Happy Birthday To My Favoruite Poem by Fatima Zehra

Everything was such a mess.
Day riddled and night blindfolded me.
I was cycling on a jumbled loop.
First curve wavered me,
on other one I was stoned by honeyed words.
Murk enchanted all around.
Even with taught-steps on crystallic road laid by my field,
my confidence stumbled.
But quite unexpectedly, he beamed like a guiding light
and all my scattered purposes were aligned.
His poems fluted amicable songs for my mind and soul.
On its musical note, I began to oar and without any labor,
a bond forged between our hearts.
It's hard to frame his being despite of knowing all about him; malleable he goes. Mithi put your heart and you are flowy.
My beau, always transpired like an encourager.
I have witnessed his solar strength in stiff times;
he always faced off.
Is hurt by many but with soft sobs and achy heart,
silently heals his ruined tissues.
I wish, I could immortalize myself with the rosary of his tears.
Yet thankful to those breezes which penetrate his soul to restore it,
that moon which solace his pearly eyes with his serene light,
that vicinity of sky which teaches him,
that the cloud of pain will soon float by
and that carpet of earth which contains him.
He is stubbornly optimistic writer;
His truth is authenticated by his actions.
His powerful speech has the same continuity
like a water-fall tumbles down a hillside.
He is my eternal convenience.
The sargams of his voice mesmerize
Mesmerize more than the devotional bells of temples.
Reading him lulls my anxious storms.
It comforts me in agony and is heedful to complaints.
Whenever I went astray or tersely retaliated,
he made me walk in silence, holding my finger.
Believing that my heart was conditioned by his love and wisdom,
he truly enlightened me.
His presence vouchsafes meaning to my potential.
Aadi is a cosmos in himself;
He's a liberally and literally pragmatic mind
who with his fingers inked in blue always leaves one stunned in time. Staying now a days in the catch of Margalla hills,
breathing in politically autonomous winds of mystic Hyderabad, exploring the doctrinal foundations of romantic soul of Sindh; Jamshoro, surmounting the competitive heights of Karachi;
Surrounded by the company of intellectual mates,
he has so swiftly nurtured his youth so far,
in such a crafty way that hardly few can parallel him.
He is a prism of intense emotions and crispy logic;
He levelly deals with criticism is his art.
Polite during counseling and selflessly co-operative in needy hours. He fancies knowledge over temporary merits.
Apparently, the writer is an innocent star
but when he wittily shines and justifiably rebels,
then he can so handily by tapping palm, grind the spineless facts. Like a carefree bird, he swims in high-spirits.
Yet! the wide-winged bird does not crave for high altitudes.
Piously noble are his passions.
Writing and beloved are his all-consuming obsessions.
His endeavor fills meaning in the words giving them life;
He realistically renders everything.
Crafts, drafts, crumbles and easily deletes notes;
He is uniquely exceptional.
He is an ardent adorer and son of the nature.
Along with mother's lap, Nature prolongs his eternal bliss,
and it complements him the safest custody,
perhaps even more than his beloved's arms.
Sittings at dhaba serves his mood,
with classical sips of tea and bite of fresh biscuits;
he knits his intellect in elated ways
He does it while throwing a glance on the equation of affairs.
Couple of friends would then accompany him
and he amplifies the pleasure of wistful evening
does it along the roadside by indulging in dialogues.
Up-to-date and a versatile soul,
the one who so charismatically carries his posture
and he can wear a Mao-cap of formality,
but favors sober and sedative attitude.
Ha, Digits and Russian do taste bitter,
but he outshines when it comes to analysis.
Sometimes he is sailing in a philosophical ship,
Sometimes, cleaves the air on the top of mountains
with his political echo, stirs red of hearted emotions,
and paints pages, Sometimes like a scientist deduces,
like a forecaster spies on future,
like eagle is determined,
Sometimes is broken like a lover,
is bubbly like a ripple,
is peaceful like a rainbow,
is grateful like rain,
Sometimes threatening like a thunderstorm,
a trend-setter, Sometimes glorious like a Koyel,
Dominates like a King,
is healing like verdured leaves,
is hopeful like dawn,
Sometimes he is graceful just like my dance.
Heart irrepressibly urges to listen to his hypnotic speeches
and drowns in the depth of his fluency.
His heart is welled up with mother's love
and is her Laadlo (endearing son)and meek child.
Baba's matchless son and pride of his friends.
A book by the majestic banks of his village is his muse
is one of his favorite pleasures.
Some people enjoy music, some slumber, some movies,
some others favor to unload academic burdens,
but he prefers to worship silence.
Sitting on sandy dunes, and tasting that serenity,
he meditates and relishes the tuneful oscillations of lakes.
His Peace is synonymous with his realm.
He is a meticulously active guy.
is cutely shy and rarely aggressive.
Never hesitates to speak his mind,
when someone's rights are being breached.
He is an incredible activist.
He is winningly a humorous chap.
Friendship empowers him but sometimes suffocates in dismayed air
through its window.
His thinking and objectives are not enveloped by defined parameters;
nor is stained by blot of biasness.
Mind like his are asset and viable need of time.
I categorize him one of those productive heads,
who can really contribute something substantial,
substantial enough to relieve the cultural and economic drought.
A writer like him can rebel against the mal-effect of defiled dogmas;
Provides insights to valuable discretions,
while walking on sensitive thread of change,
and challenges the inflexible conventions,
and thus upbrings the society in an efficient way.
His poems cherish love, peace, unity, vision and beauty.
His sole ambition is to mend the broken hearts
and he verily uplifts the sinking lives.
He doesn't long to leave his fingerprints on the records of history,
but believes that time will laud his masterpieces.
It was night of dry spring,
when I, a tramp, tiredly and being emotionally lashed knocked him; I knocked his heart-door to seek shelter inside.
Later in morning, there was a call of glory for me,
like a dead has been resurrected,
like victory begins to chime with a defeated warrior,
like freedom has been manifested to jailbird.
He necklaced a locket of perennial concord.
His first footmarks in my area are indelible;
that hilltop reminds me so much of him.
He raised the veil and laudably blessed me with a chance
a chance to revere him.
I wondered the eminence of God that he can mercy on entity like me. Thereafter, we had a wondrous time together.
Walking in the waters, running on the beach then sitting
and observing silence and returning home with hand in hand.
The details of his love have been etched in some of my poetic lines.
He is my favorite topic; together we dream; we roam;
We feel; we heal; we hurt; we care; we play; we walk; we hum.
We dance; we desire; we hope; we weep; we laugh; we whisper;
we stare; we plan; we desire; and together we rise and shine.
I am his die-hard fan and love-sick adorer.
My all paths lead me to him.
He is the most beautiful being I ever have stuck on.
Listening to him quenches my curiosity,
and the study of his moods, moves and nature has been very engaging
from the first grain of falling sand in an hourglass.
It's been a long time, I haven't caught his single glimpse.
But the bonds will always remain intact.
I pray for his good and healthy life.
May his lucky stars gleam eternally,
and the divine blessings be showered upon him in the same way,
like a lover sitting on a padded bench showers love on his beloved while being thankfully covered under the shade.