing can be further from the truth. What my old man had done for more than thirty years with a smile on his lips, I cannot fathom doing for more than thirty months and that is a gross overestimation. I realize now what is means to live for others. To smile and persevere and fight against desires so that someone else, anyone for that matter can dream and not be burdened by the hopelessness that keeps gnawing at you is true courage.

With age, I learnt to be less courageous and more bound by the diktat that society imposes on us so charmingly. Every fiber of my being revolted against what was imposed by my environment and yet there I was, with pleading eyes and folded arms accepting and approving and yet resisting. It seemed almost hopeless contradiction that I could live in the midst of people who did not care more than what happened beyond their walls and yet have such a vitriolic opinion on everything. I could hardly have disagreed more and yet was so captivated by a different thought that I was sure it had to be the right one because of the conviction that gave it voice. Growing up in a country like India, where the difference between endearment and abuse can be the difference of a syllable, you can imagine the turmoil.

All my previous banter brings me to the great and undeniable appreciation of what my old man has accomplished and continues to do so and will continue to do; through the many he has helped and also to the many whom he refused to, knowing well enough that only some need to be taught how to fish while others need that single one at some point in their journey to realize the seas they will voyage will guide them.
By toiling away and allowing me to dream, he has given me voice not only to be heard but wings that have helped me soar and see that there are no boundaries between hearts and the language of compassion is universal and easily understood. The continual defiance of his impulsive desires and needs have allowed me to be selfish. His lack of options meant that I know what having many feels like today. Yet when I ask him, "Dad, was it worth the sacrifice all along?" He smiles and tells me that he has no clue of the sacrifice I'm referring to. That is what defines many a stories I've heard and the one I've seen closely.

If I had to surmise his message, it would be Kipling that would do justice:

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

?

There is nothing as beautiful as silence and yet nothing as painful as it. It's been a while since I've written anything at all. I can't seem to to conjure any event from the abyss of my memory; maybe I haven't lived at all these past few months. People come and so do seasons change. The world has been in motion and yet I feel motionless. Maybe I only exist. The ramifications of the happenings around me disturb me at a very deep level. I suddenly feel being human is highly under rated. Crave to see an act of goodness; a chance to do good, anywhere, at any level. There seems to be a wind of change, may it blow freely,across my land.

Why Not?

I'd look at you and you sneak a peek,
I try for words and you smile at me,
You question me and I answer back,
"Love me?". "Why not?", I ask.

The world is a merry-go-round,
We're hurled about and pushed around,
There's no need to fret, why the frown?
Why the urge to conform?

Decisions made to regret,
So also did march the six hundred,
Not all tales speak of victory,
Remembered too are tales forlorn.

You roam free like the Zephyr,
Your thoughts run deep as the sea,
Your mind filled with questions,
I ask of you,"Why me"?