There is a field. I'll meet you there.
I pass by these walls, the walls of Layla
And I kiss this wall and that wall
It’s not Love of the houses that has taken my heart
But of the One who dwells in those houses
(Qays ibn al-Mulawwah)
|sawariya was an illusion and you are a distant dream|
Beyond this BOOK of FACES, there is a WALL
Behind this WALL of delusional socializing, there are REAL FACES
These UN-photoshopped faces are either ugly or handsome.
Whatever the adjective be, they are themselves behind this WALL
The face that expresses freely, speech which stammers easily;
Where dumb blonde fools only the dumb eyes
And it is only behind this wall, my beloved!
That no expression remains frozen for a display pic
The profile picture remains single unless a face lift is done
For the thin lines of time and age over the human face
Will never be referred as wrinkled phase
Out beyond these walls of illusion and internet
There is a field; I’ll meet you there.
Beyond this networking, my city lives with its chaos
Keeps itself haphazardly philosophical and dynamic
Unmasked, burning and running behind something that shines.
There are stories of art and architecture in my city, untold and unheard
But no button to share appear past this wall’s screen
For few men still greet you with smiles which are not face-booked
Chaiwalla at the chaupar, unknown to this world behind the great wall
Is uploaded in an album – “flavors out of mall”; the irony is unseen beloved!
Children playing beneath this wall have outgrown from the uniforms of innocence
Women appear more sensible and less empowered behind this windowless wall
And for an artist, he himself becomes a subject of his own canvas within this hall
Teachers-pupils play hide and seek while education seems busy updating its fall
And “mail the assignment” sounds familiar to “save the paper” over the wall
None of the emoticons can imitate my heart here
Nor will it be measured by like or dislikes of this wall
For my grudges and fears become real when
I read your chat with other nymphets on this naked wall
We shall promise to be each other’s and forever on a chat box
And when I ask you to hold my hand, you oblige the wall.
The status of one’s heart can never be constant
So is the amusement of “being single” or “committed” marked over a wall
Have we forgotten that the wounds of Manjun are eternal prizes?
And even words fail to compliment the glory of his Layla
Or are we accustomed by the wall between the two hearts?
The pleasure of a concealed beloved is poetic not profound
Still o silent beloved you remain unreal beyond these walls
© Nidhi Sharma