Unperceived

Unperceived
is the nature of reality
Space
between things
Time
between events
When I do not wake up
in her arms
My perception
of space-time
bends

~Rashid Abbasi

 

 

 

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A Dream

They were wandering, holding each other’s hand on the University campus.

 

They went to the parking to find a personal space, and like any young couple they were enjoying snuggling and cuddling.

 

He remembered he was gazing at her lips while she was telling him that she likes reading poetry, and is working on a Samuel Huntington’s poem (yes the man from clash of civilization), so he went to Chawri Bazaar to get some books for her. There he saw his father- a teacher who taught him about South Asia- and his dead uncle, talking to each other. Surprisingly they didn’t notice him.

 

Again they are together, wandering on that road that leads to the boy’s hostel from the University’s Post office. Many gossips echoed from somewhere in his mind about her multiple affairs and past lovers. He only remembers there were multiple voices and he didn’t pay much heed to them.

 

Suddenly, a contingent of soldiers appeared marching on the same road. One of the soldiers shot them with his gun. The bullets hit them but there were no wounds, or feeling of death. Instead of blood there was a profusion of perfume from their bodies and a mystical fragrance all around.

 

A woman with too much makeup appeared from behind that soldier’s contingent. She offered them dinner in exchange for the trouble they had been through. She said “it’s a Valentine’s Day party” and they must come. They realized their bodies still had the smell of the fragrance that had emanated from the hit of bullets.

 

She asked the woman, “What cake is going to be served at the party?”

 

The woman asked her if she had a suggestion, and she offered a most beautiful name- but suddenly the boy woke from his dream and that name drifted beyond the reach of his memory….

(Photo credit: Stella De Genova)12662553_962802470471530_225040070066017816_n

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

Myself

 

And disappear

 

Into the world

Of mystical

Ecstasy

~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
yet
aware
of the fact
that
he
is not
a man

of

success.

~Rashid Abbasi