after Ghalib[1]
the shore shrugs free of its fastenings
exfoliating its blemishes in anticipation
of love or death—similar reliefs
some people are indifferent between
memory and oblivion which are both
both and neither. letting go is holding on
to innallillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon.
the blue night still coils in the canyons
between my knuckles a crescent slits the night
the palindrome sky with a thin promise
of light on either side I let the blue take me
in its morphined arms all I want is to be
a wreck that washes up on your sands I lie
to the snow-white pills that keep me warm—
you don’t return on your own
there is peace in otal destruction
oblivion hurts less perhaps
yet I summon you again, and again
[1] Ishrat-e-qatra hai darya mein fanaa ho jaana by Ghalib.
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