-

city-sounds drowned
by the pelting rain,
the night plays on like an
unplugged song on loop.

(continued in caption)

-

clouds of your desire
trespass my horizon;
this rain is a prisoner
of our love.

-

Fasted Hearts: A Short Story

Somewhere, she would be retiring to bed at the end of a lonely night, taking along with her the last of the dawn-dissolving arc of the sacred moon that burned at her window all night; reminding of him and reflecting sharply from promises of love that their families left fasted in them forever.

At the same time, in his world, somewhere else, he would be awake - showered, dressed in new clothes and headed to the Salaat. Kneeled onto the mausoleum floor, his breath one with the holy enchants, he would be bending the lines on his outstretched palm; seeking her face behind his closed eyes and letting his faith take him to a place where everyone forbid.

To her. Through prayers and wishes. Crossing religious limits in love without calling for riots.

Isn’t love, after all, our honest potential to seek someone truly, every time we commit ourselves to the remembrance of God??

Eid Mubarak!!

-

Regrets
are coffins
carrying
living people;
their past
leading
the funeral
march.

-

Pacific of Desire

With a wink,
you let the
robe slip from
your shoulders.
And I gape
at a sparkling
bead of water,
furrowing down
your seashore back.

(Full poem in caption)

-

Let's say,
we met how
the earth meets
a shooting star.

A bit of
you broke,
a whole of
me burnt.

-

Your promise, I know, was not just about rebuilding me when I break, but about making me realize that, perhaps, breaking me was also one of the many ways you chose to love me.

-

How women curl their palms
about a lilting flame in the wind,
around a diya lit in prayer,
into a curtain of promise kept -
is exactly how I feel her fingers
gather in sleep on my bare chest.

In a silent guard to a beating wish,
the night sky between her fingers,
that I have carried alit in my heart,
seeking a forever in her love.

-

Of all the wounds
That I have ever endured,
Your biting my lips
Between your teeth,
As I drank back the
Warm,
Red,
Trickle of passion,
Is what I would like to torture
Myself with;
Everyday.

-