Naqsh

naqsh faryādī hai kis kī shokhī-e tahrīr kā
kāġhażī hai pairahan har paikar-e tasvīr kā

--Ghalib

Who those pictures complain about I see all of them wearing paper clothes. After arriving at the land of opportunities and dreams, I feel still connected with those clumsy streets and stinky gardens. Where went those beggars on the footpath and where are those sleeping animals? Have I ever lived in a place like that? The pictures are getting blurred in my mind. There must be some reflection. There was some noise, a loud serenity. My ‘marasim’ with my world cannot be broken. Links of my chains are on fire and in captive too, I will take birth to get free.