My heart is full of unsaid confessions that I never recited to people whom I have fall in love with. I made room and home for feelings that crawl across my heart and tingle in my fingers . I painted flowers for everyone with whom my heart collided . I packed my skin with names of people who never met me again . I became empty with unsaid and unanswered letters. My flesh has flowers of only regrets now . My heart is empty unbloomed space of hate. The closet I am to someone , More they run away. I stay besides myself and i feel my fragrance choking me. I remember I have never been loved like a orphan . No stranger ever hugged me and called me mine. I hope someday someone watches me falling dreadful and down and screams the painful scratches on your body are mine. The fragrance of my home is ugly . and no one visits my shrine of griefs. I am homeless lover in my town.
My heart has never found a home , city or town of it's own, i found myself suffering the aches of isolation everyday. I saw a graveyard for my longings within my ribcages ,i found myself carrying a funeral of my desires everyday. i saw my miseries suppressed within my empty stomach , I found my throat choking screams of my heart everyday. I saw the blood dripping down from my fingers ,i found myself stiching the ripped letters and poems of love everyday. I saw the scars of my wrist left uncovered and uncoloured , I found the signs of illicit love on my lips everyday. I saw my throat no longer speaking the song's of love,i found the strings of my heart broken into pieces everyday. I saw my tongue stammering with the burden her Memories, i found my lips dead and dried like desert everyday. I saw my lungs decaying with sorrowful memories of beloved, i found my stomach no longer diving with butterflies everyday. I saw the shelves of art in my heart rusted and runied. i found my veins carrying the methaphors of autumn everyday. I saw the orchard of my poem's grey and withering. I found no flowers and fruits blooomig in my backyard everyday. I saw the space between my lungs filled with grief and smoke , i found my seekings burning into ashes everyday. I saw my eyes drowing to save your memories ,i found no rhyme ,no poem ,no letter and language to speak your name everyday. I saw myself crawling behind your footprints.i found my legs and collarbones broken in your wait everyday. I saw myself painting the alphabets of our name together.i found rain washing it all everytime everyday. I saw you glowing like artful painting in the sky. i found my stars broken and cloud's bursting on my longings everyday.
The black coloured radio from 90's left dusted on kitchen shelf still echoes syllables of winter and bloodbath by oppressor in kashmir.
The unending voids of people who are lost in colours of spring and summer are braided with sad Urdu Ghazals of mehmood gami .
Memories of countrymen in a green and serene meadows of our backyard are burdening soft cotton lips of people.We feel choked behind the closed gates and doors again and again.
The tales of snow bathing my country men with sorrowful methaphors are frosting thier palms and veins with cold memories of past. We have no language to tell world about our comrades who are buried in unknown graveyards city apart.
The Fogg outside gusts me with memories of old lover,Her neck had scars like tattoos , her eyes reflection of Kashmir , her Blood a song that desired to bury and melt the snowballs of oppression.
The shops closed outside are recollection of the curfew night stories , I remember words from my mothers dictionary . Snowflakes slaughters my sons young dreams , The flood it brings cultivates riots in my daughter's naive body, We have address of home in pockets ,but we don't have a home to sleep in winters.
The white carpet of snow and dark clouds in sky are mastering me towards abandoned homeland of my father , I could hear bleeding tongues in agony sobbing the heartsore riots that burned our home's, I feel the echoes of gunshots whenever snow falls from rooftops.
Whenever I hear pages of calendar ringing the alphabets of January . I feel the currents of fear in my collarbones . As i remember I have to hide everything , It's the month of curfew and massacre. They will search shelf after shelf the poetry that I wrote for bloodstained abodes and Martyrs .
The harshness of winter in kashmir is simillar to oppresor.It wilts my thorns and roses , Occupies all the spaces of barren land in my hometown , pushes me down and buries me wherever it finds the crevices . Leaving no traces of murder for the humans.
The winter leaves no home for me ,It Just slaughters me with methaphors , Making my longings waunder homeless , burning my heart with riots, making me bleed the syllables of oppression through veins, bathing me everyday with miserable synonyms and new coffins.
Winter freezes me, i can't narrate the bitter poem's of oppressor, It nourishes more graves within me , it buries me within my own skin. It replaces the old voids with bigger ones.It buries my hometown into unknown graveyard .
The dark clouds of miseries hovers over our car. we drive away in a long steep hill together for the last time. But not holding the wrists of eachother
we came barreling down the hill in sadness of seperation at 100 miles per hour for the last time together. But not speaking the song's of snow and mountains for eachother.
Storms came and cleared the streets of good memory we have spent together ,forming a lofty hill of miseries on every layer of our skin and every soft corner of our hearts too.
The lush green meadows of our reminiscence are fading Inbetween riots of our heart and fate.We are not passing the fragrance of kisses on eachother neck again.
Our lungs are suffering the gushing unsolicited tug of war of bitter poems of destiny for tenth time a day .We don't take eachothers name like the old lovers in Urdu poetry repeat.
We wrung all the pictures , songs , kisses , memories and letters in a broken fridge of our home . Hopeless we witness the bloods trickling down staining our empty heart with cold coated ice of eachothers rememberings again.
Our eyes are wieghing in pages of our traits . Our Lips screaming the pain that our veins are sustaining for unclear corrupt eyes that felt for eachother in autumn ,while traveling in broken train.
The poems of seperation have began to Play. The words we echoed throughout the drive dug voids of loneliness. we are not for filling the fingers voids of eachother again.
The windows are opened and the valcano of grief strikes us again. We both are breathing the smoke of our Longings . we both are carrying funerals of our memories with each passing step we repeat.