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'.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
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.
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'.
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'.
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'.
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.
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.
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.
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