Wasn't I who told you the manner
of sitting up in presence of promise
Weren't you who told me absolute
words of comfort and convenience

We were in a chapter of lust
Where our fingers were reading
And we both were blind must

weren't you standing beside me
asking about the seeds and their sort
Wasn't I who told  you crop of obedience
Grows in natural liberty

No where no one would fancy a year
of seven months and a day
Of uncertainty and fear
And a sun less than a ray

Wasn't I a villager
Of misery and rebellion
Weren't  you my Lord threaded
In darkest night a way

Now all misery adapted
In mother-hood and rebellion is
Sewing garments for orphans 
 

How can I stop you wearing golden weathers
How could I wear mirrored garments
For all hidden doom in weathers you wear can be displayed
Now I find you nowhere
O my! Healer what hide and seek you play
Come for an evening and pull down all branches of my ego
Or turn it in  rivulets to unfathomable sea

I know dark night with all its serenity is disappearing
Darkness is continuously dropping and a channel of light is appearing
I know dreams of youth are continuously absorbing in your silent eyes
And my evening is still sleeping on your eyelashes
How could I touch your eyes
Who can raise a wall in course of dream?

How beautifully melted my passion and your love
In a foggy evening when tear and pain were exposed together
How strange your way of addressing was in a dropping night
When dreams with a thought of descending were perspiring
How dare I to hear your word that drew the picture of insight while it was pronounced
How frightfully I and my soul knelt down in your presence
While your sword was shining in your right hand but how kindly you sat there and how simply asked
me to walk on the sword without having seven cuts in my heart
You have asked me to lay down and put the sword on throat
You had also told me that it is love in beginnings

26 September 2004

Lightening and rain were making a new weather
He whose home was not built before his birth
Was pulled down like a hollow tree in blowing gale
A ray of hope appeared on his face after years
He saw himself was kindling a candle and putting in a globe of glass
On asking he spoke I am the foundation black stone of Adam

How Still my heart is
what a symmetry in this cemetery lies
an embalmed beauty it seems
without an urge of art
like a tamed animal without a cart

I sat under a shadowy tree in front of an orphanage
kids might call me a Buddha
I don't know, was it my face or you my destiny's author
who told them the story of my incomplete education
they called me an illusion
If an illusion I am why an orphan seemed to me a star
bright while has a dark night in his way
bright while his pleasure twinkles
shines more when breaks and disappeared just for a day
since they are in thousands

I might forget an orphan I am too
lived in third world true 

April 12 2006

POEM

O children come with me
I will tell you tale of my heart
Listen, One day standing alone near a railway track
I saw little water in an uneven way
Light was making herself up in a rippling mirror
In mean while,  pain threw a stone
T'fell in the pond of my heart
There happend a splash
A qeustion raised in my mind
Why am I a beloved and blessed one
From where this attraction comes
And settels in me
Who has painted my eyes
On a human canvas so beautifully
Who selects most beautiful colors
That a mother's smile  mixed in the tears
stolen from a prayer mat of a father's rooms
Just before dawn
How amazingly He composed
The melodias background of my life
In a childlike music of my daughter's toys
And in the long arrival bells of interpretation
And in the short sad music of the departure of a dream

Pain threw another stone bigger than the former
Water splashed and my eyes could not hold it
I saw, It was light still existing  water was reflecting it
The uneven way was now even

atif waqas
18-03-2012

village

village is far behind now

voices are still closed today

mother asks to be straight

female youth asks for once, though last

a sinking voice suggests me nothing

my teachers are speaking

here comes an unknown voice

it's mine or is it yours

or you speaks through me

saying; village is for villagers

cities are for citizens

country is for soldiers

streets are for newcomers

corners are for disappearing

old comers

windows are for the eyes

and doors for children

trees are for sparrows

sparrows are for crops

yards are for sunshine

sun is for wet clothes

both of the yards are

for gallery meets them

though here I am alone

alone there was I

I starred windows for years

eyes raise not their lid for me

no more child I am

no more I love the doors

sparrows feel not my heart

they know mere to chirp

order they know not

though village is far behind

voices are still close

Het verloop van een droom

Hoe kan ik voorkomen dat jij gouden weer draagt

Hoe kan ik gespiegelde kleding dragen

Voor al het verborgen onheil in weer dat jij draagt

Kan ten toon gespreid worden

Nu vind ik jou nergens

O mijn genezer wat verstoppertje speel jij

Kom voor een avond en sloop alle takken van mijn ego

Of zet het om in beekjes naar onpeilbare zee.

Ik weet, de donkere nacht met al zijn rust is aan het verdwijnen

Duisternis werpt zich voortdurend af en een kanaal van licht komt tevoorschijn

Ik weet, dromen van jeugd worden voortdurend opgenomen in jouw stille ogen

En mijn avond is nog steeds aan het slapen op jou w wimpers

Hoe kan ik jouw ogen aanraken

Wie kan een muur oprichten in het verloop van een droom?