Afterwards

sliver_fort1

Afterwards, I shall be a mote swirling at your window,
Without a breath, or a heartbeat, ringing at your window.

Noon has stumbled through the half-wicked buildings,
Like a blemish upon the wooers singing at your window.

Withering are the curses that are uttered in the bazaar,
To the weaver of the drapery swinging at your window.

Choking under the mist of unforgiven prayers,
My religion is a candle blinking at your window.

Uma, I’ll be the flurry at the fork of the fortnights,
Without a shaft or a feather, winging at your window.

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I am just a watcher then. Sometimes I watch life, sometimes I watch death; many times I watch in between...

33 thoughts on “Afterwards

  1. Your months in a creative purgatory haven’t lessened your literary powers but, if anything, have sharpened the nib of the pen. This ghazal shows the force and beauty that the form is capable of conveying. It is masterful. It makes me want to do one of two things: try to emulate your mastery, or abandon all attempts whatsoever. It’s a poem that bears and demands rereading, and rereading, and rereading…

    1. My offering was an incantation, and a voodoo of sorts, to recall you from the quietude, and has it worked! I have been a canoe without oars for a while now, and would have long capsized without a trace but for your soft nudging. Ghazal is a format that is mild and intimidating at the same time, but that is true of all forms of poetry. I can merely stand in awe of the potential of the genre, and ooze a droplet or two once in while, induced by the kind words of my patrons such as yourself.

      A million thanks, Bruce, for reading and rereading, and appearing at my blog to regale me with such warmth and kindness.

  2. Uma, I love the vibrant imagery in your poem, and the way, at the end, the reader realizes the watcher is watching himself through the window of reflection. Beautifully crafted!

  3. This is marvelous, especially the end. I never considered writing lines to myself. It got me thinking.
    Happy New Year to you and yours. Glad to see you as WordPress is not the same without you. Your friend,

    Rose

    1. The allusion to oneself is a tradition unique to ghazals –it is even considered mandatory in the closing couplet. The practice seems born out of the frequent desolation, honed into a state of consciousness in which the ghazal-writer is a friend, a teacher and a spectator to oneself. But I have read some of the finest lines at your blog that speak oceans about the poet herself.

      The compliment you have bestowed upon me has swelled my breast with emotions. But for my companions at WordPress, I’d have sunken to the seabed of silence. Thank you, thank you, and a million thanks to you, my friend.

    1. I owe my redux to the confidence of my friends in me, and the lingering warmth of your footsteps in the archives of my blog. I am grateful for the continued support, Inese.

      Wish a Very Happy New Year to you too!

  4. Delighted to read your poem after a long time. I am also late in responding being away from the streets of blogospere for some time. But how long can I resist the knock of your lyrics at my window.

    Superb.

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