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The Earth moves on as Her wont is,
Wearing the chain of moments,
She has been going on sliding gliding
For several centuries,
The Coin Of Death
Come! Let us steal redness from the blood,
Leisure from the time,
And a little warmth from the sun,
Then let us drive sinking pulsations
In The Abyss Of Night
Thorns and thistles
Of memories are yet in the feet of my poems,
My ghazals are yet wrinkled, crease in crease,
Life has to yet bring the forsaken rhythm of love,
How much depth the lap of motherland has
And warmth too!
How much fervent are waves of the shore
And willing to retreat too!
I held in front the begging bowl of life
It was filled with the coins of moments,
For whom I remained sitting
And waited for centuries on the way,
In dozen of the months
He always stands distinct,
I don’t know why December is always different
From others at last,
Good Morning
O! Dealer of the dreams
Unfasten your eyes
So that in the patio of my heart
The sun should shine,
Love: Perfect Beauty
He says, “What quality of mine you like the most?
I neither have the complexion so bright,
Nor form and features worth-referring,
Nor lips well shaped,
My Daughter Demands For Crayons
For the last several days,
My daughter has been insisting upon me,
“Mom I need twenty four long pencils of colours,
My friend has gifted me a book of sketches
Mysterious Indifference
After burning all chapters of love,
He asks me, ” Why is your countenance so foggy?
Your eyes which had been stunning,
Shone with vitality,

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4/15/2021 1:13:15 PM #