His thoughts are directionless,
So are his steps,
Awake him from his tiring sleep,
Is he asleep? Or just tries to pretend.
Why doesn't he recognize
the person who stares back at him;
in the mirror? He's afraid
he might remember everything,
And then, couldn't be the one
outliving his memories.
He's directionless,
And that's what he has ever been,
Now that he knows what he is,
He is, a bit sober to his cruel life.
- Syed Rehan
I'm preserving these thoughts,
like the sandals of my Grandpa
that lay ashore, forlorn
and submerged in the tears of time.
Like winds, I strain my voice, tonight
in the secluded alleys of my town,
as I inherited patience from my olds,
I restrained my voice; tonight,
fumbling like an ignited soul,
that wanders in search of a body,
or the trembling lips
that lack courage to speak the truth.
I preserve these verses,
into the hearts of the people,
like a lover who buries himself
in the garden of his beloved;
as I listen to the complaining voice
of a dying emotion,
like life it uncertains, like death
it remains; a secret to the corpse.
- Syed Rehan
There's a crack in my heart
from where the silence escapes,
a crack that can't be filled,
with the tears of sympathy;
and, as I see through it
the roads that go home, I see -
an old man narrating the stories of his youth.
There's a lunatic you cannot stop,
and a melody you cannot hear,
and I, like always,
pretend as if I don't care.
And like old papers that carry
the remains of our past,
there's an old memory, rusting
in the corners of my heart,
remembring me my promises, my mistakes;
and I, like a paper drawing, be what I was,
only fading the colors to the cruel nature's laws.
- Syed Rehan
