Of Uncertain Dreams, Of Uncertain Conversations. . .

In an uncertain dream
An apparition stares at me,
Blood on his temple, his lips stretched,
Perhaps smiling.
Is he an angel, is he me?
I don’t know.
He says something
That I don’t understand
Wrapped in a dissolving realm
He’s gone before my stretched hand.

I sit before her
As she talks at length
Of her experiences with love,
(As if she has understood men)
Devotion, matrimony,
Conjugal bliss
But I think she has missed
The excitement,
The defiance,
The madness,
The ability to love
When all is lost,
The infinite suffering, and
The morning after: limping.

In another dream
I have suddenly tripped over
A murderous thought
That ruthlessly clobbers
Claws, rips apart
This child like innocence
And then vanishes
Like a beautiful woman
Mocking at my pedigree.
I try to break free
But she binds me – her smile
Ravishing, carefree.

In a different afternoon
Amidst friends & coffee sessions
I have suddenly lost
The thread of the argument.
There are voices raised, agitated,
High-pitched drama mixed with intellect.
(But in our hearts, as the argument rolls,
We become detached more & more).

Amidst rising smoke
And half-burnt conversations
I wish to get up
And walk away.
May be you wish me to stay,
You hold my hand
And smile.
There is still the ache in the heart,
There is still the simmering urge,
There are still unexplained abandoned sentences,
There are still moments unspent
But I have made up my mind
To get up
And walk away.


Dan Husain
Musings from an uncertain date…

. . .

you steal moments
in this ever drifting evening
even when not here

When Words Fail...

Oh! I am
Entangled again
In this
Web of arguments
That you’ve spun
With your deft tongue.

No, it was not
Meant to be like this.
I thought
I had my wit.

I came prepared –
Jokes, poems,
Best of quotes,
Men’s thoughts cloaked
In their best prose,
Even l’esprit d’escalier
If worst forces
A tongue to be a rapier.

But now all is lost.
I'll have to content with
A moment mocking while
Words on my lips frost.

© Dan Husain
November 22, 2005

Salim Joshua at A Soirée. . .

I

So we must end the conversation now.
It has hung long
From the Rembrandts and the Rousseaus
(cheap imitations
mounted on dreams
sundry & parvenu)
That your silent walls adorn.
But you wish to speak
About the trivialities that tweak
Your propriety, your idea
Of what the world is, of what it should be.
I feign interest
(how may I tell you
I am part of the world that you hate).

II

We sit at the bar.
Everyone has assumed a role,
Everyone is a character.
London is no more a fad,
New York may still pass.
“So I was at this glistening
Office of glass walls
On the 67th floor of Chrysler
At Lexington Avenue”
And then throw in the punch
Of how you spent the weekend
Scuba diving in Aruba,
Lounging, smoking pot
At Luna Lodge in Costa Rica.
The boys are agog.
They’re too eager to fill you in
About their training stints in Düsseldorf.
(I sigh! The farthest is
Karachi in the west)

III

We sneak into a quiet corner.
The evening trails as a wispy fragrance
On your wine laden lips.
I wish to drink the moistness,
Feel your heat against my breath.
My hands rustling against your breasts
But suddenly you break free –
Coquettishly –
“Wait! Let me see
Where my darling husband is?”
(Bitch!)

IV

We sit with our bellies full,
Courgette and prawn dolloped with soufflé,
And break into idle chatter, pitter-patter
Sprinkling names –
(The conversation strains – someone coughs!)
The stiff upper-lipped editors at Knopf,
The haute couture,
The avant-garde,
The ‘here’ and ‘now’,
The ‘whys’ and ‘how’,
The ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’,
The ‘must do’ and ‘have musts’
Discerning eyebrows,
Dancing flamenco
With waspish tongues:
Shreds of half-understood conversations
Heard at someplace else –
That may ease this evening of discontent.

(But in our hearts, as the evening stretches,
Dreams fizzle like smoke
From a gun’s nozzle.)

And then…whimper!

© Dan Husain
July 14, 2005

PS: I wrote this poem in July. But I shared it at an offline writers' forum and revised it based on fellow writers' inputs. Well, most people like the revised version. I hope it works. The earlier version is somewhere in the archives, if you wish to check it out. :-)

Love is not lost...

love is not lost
it is only hidden
in the folds of the wrinkles
at your smiling lips' edges

love is not lost
it just quietly serenades
in the pauses
that we space our words with

love is not lost
it is there
like your blue bedspread

waiting

while you go about
with your daily chores
with your humdrum routines...

(C) Dan Husain
November 18, 2005

The Muse's Laughter...

I have sat and watched
The ‘me’ in her getting marginalized
And there is nothing I could do
But trail her laughter
As wistful lovers do…

© Dan Husain
July 19, 2005

Which one of my faces do you like…

I have lost a face
amongst few I have
and now you wish
me to be honest,
sport a smile,
act for a while;
stretch the furrows
over my eyebrows,
twitch my nose in
a cute portly pose
till I have a face
that may please your gaze.

© Dan Husain
November 17, 2005

Unfulfilled...

It’s seven ‘o’ clock.
We’re on a neon-lit street.
The day slides off as a grimy thought
From granite window sills
Of resplendence selling
Many splendored dreams –
Grander than the ghettoes
Where our stories breed.

It’s seven fifteen
We’ve walked from here to there –
A portion of our lives –
Searching for an answer
But we do not say
What we need to say
And thrash our tales
Around a softness
We wish to feel.

It’s eight ‘o’ clock.
This is all that you can permit.
The last bus to your house
Is revving, ready to leave.
And now we’re left clinging
To the moment
When the clock strikes seven,
When the street is neon-lit again,
When the evening gropes for metaphors
For faint hopes glowing within you, me, us.

© Dan Husain
July 28, 2005

The Wish...

So much depends
Upon
The single strand
Of hair,
A petulant eyelash,
Swish, swash,
Drifting effortlessly
Now sitting pretty
On your nose.

Oh no! There it goes...

My world shrinks
Into a wish
Dangling from it.

I cup my palms,
Catch it
As I titter
At your joke.
I don't want to lose it
As I lose myself
In your
All-pervading charm.

© Dan Husain
November 1, 2005

The Sighting of Eid Moon...

I look for a silver crescent
In a sky cloud ridden

But I keep losing it

Like your pleasant face
In a crowded market place

Karma...

It is always like this.
I have to love you
While you stand apart
Warm, indulgent, drifting, lost.
Like my best poem for you
tantalizing, teasing, within grasp.

And then it eludes

Diffusing

Like a hazy memory
Like a morning dream
Like a vague thought.
Like a . . .
Like . . .
. . .

:-)

© Dan Husain
November 03, 2005