Iqbal’s Dream

The mosque in Cordoba stands symmetrical, linear — like the progression of History in the Imam’s khutba on Friday. The dreamlike Spain glorious still home to the righteous pours out of his dream and the ink flows onto the page placed on the desk (….) The unleveled still broken road gaping at every inch pulls him out of sleep. The driver looks at him laughing greets him ‘Jaag gaye sir? Haha is sadak ka haal hi aesa hai kay kon hi so sakyga idhar. Shayad isliye idhr kay log ziada khwab nahi dekhte, asliyat pasand log hain idhr’. Too sleepy still to respond, he looks out the window and lets out a sigh.

Why the World doesn’t Make Sense to Me

When I say “sacred”

The native English speaker hears secret — a secret

He gives me a weird look

                                             as if I’m a youknowwhat

Even though I don’t have a beard

but I guess my name does.

                                                  Well, maybe he’s innocent

Okay, wait here I think

an here aphorism is calling to us:

the greatest crimes have been committed

  not by the guilty but the innocent.

                                                         Lol, kuch bhi.

“Really, how do you hate someone —

or for that matter love them?”

                                                       a gold miner (the worker)

   wonders as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

before going back to work to mine some gold. *

Anyways, It is getting late. Look at the sky

    so Munchian.

A jewelry shop in NYC is met with angry customers

their weddings are getting delayed, no rings yet.

— no gold, the factory said.

Unfortunately sir, still no response from the factory.