Categories
Poetry (English)

The Sun Rises

The sun rises from my
Shattered womb. My each dawn bleeds,
Bleeds to see the light.

The fragments of my
Body collapse, soul runs free
In moonlit desert.

Specks, specks of sand slip,
In barren desert I wait
For my guiding star.

Sure the night will pass.
White thread will be seen from black.
Sun will rise again.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Categories
Poetry (English)

Sky Is Still

Sky is still.
Clouds of variegated colours,
Spilled over the vast sheet.
Sun is set
And a crescent line
Moves with me.
A bright star glued
To it, carries it ahead.
The moon and the star
On the tip of my
Finger settle perfectly.
Not many birds are chirping now.
They were, few moments ago,
Chirping loudly, flying,
But now are silent.
The night is approaching
With quick steps.
In no time it will be here
Or perhaps it has arrived already.
I heard that cities are burning.
The blood flows but not in veins
And beats but the heart.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Categories
Poetry (Hindi-Urdu)

काली स्याही से

काली स्याही से मंज़र में खून के छींटे
रात है लेकिन बहना भी ज़रूरी है

फीके उजियालों तक के नाकाम सफर में
संग कौन है जाने क्या कितनी दूरी है

ग़ैर-मुमकिन तो नहीं मैं डूब जाऊं
दास्तां मेरी अधूरी थी अधूरी है

धुआं धुआं हसरतें उड़ने लगी हैं जा-ब-जा
शबिस्तां में मुस्कुराना इक मजबूरी है

माहताब मुंतज़िर है सितारों का
मेरी शब-ओ-शाम बिन जुगनू ही पूरी है

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Categories
Poetry (Hindi-Urdu)

रात अंधेरे में

रात अंधेरे में गर कोई ख्वाब देखो तो
बैठ जाना उठकर और दीपक जला लेना
रोशनी की लौ वो कोई गीत गाएगी
कुछ न कहना तुम बस उसको देखते रहना
स्याह पट्टे पर कलम उजली चले तो क्या मज़ा
आइना बनकर कलम काली उठा लेना

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Categories
Short Prose

A Sweet Escape

The cold breeze pricked her cheeks, making her shiver with pain. Reality is harsh. Sleep is a sweet escape. But the wind would not let her sleep. Like the snooze of an alarm it was constantly nagging her. She wanted to smack it hard on the ground and laugh at the shattered pieces. Atleast, she would not remain the only broken thing in the room. She had even started to enjoy the foolish thought, but the next icy blow slapped her hard, as if wreaking the vengeance.

She wanted to sleep. She was tired. It was a long day. A long hard day and she was tired, tired of doing nothing. She wanted to sleep. She had wanted to sleep the whole day, but sleep would just not listen. It seemed to her that sleep was sleeping herself. Was she too tired? Was she too in pain? If so, she would relieve her of it. She would caress her in a warm embrace and tell her that she was not alone. She would plant a light kiss on her forehead and fill her voids. She would even sing to her a lullaby in the same sweet voice she could hear now. Yes, exactly like this, this calm angelic voice. But, but whose is it? Whose hands are caressing her forehead? Who is snuggling her in this warm embrace? Whose baby is she becoming? She cannot see, her eyes are getting heavier, everything is getting fade fader…

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Categories
Poetry (English)

Each Night

Each night a silhouette
Opens the locked drawer.
Rustling of old pages.
A pen screeches.

Flick!
A yellow flame
Appears in the farthest end,
In the daylight where
A mahogany desk stands.

Tea is being brewed.
Fresh aroma fills the room.
Poured in a little cup,
Handled by two.

Now the old bed creeks.
An angelic voice is heard,
Reciting eternal verses.
Few dew beads gleam.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit