A Cosmic Dragoman


Your letters I keep
In a closet made of dreams.
Eyes cannot hold
Your unfathomable ink.

You have written them
With your winey blood
Upon the invisible pages
Made of dreamy champagne.
I need a cosmic dragoman.

                 _____Muhammad Shahab.


An Echo


I have wandered in gloomy forests;
Upon the shadowy clouds;
And unguarded mountains.

I have wandered in darkness and light;
In worlds known and unknown;
From yonder stars to lonely planets.

Your echo I hear,

My eyes scour every inch
To find, to see, and to cherish you;
It is here when they close
And find you as still as a statue.

            _____Muhammad Shahab.


A Sparrow; Happy and Lonely


I had dreamt–as often
Dreams do come true–
Of falling in love with you,
Of losing my being
To be in union with you

I saw the day the sundry folks
Were in queues,
Waiting upon you, save me
Looking through a glass mirror,
Reflecting the residue.

I was happy for the day.
Now and then I refrained,
But you advanced as I feared,

Yet I was happy,
For you were happy,
That being my world.

Now I am old.
Old as a meek sparrow
As a wave gently passing by.

Yet you left,
Refused to take me.
Not a word of coming back,
What a world have you left to me
For a world so strange and eternal?

                 _____Muhammad Shahab.


Departure into Death Kingdom


I feel your presence
In Mozart’s sonatas.

Hence you left
Only a volume,
And departed into the Death Kingdom

I listen till I bleed,
My love for you
Drips with every note,
And I’m dry.

You hover upon me,
Haunt me amid the tumult
Of an uproar in my head.

I become still,
The music stops,
The world stands stagnant before me.
With every sight you appear,
Every inch of my body you embody,
I imagine I’m adapting you,
In my spirit,
In my soul,
In my mind.

               _____Muhammad Shahab.


An Artless Piece of Wonder


Who’s Fra Pandolf to paint
Her matchless grace?

Who’s Petrarch to describe her fairness
In his sonnets?

Who’s Homer to ramble her mince
In his verse?

Who’s James to describe her shades
In her novels?

She’s more than the classics,
Than the sonnets,
The verse, and
The novels.

She’s my love,
An artless piece of wonder,
Primeval and ineffable.

                        ____Muhammad Shahab.