She appeared-
as my hope for the colors
of the ghetto’s narrow labyrinthine lane
a noisy dullness-
teeming with men and veiled women
Her white scarf-
green-blue flowers and fringes
draped over her head and shoulder
A jacket-
dark blue
A long skirt-
kaleidoscopic print over pale white
The stalls-
selling clothes, bangles
and other adornments
fluorescent, or incandescent light above them
ensuring their bright appearance
She walked slowly-
not looking ahead
bending over a little
looking more closely
Her small, deft hands
over bangles
At our closest distance-
I saw the calm grace
of her face
A sudden sparkle
from her nose-pin-
broke my gaze

Colors that reached my eyes-

reflected subtraction
 of the absolute light
Colors she kept behind
to herself-
painted a mystery transfiguring
I was back again
to the dullness
My holey boots-
in the crowd
over my hesitant shadow
with hands inside my pockets
Inexplicable to my mind-
the afterglow of colors
of her nose-pin-
revealing itself
as my clear moment
with the light.
*Batla House is a Muslim ghetto in Delhi.



of the penniless
endless and
in isolation
will consume him

how sad
to think
that the ashes
of that fire
will disappear
like ordinary dust.

Your lips

Your lips

A red rose

Soft with dew

As the petals tremble

I am vulnerable


I long to feel

The flames

Of their touch

Even if offered

With thorns

Of rejection


In those flames

I wish to hide myself

Eventually burn



And disappear


Into the world

Of mystical


~Rashid Abbasi

Man of Success

Her last message was not goodbye.
It was like, “you are a nice guy…
but after a certain age,
a woman
can only love
a man of success.”
Next morning he was riding his bike very fast.
Wind with the loud howl was creeping inside
through unbuttoned part of his shirt.
The dark clouds in the horizon were giving a false impression
of a mountain range at the unreachable end.
All of a sudden it was raining.
Rain did not spare any part of his body.
He got himself a cappuccino in a nearby mall.
While supplying warm sips to his solitude,
he was only feeling thankful
that nature
is not
of the fact
is not
a man



~Rashid Abbasi


I am here again after a long time
My instinct brought me to you.
Give me a sign, when these demons will turn into angels?
I feel too tired and old now.
I wish for a day without pain:
When I will wake up with enthusiasm
and sleep satisfied.
I don’t want to be afraid of people’s questions,
their critical analysis on what is I am doing to my life.
I want to praise beautiful things
and be honest in whatever I write.
I want to be a courageous lover,
who loves passionately the woman he likes.
There are so many things I wish to do,
but I am stuck in this darkness
and unable to get out of it.
Why don’t you take care of me God?
Am I not your favorite child?

– 10th Sept 2015

Note- Lately, while going back home, the sound of Azaan moved me and I found myself inside the mosque reading namaaz. This is an edited version of dua part.

All My Praise

In the name of Allah

The gracious and the merciful.

The light of my eyes

that my eyes cannot see.

All my praise is for the mystery of the darkness:

Where there is no shadow, no sun.

The abyss-From where the echoes of God-

And spirituality return.

All my praise is for the space-time singularity-

For the day I will discover the truth, and make peace with it.

And for my death-

For it will reveal to me other dimension of reality.

All my praise is for love-

In love: I must lose myself.

As I will keep swaying like a wave-

Between the life I dream,

and the life

I live.

All my praise is

for all that is truly alive in me.

And all that wish to die in me.

All my praise is for the peace to my soul

The attainment of clarity

And the beauty of unity.


P.S. – I was reading about singularities and black holes. Generally, positive idea of light brings negative idea of darkness. I have tried to contemplate on both of them.  There is an influence of the poem , “Unfound” by my  friend  Talah also.