K IS POETRY

i am not writing
any poem today
i am in the
valley of kashmir.

ہر سوختہ جانے کہ بہ کشمیر در آید
گر مرغ کباب است با بال و پر آید
عرفی

Lines in the Palm

the lines on the palm
of my hand
said nothing,
i asked them
on every turn on the road
right or left?
and now
when i have
reached the mountain peak
and am to touch the sky
with my hand
the lines in the palm
speak to me
'we knew all along the way-
you didn't ask'.

(ayaz rasool nazki)

It does'nt care

it doesn't  care

it comes in
of it's own accord
in the dead of night
in the scorching sun
never knocking at the door
there it is,
behind the curtain
stretched across
 the white floor,
there on the shelf
hiding in the  closet
winking through the mirror,
rocking in the  chair
fiddling with the books,
rummaging through the drawers
switching on the lights
playing with the paper weight
round and round
on the table top
humming under the breath
till it descends through
my pen .

(ayaz rasool nazki)