Forlorn Souls

Three forlorn souls
In different isolated nooks
Sullen in their heads
A life of dissidence brook

Reticence being the hallmark of the two
Delving into their minds, none could do
Tantrums and disdain for the third
Forms their agenda without a cue

Surreptitiously stumbling across searches
Gave an insight into an unnerving scare
Could it be manifestation of depression?
Does this symptom not even adolescents spare

Laying down expectations in vague terms,
Lot like a puzzle to unscramble
Only to show aggression and outshout the other
Upon failing to decipher the cryptic tangle

The key to any form of rapport
Stems from exchange of thoughts
Loathe they both, exercising their vocal chords
This bridge of Communication was long lost

Underlining inadequacies isn’t always an eye-opener
Respect and restraint forms the crux of every bond
All relationships need constant nurturing
Cohesion cannot be forged with a magic wand

Another Gem From The Last Moghul

Not the light of any one’s eyes!
nor the solace for any one’s heart
of no use to anyone,
I am that one fistful of dust

I am not the song infusing life,
why would anyone want to hear me
I am the sound of separation,
I am the wail of much distress

My complexion and beauty is ravaged,
my beloved is parted from me
the garden that got ruined in autumn,
I am the crop of its spring

I am neither anyone’s friend,
nor am I anyone’s rival
the one that is ruined, I am that fate
the one that is destroyed, that land

Why should anyone come to sing a requiem
why should anyone come to offer four flowers
why should anyone come to light a candle
I am the tomb of that destitution

The last Mughal’s poetry as it intertwined with his life.

My heart has no repose in this despoiled land
Who has ever felt fulfilled in this futile world?

The nightingale complains about neither the sentinel nor the hunter
Fate had decreed imprisonment during the harvest of spring

Tell these longings to go dwell elsewhere
What space is there for them in this besmirched heart?

Sitting on a branch of flowers, the nightingale rejoices
It has strewn thorns in the garden of my heart

I asked for a long life, I received four days
Two passed in desire, two in waiting.

The days of life are over, evening has fallen
I shall sleep, legs outstretched, in my tomb

How unfortunate is Zafar! For his burial
Not even two yards of land were to be had, in the land of his beloved

Desolation

A feeling so hollow,
That’s hard to swallow
Engulfs my being
Leaving no clue of what it is seeking

Pervading silence all around
Adds to the confusion abound
As though put in a quarantine
By folks I call mine

How could one not form a connect
Or make no effort to resurrect
The crumbling charm of togetherness
Despite a bond so deep and measureless

Schisms keep lingering, unless you let go
The need to pander to the ego
Sane does recognise the bliss ahead
Unless their emotions are dead

My heart wails for the years lost
In vagaries of moods carelessly tossed
Instead of a chance to script cherished moments
Had it dawned to figure, what negativity foments?

It’s too late in the day
To expect amends along the way
Power struggle has a tendency to hold sway
For those hooked, to remain in the fray

Vacillating mind craves to perhaps fill the void
With harmonious coexistence and altercations avoid
Would it be an overreach to long?
To someone in spirit and soul belong

My Hearts Rendition

Oh god, why have you put me in a spot
I craved for an ideal friend, not a bundle of haught
Composed, sensitive, matured with a synchronized thought
These were the attributes in him, I sought
Aberrations of his mind, makes me distraught
With unpredictable mood swings, he is fraught
In his rage, stoic silence and indifference, often I am caught
Unable to grasp where his temperament could be slot
I deliberate over his gamut of emotions, too often
Hoping time will mend his ways, long gotten
Many sequels of such dramatics unfold, ugly and rotten
His lamenting showdown, ultimately makes my stance soften
Implications of severed relations, knows not my friend
Squabbling habitually, no sane person would ever recommend
I exhort, taking differences too far results in strife
May be he interprets this, as an occurrence rife
I am no saint, nor do I seek perfection
Do not construe this as a complaint, it’s my hearts rendition
Only a small wish, here I would like to mention
Bestow harmony in our friendship, with your divine intervention