The Word

In the beginning was the Word,

And the Word was with God,

And the Word was God.  (Holy Bible, John 1:1)

Hush! Hush! How

                 Does

A word
                        Break

Its silence?

Does it behave like

An unruly boy at the last

Row of a crowded class?

Or a school teacher in hurry?

How does the word break its shell?

To unfurl its pock-marked heart.

Does it toss like a fish, caught

Fresh, in the hands of a fisherman?

Or the tail of a rounded eel?

What if the word were a

Woman?

A poor one,

Dreaming of a fine

Gold necklace from her lover.

Would you strangle her- in bed?

With your muscles,

Before dawn jumps in her shed.

Or would you be drowned

In her helpless breath?

Bark tonight! O heart! Bark!

With a spade, in memory’s field

Like a farmer, dig deep trenches

Only to unearth your memories

Like some fossils.

All day and night the word sings:

“I am neither the loosening of a song

Nor the close-drawn tent of music;

I’m the sound, simply,

Of my own breaking.” ¹

                                        (Ashaq Hussain Parray)

1. Note: The last four lines are from Mirza Ghalib

Song of the Soul

When the full blood moon drowns

in the big black ocean of sky

to break the news of coming night.

That time, my Love, that time

I rip apart my garments

and sing of my desolation.

 

When the muezzin calls- loud at night

and the faithful fall out in fright

to wash sins in the mosque of love.

That time, my Love, that time

I rip apart my garments

and sing of my desolation.

                    

When a sentry’s curious look at the gate

chains my view of your abode and I

call you to open the doors of my body.

That time, my Love, that time

I rip apart my garments

and sing of my desolation.

 

When the soothing air smells conspiracy

to drown my head in our blood

I call you while you sleep unmindful.

That time, my Love, that time

I rip apart my garments

and sing of my desolation.

 

 

When I burrow the barks of memory

in search of your lovesick eyes

and nothing but specks I gain.

That time, my Love, that time

I rip apart my garments

and sing of my desolation.    

 

When the prison walls pour out the dust

of bones from my countrymen

while Death rejects me her golden turn.

That time, my Love, that time

I rip apart my garments

and sing of my desolation.    

Forgotten Papers

After a long time today I opened

The secret chambers of my heart.

There was nothing except some

Silverfish-ravaged past papers

Of your memories.

Page by page I sold all papers of

Your memories in lieu of sixty six

Pennies to feed my filthy stomach.

The merchant was reluctant to accept

Hopeless papers of love.

He kept saying with downcast eyes,

“I don’t deal in revealed scriptures.

God forbid! It is a blasphemy.”

I told him otherwise and assured him

Of no ill fate that may befall him.

The sacred silver pages of my heart

Bear the unholy touch of an infidel.

The scripture of heart is always open

Like our fragile lives in Kashmir,

To the attacks of ruthless wild wind.

Its pages are milk-white always

Waiting for some hand to imprint

The first impressions of love.

Love! I thank the day we met

And separated silently in silence.

There are no ‘forty rules of love.’

Love has no rule to lay down and

To love is not a rule at all.

Once dead in the hunger of solitude.

It saved me and fed my belly.

Ashaq Hussain Parray

Let’s Go

Rise and let’s go and rest at Friend’s lane.
Revive lost letters of love and strive to see,
If we can be-- old friends Again.
And measure the wounds of our heart,
Count the tall telling trees of yore,
The flowery petals of blood in our heart.

Friend, you know what spells charmed us.
Rise O rise, for you know who killed them.
“Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, [Friend]”
You know who left their bodies shroud-less
“Fear no more the frown of the great, [Come]
Rise and let’s go and rest at Friend’s lane.

Friend, let’s go and see with our eyes,
The bent bodies of our brethren,
Who like flies swarm across the bars,
To seek refuge from the letters,
Exchanged stealthily to each other in joy,
In the feverish cold of Chillai Kalan.

Let’s march against the odds of war,
And heal our wounds.
I shall burrow a hole into my heart,
With the dagger of your love,
A resting place for us, two together,
Thrown ashore by the smoke of shells.

Do you mind if we pretend, that
We are at peace in the dark.
Let’s go then and count the living
Among the dead, lying,
Or the dead among the living,
Under the same old red-leafed chinar.

Friend, “My nerves are bad tonight” but
Don’t forget, I love you much as I love
The Burnt- out end cigarette puffs.

My Friend, the same old red-leafed chinar,
Where our great grandfathers solemnised
Our marriage of misery and bondage.
Come let’s go and celebrate the massacre
Of human heart. Come, don’t be afraid,
“Thou shall be saved”, death too shall die.

(Ashaq Hussain Parray)

Forgiveness

There is no forgiving,

When you murder the

Forgiveness.

On a cold November night,

We had gone to

Sleep early, fearing

A knock at our door,

You came like a hunter

Slowly and Stealthily.

You stole my poetry,

Had it been faith,

I would have thought.

Wars don’t break hearts,

Hearts break wars.

You have the war,

I have the heart 

And art, not to break.

War is a bargain to die,

Poetry-- the nerve to lie

On a fire and dream of

Age old fairies that

No longer visit us.

“The times are out of joint”

Heaven won’t guard us,

It bursts thundering bombs

In the womb of mother earth.

And then you—you came,

You stole my poetry,

Had it been faith,

I would have thought.

“I am not a story 

You weave through words

To write of a wearisome world.

I am a mad desire 

Pursuing my own pursuit.

Why would not I die?

In your pursuit but-

You stole my poetry

Had it been faith

I would have thought.

Forgiveness is a crime,

When your dreams are stolen

And sold like hot bread

In the early morning of Chellai Kallan

In Kashmir.

And you roll your eyes

Like a helpless dove

Shredded to pieces.

I am tired now of reading

The spiritless books.

Turning the pages I

Have been in search

Of a word

About

Myself.”

(Ashaq Hussain Parray)

Our Love and Life

It's raining, as I watch the rain
Drops, drip dropping against the
Window panes of my room.
I fold my hands like a Hindu,
In the temple of love and pray:
“May you hold my hand and trust
Your sweet love, again.”

Your love feels like a tooth ache,
On a midnight slumber.
“No, I won’t talk to you
About the old papery flowers,
I dropped at your closed door.”

The rain has stopped, and left
Behind the surface of silence.
"Come; let's sing of old days,
We spent on the shore of hope,
Together.”

What? What is now left in life?
“The scary stitches of time,
Stitched on my soft skin,
The darkness you planted
In the mud of my heart.”

There is a place where our egos
Don't clash and crash,
Where the whirlpools of our being,
Slightly melt into each other.
I, who sought you in my dreams,
Shall meet you there,
"Mad heart! Be brave!"

(Ashaq Hussain Parray)