By Ishrat Nabi
Does the world of eloquence know the world inside me?
That has swallowed the gems as that of the sea.
The coagulated expositions and the expressions,
Which never dare cross the uvula to flee.
Innocent Ideas like scattered beads,
reflect sprouted soppy beans among the weeds.
Where on streets the thoughts toss and turn;
to learn the Quran without Bayan’s yearn.
Does Bayan live only in countries of verbal and written?
Where conferential exhibitions are sown and litten.
What about the frozen silence and melted sighs?
And yes the bony and the quivering thighs?
The rags, and the faces grim;
the bellies that never fill up to the brim.
The deal that brings no joys;
as it is of the child selling the toys.
What about the lips that never apart?
And the brooks flow from eyes that, speak, cannot.
Do they not know the language of perfects?
To extricate themselves from the nomenclature of dimwits.
Who in the world their glance could read?
or to their cacophony of silence, pay heed.
What then they don’t have letters and words;
they have their own worlds.
where they are ruled and the rulers;
the worlds free of thefts and fears;
where they belong to everything ;
and to them everything belongs.
The poetess is a doctoral student of Islamic Studies and can be reached at malikishrat139@gmail.com
