I Am

The sun is dark
Here in the shadows
As dark as the midnight
I like them–
No heat
Only me
I see in
I see.

No more shadows–
The phoney shadows.
The clumsy silhouette;
Black and blue
Following till they disappear.

Am I a psychopath or the sun?
To think I am
I am
There is only me
I am
Not a sick philosopher–
The energy;
Strenuous vitality
I am.

_____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.


Facing a Brobdingnagian


From the door came out a giant man
To combat me in an ancient Egyptian arena.
I thought of it a paltry scuffle.

Who could’ve imagined
The battle of a man
So feeble as I,
And a Brobdingnagian,
I beheld before me.
His face like an ancient Gladiator
His arms, steel moulden.
His eyes like a tiger,
Fierce without a sign of fear.
His thighs as if borrowed
From an Indian elephant.

This man I had to face
In a world I had never seen
For you,
I had to fight.
For you,
I had to win.
Was not a world as is today
To win you from some flirts
In a bar, a cafe or a pub.

As I woke up beside you,
In this wooden bed blanketed.
Then I noticed
Not a giant grunting
But you, snoring.

                  _____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.