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I watch them as plane goes over the sheets of different blue’s . I look at them from the corner of my right eye. I am not a criminal ; also, the guards carrying with them thick wooden stick for beating either  ,I am just alone ,and an explorer at least I ceased to be.

It was a fine morning when I suddenly decided to tighten my laces of branded shoes and to move out from a room that was closed from all the four sides. It was suffocating now because the window had the newspaper taped from start to end to stop the entrance of little mosquitoes that ;I slept and became the biggest intruders in my reality and world of dreams. The wall was red in colour,which sometimes was happening for having a pleasant  background for pictures when more people were in but sometimes it reminded me of blood ,pain and grief I have had experienced in my coldest night of dreams. It was now rotting,the person inside a well fabricated body was rotting because of the four walls he was caged in. I had to tighten my shoe laces even more stronger.

I left the place in afternoon carrying a side bag and a water bottle because the place I had thought of exploring were full of warm sun rays giving the idea of dryness it brought to my tongue that  was left tasteless,because I hadn’t had anything since morning. I caught the nearest metro and escaped the eyes of people who tagged me as a foreigner just because I was fair in colour and  being a non attention seeker I hated that. I knew they had been looking at my hair that was curly enough to shape my personality as one of the writer’s in town and as accidental it could be it was short too. I knew people in metro pointed at my get up that  was just a jeans and a jacket that I had bought long back when I had been in my home town. They peered through every space they could get ,also from the shoulder’s which were taking the support of a pole in the centre. They thought that I was unaware of there starring but I was aware though I didn’t mimicked them . I kept longing for my station which would be my first place to travel alone and I was excited to know the fate it would bring me.

I walked and stared at the narrow streets where till date at least one billion footsteps would have been marked by our master my being five ,let alone of my family.I stalked an old man’s wooden box covered with a very old white cloth so that the dust of the street would not enhance it’s degradation. I saw him counting something and my eye was directly on the different coins he had collected . They varied from era to era and recent . The one’s which had been expired as a result of new comers in the list. I just smiled and made my way.

I was followed by numerous rickshaw walla’s who thought of robbing me of my wallet ,only be cause they thought I was a tourist and had come to India for vacations. Had they little known about my individuality they would have buried my body into a sac and God knows what more would have I suffered ,had they known I was a Kashmiri. But ,I thank God of my voice and language that I was saved.

I went through lane by lane and entered into a monument which spoke to me. It spoke to me as I turned back to my life and I found hope. I found reasons to continue living and reasons to dream. This was a very strange thing but I could see faces of number of people who have entered in my life and exited . I had an experience of lifetime . I saw how world is filled with people of all types. I then recalled my suffocation in that four cornered room and thought of our master’s job which was to protect this balloon full of gas and I again praised him for I had a perfect life.  While entering this place I met with a peculiar incident  . As a mark of respect people from whichever place and status needed to take the shoe’s off so that the place remains cleaner then before. I did as I was ordered and suddenly a man with Kohl rinsed eyes and a Muslim scarf around his neck and a Muslim hat covering his hair and head approaches me with a smile and a Muslim way of greeting”salaam allaikum”. I said wallai kum salaam,and he asked for 300 rupees.  I was taken aback because I remembered as a kid whenever I went with my family to this place we were never asked to pay a ticket money and also people around me went free of cost. It angered me and I said with a loud voice “kyun bhaya”(why brother?).  To which he showed me a board on which the message was clear cut that only if I was a foreigner or outsider I had to pay them. I sighed and changed my language into my orginal and requested them to believe my individuality.  They happened to accuse me after showing them the skills of my changed dialect ,to lesson the pressure I showed them my I-card and hence I was relieved. The question didn’t come up for paying the sum it was of division between black and white. If I had been born with a black colour would I have been given respect as same to the respect I got while being fair?I just thought and as innocent as I was  the answer was “NO”.

Living in the city where still history rules the present one cannot help but be surprised at the various step wells one finds in the centre. These step wells mark the prison of that time for any ruler who could go beyond the actions. These step wells now were homes and shelters of various pigeons who had flight but needed a voice to shed off the  fear they had from the humans. In the evening that day I went to such  step-well “baoli” which to me was an inspiration. I could write about the well designed hand made walls and could write about the pigeons which went round and round the monument and left the audiences clapping. The sight was so mesmerising that one couldn’t help but start praising at the things he has bestowed us with. I chuckled within myself on a couple who made a romantic pose for a picture memory,had they known the sights the step-well had felt and witnessed they would have romanced in Switzerland rather in ruins which had  been a jail for many like us.

Being a Delhi wall-ah ,one needs to add up a spice in his journey to places his hand made map takes him.Because from a minaret to a bird everything inspires here and one forgets who came as a traveller and who went as an Inspired.

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-Jamia Masjid ,Old Delhi.

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-Ugersen ki baoli ,Hailey road cp.

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Larks and Owls.

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The graffito of life lies with lord
Being a lark my  body rises up ,

It sees the sun rising; praisng the world
Eyes close:light is bright ,

My area between the two eyes; feels sick ,
Something pierces it deep down. ,

Not a bildungsroman, but epic on my life
I watch him struggling to get out ; but din stops him,

Birds chirp , nightangle sings
Why then only my heart cries out loud?

I doze off with the blanket of night,
Owl is left in me , not a man ,

I am now perfect, unaware of false
Only correct dwells me not the conscience ,

Peace is what suits me
And not pain,

Because even night is the purest
Let alone the light glowing,

I am both larks and owls
I am both light and night,

If only I fail in being
Is the human that I lack to be .

Creation of new life ,Cheers to US !

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College has just started and we feel like sisters , have I been knowing Ill get a sister cum friend I had come to Delhi the minute mother handed me the bottle of milk . Skies would not have been more happier than watching us clicking pictures in the campus on the first day itself . Public might get horny on this fact but who cares because we had already a bond . From Kashmir I had come as a single hand but your presence made me the cluster of stars . From your tomboyish attitude to “why are you guys ignoring me” emotional one ,you always have been a friend which looks after everybody in the group . Not making anyone feel less miserable in the new place  . How hard you try to be girly the Sapna brother will never end :p. There are many people in my life who have occupied some of the definite places ,but you my friend will always be remembered even i breathe my last today . Here is just a short poem about the memories you have given me and the days we are going to spent in glee and happiness , Insha ‘allah !!:-

 

From the crowd you came to me ,as if I had to offer you something

the love you offered me , can’t be replaced  even by my death

people like you are crazy, yet to find is difficult,

because you introduce me to everyone as “your kashmiri friend”

I love the way you teach everyone the skills of brave ness

and I look past and I have no single friend in comparison

your love in your insults ,your angry look, oh boy 

ILL cherish in my whole life ,even i die tonight .

because you are my same bad -ass birthday partner

ill never let you go now , praising the co incidence in life

who cares about your no having place in our class

silly ,you already have made a place in our little home, called the heart .

LOVE LOST IN THE FROZEN PARADISE

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When I look back at the frozen doors
Doors of serenity and hope,
As a lover of HIS shows
I cover myself under a cloak.

I wish my birth to be among them
These fresh doors are so material
I crave for the night
where I ,could praise HIM for the light.

But who has been compared to them,
Comparison doesnt meet their doors even
They were the scholars and depth of ocean
For they were the lovers of lord and no body else.

I am living in the lust,
Where love can buy money
Where body’s are sold for pleasure
And not kept hidden from the public.

Talking about the beloved
I am still longing
For I am a sinner and a seeker
To which realization is still hidden.

But they say what goes around
Comes back too,
I crave for the beloved lord
I crave for one and only HIS love

B’coz all things come in a circle
This shall pass too
Long live the literature lovers
For there will be again love

That is not lust but pure
That is for HIM
And not for world,for there
Will be again love that is lost in paradise.

“Mirrors and Heart -breaks ! “

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She is just like you ,her hair ,her way
Her smile, her eyes ,her curls round up her face
She isint your sister,because the crowd cant see her
Who is she then? But she is just like you !

You are in a delimma,because she copies you
You lift a hand she does the same
you dont have any twin around you
But then who is she? Ditto is the word !

You rub your eyes, to see the real face
But to your surprise she is standing still there,
You cry ,you cry aloud, you let her hit you
But she doesnt go away ,copying you !

when you look at her sometimes you love her
Sometimes she thinks you need a moderation
you try to beautify your face
You think adding some make up would work !

You and she make sololoquy with each other
Morning and evening she is with you
You make her your best friend
You let her know your secrets and you start loving her !

But something happens between you ,
There is a scratch on her , you try to remove it
You fail , you fail miserably ,you look like a loser
She breaks ,you start pushing her up but hey you fail !

That time you start hurting yourself too
You start losing all the control
You banish yourself from world
Music looses its tune

Then on a night you experience a dark night
You look at the mirror , there is no one there
You rub your eyes but it goes in vain
You see yourself no twin of yours .

This is what happens ,you realize
You had made yourself superior
You had just step out into pride
You had met a fall and there was a heart break

You had felt pride to maximum
Abandoning your soul
Not knowing the real life
That was you and your soul

Fake had you become
It made you go in vain
Peices of mirrors you see now on ground
For you had met a fall, a heart break !

WORDS !

As there is bate for a fish there are words for human !

Amid-st the  valleys ,cities and towns

there are two eyes whispering the song ,

focused on the hole of the wall

these eyes meet a sky fall .

The dark night that come twice a week

holds the lovers together at feast ,

stars shining high above the balcony

Shakespeare uses this in his irony .

To a lay man world is stage and we the players

but to an erudite its much beyond the deep,

to which the lay man is unknown

to which the poets of fall echo.

Children in the garden play hoo la ho ,

unaware of the fairies going round and round on a toe

they surely are the miracles of his creation

who leave the common mouth opened.

The two eyes which mentioned above

meet with a conversation of two beloveds ,

of one asks as to what is that holds the people together

as to what is there beyond the tale of the Ceaser .

To which the other was dumbfounded,

promised to his beloved the answer to the question,

on a horse he set his journey to find the answer

he met many but he was still not knowing .

Then somebody told him to read the philosophy

he went through the biggest chronology,

but with the confused state of mind he returned back that night

when under a cliff he found a note in surprise .

Astonishingly he  uncovered the paper from beneath

there was nothing but one word written that was the WORD itself ,

he looked at it like the slum kid looking at rich

but put back the paper in the midst.

Then he went to the alchemist the another day

who laughed at him as if he had cracked a joke,

he then said to him that the world has a force

people call it WORDS that holds them close .

In an explicit way he said to him

for a lay man to understand the world ,

the poets of fall wrote the bridge of words

to let the lay man know the hidden story of earth .

He stood up and smiled at himself

for he now knew the answer to his beloveds question ,

for he knew the force which has made us a worth creations

for he knew the WORDS of reality of the world .

Went to his beloved the next day

looked in her eyes and then revealed,

the mystery he had solved and the answer he had got

for he was rich for he knew the WORDS .

Her beloved was overwhelmed by the efforts of her loved one

she tossed him at his head and then said ,

let the bards of Avon or London write a tale

of the lovers who knew the mystery of their sail .

And let the readers read the tale

with the zest as that of yours ,

let the eruidtes grew long beards

till they hear the tale of our known words .

The two eyes focusing on the hole in the wall

met with a stream of tear which was bound to fall,

because he was the one reading

‘the tale of our known words”.

Story from beneathe

snow4I was made of blue mountains, I was made of blue and white rivers
Alpine trees could seduce the tourists
I was famous for the crown ,

I was overwhelmed ,i was jovial
I was on the cloud 9 ,
the black swans were far from me
But that was time I was made to feed the heartless materialistic people in field ,

I am no poet, I am no singer ,
I can’t chant slogans I can’t breathe
For my life is now on edge
Either ways I am bound to meet a fall ,

Sometimes I am lively , sometimes I am haughty Both the times my blood is juvenile
I was crafted for the only title that said ‘if there is a paradise on earth it is this it is this , but it seems I am now the real KASHMIR ,

Poets of the fall who entitled me with this would have been honest if only people would have loved me
But they left me with blood ,dead ,rivers ,fake trees and still want freedom for me ,

Hypocrisy ruled me ,and is still,
I am no stand for me I am muted
I don’t find myself rhyming
For I have lost the tune of the rhythm ,

My brothers are being martyred
And sisters are being killed
I ask this question out very loud
For I was just another child named KASHMIR ,

What fault is on me that I am being slaughtered
I sigh as I keep my pen down for my words are left unheard even by a mere deaf
I still want to live , don’t murder me for you will go to hell jail ,

I still want to breathe don’t stop my breathes for punishment is tyranny ,
I want to be called as ‘jaanat -e kashmir –
For I have blood flowing down the streams the rivers are dead for eternity !