POEMT: Faqirana II / फ़की़राना II

Main to faqir hoon, har dar pe sada deta hoon
Jise dena ho de, saath chalna ho chale

- owais

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

मैं तो फ़की़र हूँ, हर दर पे सदा देता हूँ
जिसे देना हो दे, साथ चलना हो चले

- उवैस

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEMT: Faqirana I / फ़की़राना I

Ruka dar pe, phir badh chala
Faqir na chahe kuchh, na koi

- owais

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

रुका दर पे, फिर बढ़ चला
फ़की़र न चाहे कुछ, न कोई

- उवैस

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: More

This, perhaps,
is an inherent pain
in the human situation.
That our imagination
goes farther than our power.
That our consciousness
allows us to feel more
of what we have not,
than what we do.

That our imagination has given us
much of what we have, is beyond doubt.
Though, what we have-
is that a blessing, or a curse: Who is to say?
The desire, not the greed,
for more--
not just,
more money, more power, more fame
but also,
more love, more knowledge, more happiness,
more life!
Does it, this need of
‘more’
ever leave the human breast?
Can it?

And is this
just an attribute
of being human,
or of Life itself?
Every Beta wants to be an Alpha,
every weed, the place held by the crop.

They all have the urge, but
do they also have the pain?

The pain, of not being
God?
- owais
--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Mine and Mine

I scream at you.
I scream at her.
But I can not bear
either of you even being
impolite to the other.

Perhaps, because
I love you and I love her.
But neither of you
have learnt to love the other.
Yet.

But, as you both must know,
lovers and mothers must.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEMT: Rogi / रोगी

Rog koi ji ko laga hi deta
tum na hote, koi tum sa hota.

- owais

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

रोग कोई जी को लगा ही देता
तुम न होते, कोई तुम सा होता।

- उवैस

This was first published in the book, 'Sham-e-raah'.

POEM_: Biradari Waale Kya Kahenge? / बिरादरी वाले क्या कहेंगे?

“Biradari waale kya kahenge?”
Itna keh kar usne
apni zindagi ki shahkaar
apni nazm, ‘Sajda Aur Khuda’
nazare aatish kar di.

Isi tarah
yahi keh kar
kitni vidhvaaen
hansi khushi sati ho gaeen
kitni seetaon ko
apne hi ghar se nikaal diya gaya.
Kitni zulekhaaen
apne yusuf ka daman takte takte
ghut ghut kar mar gaeen
kitne qais deevane hue
kitne sarmad
duniya se begaane hue
kitne armaanon ka gala ghonta gaya
kitni tamannaen khatm kar di gaeen
kitne dil jala diye gaye…
kisko maloom?

Kis ko maloom
ki kal shayad
yahi ghairatmand bhai
apni hi behen ke khoon se
apne haath rang le
yeh keh kar, ki
Biradari waale kya kahege?

- owais

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"बिरादरी वाले क्या कहेंगे?"
इतना कह कर उसने
अपनी ज़िंदगी की शाहकार
अपनी नज़्म, 'सजदा और खुदा'
नज़रे आतिश कर दी।

इसी तरह
यही कह कर
कितनी विधवाएं
हँसी खुशी सती हो गईं
कितनी सीताओं को
अपने ही घर से निकाल दिया गया।
कितनी ज़ुलेखा़एँ
अपने युसूफ का दामन तकते तकते
घुट घुट कर मर गईं
कितने क़ैस दीवाने हुए
कितने सरमद
दुनिया से बेगाने हुए
कितने अरमानों का गला घोंटा गया
कितनी तमन्नाएँ ख़त्म कर दी गयीं
कितने दिल जला दिए गए...
किसको मालूम?

किस को मालूम
कि कल शायद
यही गै़रत्मंद भाई
अपनी ही बहन के खू़न से
अपने हाथ रंग ले
यह कह कर, कि
बिरादरी वाले क्या कहेंगे?

- उवैस

--
This was first published in the book, 'Sham-e-raah'.

POEM_: Why?

Why do you fight with me?
Is it because
you lack the courage
to make love to me?

- owais

--
This was first published in the book, 'Love?'.

POEMT: Phir Saamne Raqeeb Ke / फिर सामने रकी़ब के

Phir saamne raqeeb ke aakar, palat gaye,
honthon pe lafze dard chhipa kar palat gaye.
Dekha to uske dil mein hamen, tum hi tum mile,
dekar duaaen, ashk baha kar palat gaye.


- owais

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

फिर सामने रकी़ब के आकर, पलट गए,

होंठों पे लफ्ज़े दर्द छिपा कर पलट गए।

देखा तो उसके दिल में हमें, तुम ही तुम मिले,

देकर दुआएं, अश्क बहा कर पलट गए॥


- उवैस



--

This was first published in the book, 'Sham-e-raah'.

POEMT: Jo Na Hon Aap To / जो न हों आप तो

Darde dil sunaaen kisko, jo na hon aap to,
gham se mar hi na jaaen hum, jo na hon aap to.
Dil mein nafrat hi sahi, par yaad to kar lete hain,
varna kisko yaad aaen hum, jo na hon aap to.

- owais

------------------------------------------------------------------------------


दर्दे दिल सुनाएँ किसको, जो न हों आप तो,
ग़म से मर ही न जाएँ हम, जो न हों आप तो।
दिल में नफ़रत ही सही, पर याद तो कर लेते हैं,
वरना किसको याद आएं हम, जो न हों आप तो॥

- उवैस

--
This was first published in the book, 'Sham-e-raah'.

POEMT: Jo Duur Ham Rahen / जो दूर हम रहें

Jo duur ham rahen, voh paas aate hain,
Gale milen to haath bhi na milate hain.
Ajab ravish hai ham insaanon ki jahan mein owais,
Jise na paa saken, us ko bhula naa paate hain.

- owais

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

जो दूर हम रहें उनसे, वह पास आते हैं,
गले मिलें तो हाथ भी न मिलाते हैं।
अजब रविश है हम इंसानों की जहाँ में उवैस,
जिसे न पा सकें, उस को भुला न पाते हैं॥

- उवैस

--
This was first published in the book, 'Sham-e-raah'.

POEM_: Jahan Tum Ne Chhoda Hai / जहाँ तुमने छोड़ा है

Jaao,
dil pe bandish laga saka hai kaun?
Jaao, usi ki taraf jaao
Jis ke khwabon se aankhen makhmoor hain tumhari
Jaao usi ki taraf jaao.

Main to yaheen hoon
yaheen rahoonga, jahan tum ne chhoda hai.
Jab naye mehboob se thak jaao, chale aana
vaheen paaoge mujhe
jahan tum ne chhoda hai.

- owais

----------------------------------------------------------


जाओ,
दिल पे बंदिश लगा सका है कौन?
जाओ, उसी की तरफ़ जाओ
जिस के ख़्वाबों से आँखें मख़मूर हैं तुम्हारी
जाओ उसी की तरफ़ जाओ

मैं तो यहीं हूँ
यहीं रहूँगा, जहाँ तुम ने छोड़ा है।
जब नए महबूब से थक जाओ, चले आना
वहीं पाओगे मुझे
जहाँ तुमने छोड़ा है।


- उवैस

--
This was first published in the book, 'Sham-e-raah'.

POEM_: A One Night Stand

Do I celebrate?
Or do I sit and cry?
I’ve got what I asked for.
And yet,
I am upset.
I am upset at not getting
more of you.

More of you,
than I asked.
- owais
--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Sunshine Trilogy III

…And a Reply

He told me
all about himself.
What he perhaps thought,
warts, and all.
And asked me not
an iota in return.

And he watched my face
bit by bit revealing
his innermost,
perhaps, waiting,
for the first signs
of flinching in my face.

Little did he know
that in exchange of being his,
I could give up
all that is mine,
and all that,
could ever be mine.
Least of all,
ever think of insisting
that he fall in line
with the established mores of
the present day society.

Little did he know
that riddled with my numerous
insecurities and infirmities,
I could scarcely believe
that he had
actually brought with him, for me
his golden sunshine
flooding all the darkest
deepest corners of my being
with his undying rays of love.

My sunshine,
would you actually believe
that the most cherished
the most beloved
the most important moment,
in my entire life,
was when
in a reply to my most
convoluted question about us,
you had buried your face
in my naked shoulder, and
had said, simply,
“I want to
be yours”.

- owais

--
This was earlier published in Trikone Magazine / Bombay Dost and in the anthology, 'Yaraana'.

POEM_: Sunshine Trilogy II

A Poser…

I am not the wittiest
of queens you can find.
I do not have
the sexiest of bodies,
which keep flitting around you.
I certainly do not possess
the biggest of penile appendages
that you have experienced.
I am not even
passable as a pleasure provider.
I am so much older,
with so much excess fat,
with so little time
before I lose the last hair on my head.
I have the lousiest of tempers-
and the worst of possessive natures.

Given half a chance
my mom would exchange
me for an Idi Amin.

So why do I try wooing you,
my sunshine?
What could you possibly
find in me?

- owais

--
This was earlier published in Trikone Magazine / Bombay Dost and in the anthology, 'Yaraana'.

POEM_: Sunshine Trilogy I

Talking to the Sunshine
I get tired of journeys
I get tired of my job,
of driving
of being driven
crazy by my mother’s demands.
I get tired of seasons;
of summer, of winter
even, of monsoons.
I get tired
of conforming to the society’s diktats.
I get tired
of screaming queens
of scheming activists.
I get tired of my desire
for sexy boys with massive dicks.
I, often, even get tired
of myself.

What I never
seem to get tired of
is talking to you.
Any time, any place;
with you, without you;
I can talk, and talk forever
to you.
Sometimes,
I talk in prose
sometimes in third class
poetry like this.
Sometimes in the surreal
language of the dreams.
And sometimes without talking at all.

You are my life
my sunshine,
how could I get tired
of being with you…

- owais

--
This was earlier published in Trikone Magazine / Bombay Dost and in the anthology, 'Yaraana'.

POEM_: Being Gay in India III

Days pass
Weeks pass
Months pass
The summer time wind
the ‘Lu’, gives way to
the delightfully
the erratically Indian Monsoon.
But he and I
arranging meetings on the sly
say no word;
just look
just touch
and go away
For months
we look, we touch, we go away.

We wait.

…?


- owais

--
This was first published in Trikone Magazine.

POEM_: Being Gay in India II

They come
in drag, and dance
They come
with false eyelashes, and mascara
They sway their hips
and wink
in the most lecherous way they know
They catch hold
of me,
of my hands, my legs, my crotch;
of anyone, unwilling,
unready to stay uncaught.

They have fun
or pretend to do so.
They have with one
and go to the next
again to do so.

My heart
my Indian romantic heart
my prick, my gay but Indian prick,
We wait
We wait.

- owais

--
This was first published in Trikone Magazine.

POEM_: Being Gay in India I

Rustle of fallen leaves
The young, but almost dead
Neem, my guardian angel
and I
together, we look out the window
We wait
We wait
We wait.

- owais

--
This was first published in Trikone Magazine.

POEM_: Do I Have To See The News?

These fresh young faces; those, that I love
ugly with a loathing, for ‘them’!

I, the self-assumed rational being,
and I, the unabashed sentimentalist,
could either ‘I’, ever find any ends
sufficient to justify
this loss of compassion and caring,
this death of tenderness and love?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Never!

Never close the door,
when I am outside.
I will not open it.
Or ask you to open it.
Or even complain about it.

I’ll just stand outside,
wither,
and die.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Efficiency Personified

I know this is a five star hotel,
but, man--
goof up a little.
Drop something in my lap.
Smile at me
with a twinkle in your eye.
Or for never taking my eyes off of you,
at the very least,
get upset with me!
-owais
--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Digital Lives

Often I wonder, how they manage
to get married to women,
make kids, and then
drag it up at the queens’ banquet?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: At My Funeral...

At my funeral,
my friends will come
with a handful of dust,
and pay me back
my love, for what
it was worth.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: ...And I Walked Alone

He asked me
if he could join me.

I said nothing.

He should have joined.
Not asked.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEMT: Who Minds…

…his own fart?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: A Note

(Written during a party- Dec 5th, 1992)

Tomorrow,
the Nation may
erupt in flames;
and I am celebrating.
What?

My rape?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Anything, but Love

Having fallen in love
with love itself;
can I do anything,
but love?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Preference or Necessity?

I know that you like
to make love with me.

But what I want to know
is whether you do it
out of preference
or necessity?

- Owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Sometimes

Even while with you,
I miss you.

- Owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: The Final Rainbow

If
I have to live on a rainbow,
why should it be
less than The Best?

I have had enough
of part-time lovers--
Now,
I want to make love to You,
God.

- Owais

--
This is first being publsihed on this page.

POEMT: I Love You

.

I love You,
but permit me to do that
through Your creatures.

- Owais

--

This is first being published on this page.