Weep Holes
Don't take us for the wall itself
For when the earthen plank behind the wall
Gets soaked through
We'll let the sorrow of burdonsome wetness
Flow through us
The soil sucks the trees' roots till now
Till now the sorrow of waters
hasn't reached the earthen plank behind the walls
Earth has not seen the woebegone face of the sky
The wall hasn't learnt to shed tears
Wind even now expects to blow the leaves away
Empty polythene bags sputter on roads
That never had trees planted on sides
People drink blood of their own climes
And grow like germs
Bonfire conflagrations ignite every where
Smoke has turned the flowers black
Butterflies' wings look ashen
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Dreams Lost In Water
No distance ever separates
Dreams and desires
No mirror ever dissolves
Reflection and water
In one's eye
What graph would you make
Of lines of thought?
The triangle of pain
Is without any angle
Countless races
Have dreams alike
But sleep and night-watch
Are never the same!
Names are forgotten
Codes alone come to mind
In nuclear setups
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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A Village Far Far Away
Far, far away is my village!
Where fireflies of my childhood
Still glow in thick folliage
Of Pipal trees.
My lisping words
As they fell from my lips
Are still alive
On old, bent, dying stairs
Of the long-deserted house!
Like rapiers thrust into silence.
Far, far away is my village!
Where darkness
Spreads its wing before it is evening
Tick-tocking sound of the flour mill
Long flights of birds
Going far, far away
Tinkling bells
All become a single tune
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Spectrogram Of A Pictorial Poem
The walls have come out of doors
Narrows are the passages, many are the footprints
On the steep rock where the sun lies half reclined
Jumping over one's shadow, falling headlong
Is the ultimate truth, nothing new about it
Dreaming some old dream
Eyes know not how much water has come out
Of their oceanic depths.
It is easy to cross a river
but how difficult it is to find a foothold on its banks.
Passing through the vicinity of human settlements
the pathways of history meander through
Fields, meadows, and vineyards and disappear
in the rise and fall of women.
Before the new crops come in
Weather keeps on changing.
Profound thoughts are for the Elect
and death for all!
Failure to compose a poem
is not the tragedy of the poet
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Line Of Control
They come to see us
In the company of winds and rains
Their whispers are heard
Besides the doors
And empty corridors are filled
With the shimmering garments and scented bodies.
Leaping over the walls, slipping down the roofs and sun shades
Walking with voiceless steps like the shadows of clouds
Eyes see them crossing the silence
Of half paved courtyards
Far from reach
Moving towards measureless distances.
The windows yawn with mouth agape
And ponder on that;
Overthrowing the earth, nestled comfortably on its breast
Looking triumphantly towards the sky
These mountains, beyond them
There must be a lake
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Song Of The Dark
When it rains darkness
we beg refuge in an iridescent dream, and
we don't know that
after having a plunge into the colours of the painter
how does the night change into blue?
The night flees hearing the soft footsteps of light;
rushes into the nooks and corners -
spreads to the hollow spaces;
a few holes pierce the souls
travelling through those
it moves to another direction -
Is that path dark too?
Is there a bottomless
crater of darkness
that moves from one illusion of light
to another?
Does there too
the darkness draw
delight the way
we draw pleasure from our
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Whirling Death
I am maddened by the
Death-knock.
In a frenzy I run,
for the many chores to be done...
From the stillness of mountains and lakes
to hear ancient songs,
to unravel mysteries of tales from the past,
of trees to enquire after
the business of growth,
to watch the ever-changing
shapes of clouds,
through sweet-voiced, goodly birds
seek the source of divine fruits,
touch flowers of a blushing creeper,
make conversation
with doorways and walls.
So many visitors still wait;
a long list of unseen vistas
beheld in the eyes, pounds
in the veins,
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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I Had Seen The Ultimate Poetry
With grandpa
while working in the fields
by a forest along the bank of a
rain-wet river;
while the cattle grazed in the meadow,
I, touching the gooseberry bushes, and
sitting under the shade of the
acacia;
once became high while eating up
pickle and roti, and
while drinking water from the
low lying tap
I saw poetry
at the fringe, in her real image
The beginning was not known then
not even now -
but the end could be seen
with the naked eye;
in all starkness of the reality
from the head to the toe
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Poem For A Poem
She asks me
What is a poem?
Her shapely nose,
Her lips like two slices of water melon,
Her eyes reflecting clear blue sky,
Her thick hair like dark grey clouds,
Her horizon-like forehead
Are poems.
Frolicking of children,
Gossiping old women,
Cheering buddies gathered to spend an evening together,
Waiting travellers with carry-on bags in hand,
Strolling couples in a park, picnickers,
Are all features of a poem.
Lively sunlight warming the sanitorium stairs,
A nude poster,
A gypsy girl,
Are poems.
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Windows
Windows open vistas for us
Windows - of hearts, of minds or of eyes
Windows - which might open outward
Or inward
They bring the light on the other end to this end.
Windows converse
They open the alphabetical locks of our lips
When night weaves nets of darkness on windows
Life-spans speak out in whispers from abysses of pain
Windows then perforce remain silent
Suffer days of tongue-tied laws
Nights of oppression
And epochs of tyranny
Windows are self same stories of dreams
Of centuries
Mute testimony of chasms
Court yards and ruined houses
Evidence of rusted eons rattling with exhaustion
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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