A Beautiful Mind

She lives in a fairy tale.
Somewhere too far for us to find.
Forgotten the taste and smell
of the world that she’s left behind.
It’s all about the exposure, the lens
I told her.
The angles were all wrong
and now,
She’s ripping wings off butterflies.
She said she had seen life through a prism,
I made her a kaleidoscope.
She’s watching the blood drip from hands,
the coloured glass has cut us both.
There are bits of wings in the crimson stream.
It’s a curious pool,
red, bits of colour and a broken camera.
We only wanted to be together
but the mirror still separates us.



Tell me, only when you cannot take your eyes off the music,
when you can never get enough of listening to the colours on canvas,
when there’s moonshine and the sun gleams,┬áthat you’ve loved me.


N.B: ‘Fazool’ is an Urdu word for ‘absurd’.


When I don’t watch the world through concaves,

I see.

Lights merge – yellow and green,
Bright reds and calm blues.

They lose their edges,
Men, women and children are the sameness of all things vague.

The world of perfection set aside,
Call it an artist’s impression, if you’d like.

You find the horizon at your feet,
which otherwise you barely can reach.

But then my glasses are, once again, wiped clean,
The fog gone and the distinction unwelcome.

What remains is, the starkness of reality glaring back at me.

What remains is, the starkness of reality glaring back at me.