I have been redoing my assignments on ghazal today,
Each line I write, makes me look as a puzzle today.
The words stay fixed, missing every ball, and every run,
the art, in my amateur mind, seems to wuzzle today.
The field, the city, and the galaxy have withered away,
every block looks new, every turn turns to fuzzle today.
My hunger to spill the bags of beans pinches my fingers,
hence, I take a seat in the dastarkhwan to guzzle today.
Why are you still trying to sing your heart here, Aishika?
I want to experience life, in life, without a muzzle today.