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Desire is the seed of Misery, Consumption, that of Poverty. - owais -- This has first been published on this page. . I regard this couplet as my life's work. The first line is dedicated to the mature reader, the second, to the maturing one. . .

. Mir Taqi Mir (1722-1810) is often remembered as the father of Urdu Ghazal. Ghazal is the most popular form of Urdu poetry. Such is the status of Mir that even Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib when speaking of Mir has this to say- Rekhte ke tum hi ustad nahin ho Ghalib Kehte hain, agle zamaane mein koi Mir bhi tha (You are not the only master of Urdu, Ghalib They say, there also was a man named Mir) Mir’s, and for that matter even Ghalib’s own times were quite turbulent- what with Nadir Shah Durrani and Company Bahadur! A conservative society was forced to become even more conservative in order to safeguard what it considered its very existence. Women in purdah were pushed even further inside. The isolation between sexes was so complete that the only women a man could see and interact with, were either one’s own immediate family- or those on the bazaar. The former were obviously a taboo, and in the latter’s case, demand far outstripped the supply. That left one area still open- one could w...

. His pain will heal with time. But today, he cries unconsolably. This young man of modern Sodom, an honourable citizen of the ancient city-state; known today more for their loathed love than for their, other, what may have been, more loathsome disqualities. His pain is for his lost, lover of several years. The only lover he has known, all his adult years. The other young man has just tried renouncing his citizenship of Sodom. He has hidden behind the label that allows men to swing both ways. And has given in to his mammoth extended family’s pressures, to get married. To an unsuspecting young woman. Poor fellow. Can a peacock change his colors? He can shed the rainbow plumage for a while. But only, for a while. He will be back, seeking love, the fear of which is the last remaining acceptable prejudice in this sensitive, civilized World. But only, this time he will seek love not in the arms of a durable beloved; but in the slam-bam of fifty-nine second episodes in the loos and deserted ...

. Years ago, I found a beautiful little firefly and imprisoned it, in a cloth cap. Bewitched, I watched it for hours. Next morning, eager to see it shimmering again, I opened the gates of his prison-- And found an ugly bug inside. My ayah said, come the night he’ll shine again. Our bahishti, the water-man, said free him now, he has been yours for a night. Betrayed and dispossessed, unable to accept a single night’s connection, I threw it on the cemented floor. And quashed it until it was no more than a stain. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

There are so many, who write so much better than I do. For their beauty read them, read me for my love. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

I look at your photograph and remember the days when I fought with you when I hated you when I thought I could never love you again. I look at the photograph, vision blurred with tears. I realize that I indeed could never love you again. For I never stopped loving you. I never can. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

. The night is half gone. And the dawn is half as close. And perhaps, you are half-way mine. Only, I do not accept life in half-measures. I will not allow you to be half mine, or claim half of me. If you want me, give yourself, and take me in full measure. And then some. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

. Aloof, independent, visiting a thousand other places, they come when they want to, when they need to. Whether they love, they only know. Regal animals, cats are treated as such. Expressing their love with all their being, they lose their very identity in the beloved. And they never wait to be stroked, yet ‘dog’ is an insult in every language I know! You the cat, dear, and I the dog, can we ever be happy together? - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

I want you mine. Only mine. All mine. And forever mine. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

They asked me whether I was a Christian a Buddhist, a Hindu or a Mussalman? They asked me if I was an Australian, an American a Japanese or an Indian? They asked me what language I spoke: Chinese, Spanish Hindi, English or Russian? They asked me if I was a woman, a man or something in-between? They asked my caste, my race my colour, my sexual inclination. To them all, I just said-- A human. A being . They asked me what I desired I said-- Love. They asked me what I worshipped I said-- Life. They asked me what I wished to be I said-- a pillar in the house of Liberty. And then, they said, You are one of THEM! They stoned me, they burnt me, They raped me, they hanged me till death. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

. Nothing ever mattered much to me. But now, I am jealous of the very earth you walk on. Jealous almost, of myself, for having you. Even, of you, yourself. After all, even if you want to, you can never leave yourself. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

And long I told myself, that those who mean to come back, never go. But I never quite believed it . I always thought that you loved me dear and would be back before I lost hope in you. In Love. In Life. In God. I waited a long time till I forgot what I was waiting for. And then I told myself, that if you had really loved me, you would have found me. And that, you perhaps do not remember me and the deliciously long night, we had once shared. I wanted to believe this, but never could. I still await you. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

. From you, all paths lead me to apathy. For, if I were to win your love, nothing worthwhile remains to be striven for. And if I do not, nothing then matters anyway! - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.

Travelling in this super-fast, super-efficient ...(so un-Indian that!) Shatabdi Express from the city of Lutyens to that of Dost Mohammed, I read of Tabish Khair’s ‘incident’. And watch the dead mangled bodies of the erstwhile train bogies lying by the way-side. I wonder how very close behind us disaster is and sometimes catches up. --- - Owais

Beloveds I have a thousand. Lover, I can have but One. Flesh and blood, for all the temptation it carries is always too weak too mean to live up to the expectation it creates. Love, I must for that is my raison-de-etre; but give me the power O Ultimate Beloved, to expect love from none, but You. - Owais -- This is first being published on this page.