Monday, January 31, 2005


Wounds –
Festering, puss-filled –
Often like a scourge,
A private hell –
Sourly remind of a body
Rupturing with filth.

Wounds –
Like an ingratiating grin,
Skin deep or within –
Are like men bestowed with greed;
They just bleed.

That tongues lash
Smother hearts; leave it gashed,
As if pitted with
Burnt-ends of cigarettes.

And the wounds that heal?
Huh! A scar to scratch,
A dead skin to peel.

© Dan Husain
January 30, 2005

A Moment Amidst Chaos...

In the here and now
As the moment pauses to breathe
Our eyes meet again
On a crowded street…

Shall we acknowledge,
Shall we avert?
What about the days
When we lyrically existed
In each other’s gaze?

Stomping feet, rising dust,
Soot in our face
We hastily measure
The shortening distance between us.

But the rising whorls of our silence
Stealthily suck the street’s din
And in a flash we find us back
In the chaotic patterns we live in.

©Murtaza Danish Husain
January 24, 2005


Words that trap you
Shackle the very wish
Of yours to break free… from me

Like vignettes
At the margins of your portrait
Entwining, entangling, ensnaring
This biblical velleity
To taste the forbidden
Fruit of your Eden
But the swirling snakes
Of heathen desires
Raise their wispy heads
Of gnomic intent and size
To only find themselves gnarled
At the margins of your portrait

You look up from the poem
Oh…and all that remains are…

Your kohl lined eyes
The purple stained lips
And a crooked shape of once a snake
At the margins of your portrait

©Dan Husain
January 18, 2005

Musings Prose

Adha Gaon

Sunday, January 16, 2005


Faces strange and sublime
Stare across a window
That perhaps was never there
But only as a wish
Glimmer through her glittering eyes.

She suddenly lets the veil slip
And her lips pout
To finish a statement
That she doesn’t wish to say.
I awkwardly ease her embarrassment.

Her hands dismissive, drawing an arc
For me to see the rainbow
Of desires hidden in her bosom
But her incoherent words
Mask a silence she wishes me to hear.

I have a non-committal smile on my face.
I stare at her henna dyed feet,
The anklet sensually resting on them.
I do not know what to say.
I get up, say thank you and make my peace.

I have nothing to offer
And she asks for nothing…

Murtaza Danish Husain
December 24, 2004