Reunion of Thoughts: A Poem

is all I could have said had I faced my friend again

on a lawn of stale party and rabbits escaping a stampede.

A decayed bread was all I picked up from the buffet

where no one was present to talk with or to douse in thoughts.

A mixed company in life's farewell party giggled at its own silence.

The hawker of pretenses

The hawker of pretenses, he is;

roaming through the city and its streets.

You can find Indian arts to

Chinese comb as per his claim.

(You must have heard the jokes before;

but let me tell you this once more.

He showed me two skulls, last Monday;

when asked, he said, "The big one

was of queen Mamtaz." "And that one?"

"It belonged to Mamtaz's childhood."

Well, I laughed aloud just like you.)

The hawker of pretenses, he is.

I buy an urn of hope from him

which he insists not to open.

I know, what he means, perfectly.

Hope lives midst the prospect of it.