By Ziniya Al Baha
Fascination and pain can’t be the same, they may inquire about your name but don’t tell
them your aim.
The colours have changed but the gazes remain, so confine yourself to the art that remains.
Walk again when the clouds have disappeared, the sky’s clear and the dreamers are near.
Weaving stories from the ventures of thy past, let people hear your scars.
Watching from afar sacrifice thy heart, people may hurt you but don’t be the same.
Learn the art of patience, portray the art of humanity, drag yourself from the chaos, sit
under the star and draw your heart.
Embrace the cat cuddling under the chair, and kiss the leaves falling from the trees.
Wrecking is inevitable and pleading is a waste.
Through hate, I see thy fate.
Times are still far away, but some paths are paved to take.
Explore the tomb as thy womb, museums may be dead but history can’t be erased, ease thy
soul, embrace thy thirst.
Why do thee walk towards death when pages are still left unread?
The crumbling forts and the dancing peacocks still illuminate the brocades of gold, lying in
the treasures and the troves.
The beggars that are passing by, humming the odes of the delight.
The Sufis are walking by the flowers of paradise, kissing the morning haze drawn upon their
empty chest.
Snake charmers’ sadistic tunes awaken the street’s early muse, resting the swords behind
the doors, men are scared of their whores.
Legacies are left unsung where are the beatings of thy drums?
Strolling under the pavilion of the Mughals, the courtesan is singing with a tint of tear:
‘Dawn is near return oh dear!
The hearts are empty, desires are steered. Lower your gaze, ghosts of desire.
Men have perished from these fears. Old city remains but nothing old dear!
Everything is pacing who can sit near? Draw the curtains, darkness is here.’
By Ziniya Al Baha
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