A concerto
of wistfulness in froggy croaks arcs and laces in my ghazal
Flowers of
lexically bastardized ideas imbibe the verses of vases in my ghazal
One legged
belle-lettres written piping hot for the beloved with no prowess
At risk of
sedition, ironically, for the janu burger there will be no praises in my ghazal
Bees
marshalled like beady seeds onto the rim of a slice of watermelon
Poetry
wrangles to sham such rife notions at myriad places in my ghazal
If the
white escorts green, the green must always whelm the white
In
camaraderie with reality, I relegate the minorities to the cramped spaces in my
ghazal
At my
familial home, once dangling crystal balls are now crushed to shards by
modernization
No profound
image in any couplet, this sentimental singularity was the chassis in my ghazal
My strife
with writing is the muted nature of the endeavor, the product never speaks its
meaning
Or maybe
the silence speaks of the mediocre nature of phrases in my ghazal
A Happy
meal of apocryphal serotonin valued higher than the celibate happiness in a
tablet of Esglit
In this
land, of my country in decay, a cynical picture I’ve painted in stages in my
ghazal
Near the
end, the mind itches yet again to hold the beloved by ink between index and the
thumb
Albeit a
tenet’s infringement, her presence will break the fast; serve as an oasis in my
ghazal
My mahi
will spend another Eid away from me and my bewailing, not for much more years
K defeats M
to live before -iss in a mental Manichean heresy, as words turn into kisses in
my ghazal
Mehwar, of these slippery toad-like warty words, takes your leave gratefully now
Before my
newfound ardor, craft, contentment disjoint the homeostasis in my ghazal