who lives with you when you're carrying on with an unknown life and attends you when you die an unannounced death.
Perhaps this is the biggest tragedy that can happen to a foreigner: To die outside his beloved homeland!

-

Simple and ordinary words can be great
Soft and delicate words can be cruel
Complex and deep words can be meaningless
Easy and clear words can be complex
Short and precise words can be profound
Long and lengthy words can be stupid.

Words are messengers of one's mind,
symbols of one's imagination-
imprints of one's experiences.
They can give you hope but they can't change your fate.
They can help your feelings but they can't repair your heart.
They can make you smile but they can't stop you from crying.

But some words are more like emotions-
which have no meaning, no depth,
no synonym, no antonym
no sound, no excuse.
They are dark and drab.
Empty and quiet. Static and cold.
Like the ones your heart learns
when life says nothing at all.

/-words

-

There's a fine way to repent,
to untangle cords of ancient sins
to seek and speak the word of faith;
how to 'be'
and 'not to be'.

There's a fine way to return,
to find a road back to Him
to chase and grab a lover's gaze,
till it grows quiet
and candid.

There's a fine way to eternity,
to the lengths of ecstatic joy.
to hear and reveal awaited truths.
behind the codes- holy
and divine.

There's a fine way to love,
to train a soul for any crucifixion
to reach a state where madness rages
where all desires shrivel
and perish.

/الصراط المستقيم/
٥ رمضان ، ١٤٤٢ھ

-

Life is a journey. Dying is a process.

-

Love is a shock to some, a comfort to others; for some a coincidence, for some a spark of luck, for some a test, for some a life-death matter, for some a mistake, for some a lesson— a fascination to some, a painful thing to others. Perhaps, everywhere love serves a reason for everyone to believe that they are less lonely, less miserable and less pathetic than others.
But in the end, everyone ends-up seeing love as what their true self is.

-

I shall wrap these eyes
and lock my heart
for the salvation of my soul
that has gone astray.

I shall stretch all threads
from the cloth of my flesh
to pull the black cords
that have tainted my core.

I shall seize these breaths
and squeeze my lungs
to drain the dark poison
that has sickened my life.

I shall shed all tears
from the ocean of my eyes
to wash the blots of sins
that have corrupted my heart.

I shall forget these lengths
and touch my limits
to express this love
that has made me insane.

I shall meet you soon.

-

I made you my home
You meant my exile...

-

After all the windows close
the holy touch of cosmic breeze
lets the stars drift downstream
across the maze of shaggy trees. 
.
Curtains block the midnight's muse,
Angels beseech behind a shield;
''dew must reach the driest leaf,
the rain should wet an arid field".
.
Love flickers in a candle fly,
a thirst docked in-between.
she sets her lips on the fire of truth,
to let her faith taste the unseen.
.
As palettes run short of paint,
a portrait lives without a hue.
In the orange light of ancient doubts
It's okay for the world to feel blue.

/رازهایی ناگفتہ/

-

Letter # 20

Write to me, in the silences of night,
a frozen pain you hide in daylight.
Write to me, your meaningless insight
empty of all delight.

Play, the song of your heart, which you always find hard,
an ode you never want to sing, a sweetness so bitter,
bedded in the blossoms of spring.

Write, about your voids, the ones you've buried alive
hear the breath of life, of those struggling to survive.
Reclaim your feelings they're never too old to be not told
draw a picture of love, an amalgam of red and gold.

Fake a lover's muse, utterly endless, tainted with grayish hues.
take a drop of emotions, exceptionally vast, compacting all blues.
Learn the game of metaphors, embrace the defeat of words.
weave a wreath of broken pearls,
connect the ends of parallel worlds.

Send me your loneliness, molten scars, a fraction of your pain.
Write to me, as if we'll never see each other (ever) again.
Make a universal epic laced in the cords of mystery
Let the historians mention a poet like you in history.

/Write to me
30 . 12 . 2020

-

Tonight of all nights, my pain is fluid again,
the guilt in my eyes is dripping like rain.
I've slipped into the darkest shade of night,
my words are heavy, my lips are quiet.
.
You are the one who knows, the grief of those
who breach their pledge in the hope of hopes.
You are the one who hears, the ode of tears
as they melt through the frigid walls of my fears.
.
I am not as good as I want to be,
I trespass my boundaries, wanting to be free.
Who is the true devil formed in human disgrace?
Besides a mold of clay, there exists another face.
.
I'm looking for myself (but) it's nowhere to be found.
The strength of my soul is crumbling to the ground.
Should I have to climb the heights of Toor?
to wrap my heart in the cloud of your Noor.
.
O' the master of my life, the reliever of my plight
You are the only light in such a dark night.
Please descend from heavens and take me there.
For it is dark, very dark here.

-