Zing!

KFC Zingers,
With watered fountain Pepsi,
Is deliciousness.

Jhootei Chuppai!

Negotiations.
The groom pulls out his wallet.
Shoe returns to foot.

Water.

Dragonflies hover,
Over dark murky waters,
Glistening in flight.

Canal Road.

Trees bent in arches,
Hang still above the canal -
Arched canopy roof.

Clothes.

The darzi wala,
And his delaying tactics,
Gives my mom headaches.

Mega Bus.

I love Chicago.
Waiting outside in the rain
At Union Station.

Waft.

I’ll be home soon.
The next time that I wake up,
I’ll smell the mangoes.

Profiler.

Racial Profiling?
TSA and CBP,
Humiliate me.

What’s New?

“Excuse me mister,
I need you to step aside
For extra screening.”

I Hate Flying.

Handful of prayers,
Distraction from turbulence.
Close your eyes real tight.

Travel Paths.

Ace Deuce to Chi Town,
A flight to Abu Dhabi,
And then home. iA.

Soon.

When I have to sit,
And think about what to write…
Away for too long.

My Turn.

Both of my sisters,
Are now married. So that means:
Mother on my case.

Packed.

How do I squeeze in
friends, family,  and shaadis,
In just fourteen days?

Home Soon.

In a few more days,
After a really long flight,
I’m reunited.

Grease.

No one is looking.
A culture of corruption.
Who’s accountable?

Preachy.

Let this moment pass,
Because always remember,
Time moves in silence.

That Season.

Buckets of rain drops,
Accidentally tipped over,
For months with no end.

Badlei.

Momentarily,
The sky will rinse itself off -
The earth will be wet.

Baarish.

Dark gray monsoon clouds,
Follow me through the gallis,
Tempting me to run.

Moon Market.

Wake up – read the news.
Scary headlines of bomb blasts.
Frantic phone calls home.

Faux.

All of a sudden,
Constructed British accents,
And fake sweat-shop clothes.

Kut.

Hey rich girl in heels,
With the fancy clothes and smoke:
Walk all over me.

Winter Break.

Two and a half weeks,
For a winter fling with home.
Lahore, I’m sorry.

Contact Lenses.

I stumble blindly,
Without my contact lenses -
A big blob of blur.

Poondi.

A car full of boys,
Slowly roll down their windows,
And blast cheap music!

Capri Again.

Bundled in our shawls,
we drive though the chilled fog for
breakfast nihari!

Toss.

Calculated Risk.
Radical uncertainty.
Flip a coin; call heads.

Side.

The grass is greener,
But not necessarily,
On the other side.

Recitation.

Line by line I read,
Enunciating accents;
Maulvi doses off.

Maulvi.

Maulvi saab is here!
Pretend that I’m feeling sick!
My mom sees through me.

I’m Staying Home.

Another wedding,
At the Pearl Continental.
Sad fake fat aunties.

Feuds.

Feudal mustaches,
And those pudgy fat bellies,
Sneer like it’s their job.

OPTP.

OPTP fries,
Are heavenly creations,
For after-school snacks!

Ghirjao.

The trees of autumn,
Standing once so glorious -
Dead leaves reveal bones.

I Don’t Feel Like It.

Creativity?
Or, forced incoherent thoughts?
The latter, I’m sure.

Starving.

“I would recommend
Haleem and butter chicken
With some garlic naan.”

Shan Masala.

Shan Masala mix!
Empty contents into pot.
Mimic home-cooked food.

Henna.

Hands out, palms faced up.
Delicate henna art of
Intricate designs.

NY.

“New York I love you,
But you are bringing me down.”
Electric currents.

Procrastinate.

My room is a mess.
My laundry bag judges me.
Hey homework, fuck off.

Postulate.

Arm chair analysts,
Conjecture of intentions.
Heard of evidence?

Reason.

You will ask me why.
Sometimes, it’s hard to place it.
So yeah, I don’t know.

Blasts.

Lahore, oh Lahore!
I need to come home to you.
You worry me, love.

Offensive.

The army awaits.
Hello, South Waziristan.
Refugees part two.

Peshawar’s Markets.

Peshawar’s markets,
Cannot be blown to pieces -
They are all timeless.

Sure.

Politics of love,
Consist of the words unsaid,
And things we take back.

D.

Deliberations.
Damn destructive decisions.
Denied denials.

Study Abroad (Sorry).

Rich girls in cafes,
To discover new coffee,
And fake French accents.

South University Avenue.

October sidewalks,
Consist of burnt orange leaves,
And girls wearing Uggs.

Two Friends.

Hidden in the trees,
Amongst mangoes they dream of
Faraway places.

Lahore is Cold.

On the Persian rug,
Straddling the gas lit heater,
Curled into a ball.

Tail Enders.

Grassy wet pitches,
Exploited by our quickies -
Ridiculous swing!

Garrison Golf.

Golf in the morning,
Alongside ex-army men.
Garrison Golf Club.

Huh?

I get distracted.
It’s strange what she makes you do.
What am I about?

Choices 2.

A circus of clowns,
Or bullish dictatorship?
Systematic mess.

Choices.

False stability,
Or flaky democracy?
Choices limited.

Politics Fail.

Each institution -
Un-institutionalized.
Repeat the pattern.

Mosque.

Tiled Penrose patterns
And Arab calligraphy
Decorate the walls.

Home Soon.

Lahore is distant.
I’m waiting for December,
For my one night stand.

Nothing to Worry About.

Is this a crisis?
A silent emergency?
A chaotic mess?

BDubs Waitress, Sigh.

Our waitress is cute.
A distraction from our food.
She’ll get a good tip.

Afghanistan Troops.

Mr. Obama,
Increase or not to increase,
That is the question.

Heart.

Morning rustling.
If we lie a certain way,
I can feel yours beat.

Fo Reals.

Just fucking tell her.
The way it plays in your head.
Something. Anything.

Eid?

Eid away from home
In a non-Muslim country
Fucks with your soul. Ugh.

Car Window.

Their whole family,
Miraculously all fit.
Circus on a bike!

Evening Eid.

My sisters and I,
Count our 100 Rupee notes.
They always get more!

Afternoon Eid.

Relatives’ houses:
Kisses and wads of crisp cash.
Assorted fried treats.

Morning Eid.

Eid namaaz with dad,
Followed by Nirala sweets
And mother’s breakfast.

Seriously.

Whatever you do,
Do not fall in love with her -
Hearts cannot adjust.

Nap.

Late to class again,
And I left my books at home.
Fuck it – it’s nap time.

Select Pakistan.

If I had to choose,
between corrupt clowns or fools,
I’d rather revolt.

Michigan Football.

The fighting Irish,
Destroyed by the Forcier!
In Rich Rod we trust.

I Hate Econ (Not Really).

140 Lorch Hall -
Economics Department.
If hell was on earth…

Guitar.

My awkward guitar.
Strings resonate empty notes.
Inspiration lost.

Happy Massoud Day.

Ahmad Shah Massoud,
Leader of the resistance -
Lion of Panjshir!

Capri.

Early morning rides,
To Capri for nehari
And halwa poori.

Early.

I thought I would sleep,
But instead I will stay up;
Mind wanders. To you.

Kameez.

Patterns and colors,
Drape hour-glasses and cows.
Darzis laugh later.

Stanza?

This form, this structure,
is very thought limiting.
Sigh, but I’m lazy.

Green.

There she is with him.
From the corner of my eye,
I jealously watch.

Cereal Bowl.

Soggy cereal,
Spoon stirs whirpools in my bowl.
Sloshy colored milk.

Sehri.

Alarm clock. Wake up.
Blink. Get up. Stumble. Eat. Drink.
Wazu. Namaaz. Sleep.

Later.

She keeps me up late.
Not her presence, but her face.
I am wide awake.

Khokha.

This shanty khokha
Sells necessary sootas
Outside the corner.

Because You Always Ask.

Seven syllables,
Followed and preceded by
Five syllable lines.

Politicians Epic Failures.

What a lovely mess.
State sanctioned absurdity,
Is the rage these days.

Smelly Dump.

Zafar Ali Road,
Has this disgusting canal.
Hold your breath. Drive fast.

Search.

It’s not in this night.
It is not in this music.
It’s not in this room.

August 14th.

It’s August 14th!
Happy Independence Day!
Greens, whites, moons, & stars.

Jirga.

Elders in circles;
This jirga jargon jumble.
Democracy tribe.

Ramadan.

Summer Ramadans.
Zero productivity.
Iftaar binge eating.

Bed Think.

So turn the lights off,
And keep the music playing.
Morning takes its time.

Kites.

Symmetrical scars,
From flying kites on the roof,
Decorate my hands.

DC.

District lightening.
Softball, museums, Metro.
Sidewalk Blackberries.

Shish Mahal.

Within the ol’ fort,
Is a palace of mirrors.
Mughal audience.

Girls of Summer.

Short summer dresses,
Sunglasses and ponytails.
Coffee and a book.

Late.

Saturday mistake.
Sunday evening headache.
Monday consequence.

Heat.

A thousand degrees.
July rains negotiate,
With smoldering heat.

Five More Minutes.

Ignore the alarm.
Pillow absorbs drowsiness!
Late for work, again.

Standard.

Nothing personal.
It’s business as usual.
And that’s how it is.

Drinks.

A lax tongue and mind,
A stumbling confession,
Incoherent mess.

Three Letter Agents.

Intelligence spies,
Leading duplicitous lives.
False information.

Begger.

Taps on the window.
Hands held out for survival -
Malformed faces sell.

Old.

Does it still matter?
Maybe just a little bit.
In the meantime, wait.

Four Hours.

Salt mines on M2!
Daewoo buses wind on through,
Dynamite built roads.

Don’t.

He pauses and says,
“Yaar, usko nahi batao.”
I hate being wrong.

Lecture.

My father said my
Irresponsibility
Is to blame this time.

Roof.

Moons hang high above
The Karakoram Highway.
Stars and fireflies.

Grease.

Cop pulls me over.
Bribe paid. He says it was a
Misunderstanding.

Lost.

Driving in my dream,
I forgot the directions.
Has it been this long?

It Rains at Night.

We lit cigarettes,
And smoked there in soft silence,
Because we both knew.

Steps.

Storytelling streets.
Urdu poetry in prose;
Old men scratch their beards.

India.

Under the Pamirs,
On the banks of the Oxus,
I gaze South Eastward.

Passport Renewal.

Blank passport pages.
Except in my memory,
No proof of travels.

Dada.

Dada is buried.
Hands raised, a silent prayer.
Under a tree’s shade.

Rudyard Kipling.

Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Kim’,
Is rather fascinating,
But racist? Doubt it.

Eyes.

Lights reflect on glass,
And passes through wet rain drops,
Dancing in your eyes.

Wazir Khan.

Up circular stairs,
A hidden view of Lahore.
Crows stir nervously.

Finals.

I can’t concentrate.
Distractions fuck with my time.
Die, stress and exams!

Victory is Sweet.

BOOM BOOM Afridi!
Cricket World Cup champions!
Long live Pakistan!

Twenty20.

The whole country prays.
On the eve of the final,
This one is for us.

Great Game.

Khiva and Herat,
Onwards march through Khyber Pass,
Russians might advance.

I Don’t Know.

Alone with my thoughts,
In a corner of conscious,
Doubts begin to stir.

Dadi’s Lunch.

In dadi’s kitchen,
aaloo gosht, saag, and rotis.
Lunch in the garden.

Drift.

Pomegranate seeds,
And almonds soaked in water.
Winter afternoons.

Running.

I run under clouds.
Is this rain or is this sweat?
Leg aches and heart aches.

Over.

I saw you again -
It was just like the first time.
Old wounds reopened.

Cases.

False accusations.
Circumstantial evidence.
Trust in the system?

Dawn.

The moon trades the sun,
An assortment of colors.
Black drips into light.

Lazy.

The humidity,
even makes the flies lazy.
The market place lags.

North.

Lost somewhere with you,
Where the light hardly survives,
Star charts lead the way.

Mujra.

Tablas bounce around,
Harmonium swoons aloud.
Bracelets on ankles.

Continental Asia.

Cartographic maps -
Russian Arctic explorer.
On the Grand Trunk Road.

Explorer.

North African shores.
Parallel histories.
Argentina hills.

You Don’t Own It.

Some obscure French word.
Accessorize your coffee.
You call yourself ‘it.’

What If?

And in the meantime,
I will wait for tomorrow,
And for yesterday.

Outfits.

Splashes of colors.
Elaborately designed.
Shaadi clothes are here.

On the Way.

There sits an old man,
Who smokes outside the farm grounds.
Hands held out for life.

Never.

Another bomb blast.
Tragedy of explosions.
We will come out strong.

History.

Between the gullis,
Red bricks crumble upon touch.
Dust escapes in air.

Corn.

Corn rustled in spice.
From his cart, a lazy snack.
Peel and then nibble.

Mini Golf.

Gangs and self-named dons.
Phadas to settle old scores.
And things never change.

Traffic.

The cars of Lahore,
Civics, Khybers, Corollas,
Navigating through.

Pansy.

And all reason leaves,
Sometimes heart wins over mind.
Sometimes is always.

Lahore via New York.

Lights blur around us.
With you in this city night.
Slow motion moments.

Shrine.

Drug users have caused,
Pappu Saeen to be banned=
Lahore’s heart failure.

Jumma.

Intentions focused.
We stand shoulder to shoulder.
Allah-ho-Akbar!

Stupid.

Oh, let me guess now:
Zionist conspiracy.
For once, let’s get real.

Tape Ball.

Electrical tape.
Wait for all traffic to clear.
Last ball of the night.

Refugees.

A mass exodus.
Photography fails to show,
The lives put on hold.

Emergency.

Call in the army!
But please, no half ass attempt.
This time, finish them.

Oh No.

This is a slow song,
To pause and evaluate.
For what could have been.

Hello.

She walked up to me.
Casually flipped her hair.
And then she said hi.

Thought.

She will explain a
Deliberate circumstance.
Please give me a smoke.

Power Play.

Consolation win.
Schizophrenic cricket team.
What do you expect?

Ghar.

My mom called today.
She wanted me to come home.
Like she had to ask.

Lolly.

Lazy Sunday ‘noon.
Trolleys and carts linger by.
Walls ice cream music.

Walls.

Lahore undertones.
Thirteen gates solidify,
Old city magic.

Passing Through.

Merchants and gypsies.
Stories from the Grand Trunk Road.
Onwards, to Kabul!

Extremaniacs.

City by city,
They inch closer and closer.
Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now.

Stuck.

Around Kalma Chowk,
Donkey carts stutter and stall.
Honks, horns, and whistles.

Big Mistake.

A back door exit.
Fool’s misinterpretation.
Take it like a man.

Corner.

Under the streetlights,
A silhouette in the rain.
Exploding rainbow.

Rain On My Face.

The clouds coalesce.
Gray hues, on the verge of black.
I look up and wait.

Ceiling Fans.

The blades stop swirling.
We lie on our backs and wait.
Electricity.

Chicken Haandi.

Yaar, kya karna hei?
I don’t know, want to go eat?
Haan, Cucoos karna?

Drop Off.

Late night drive to LUMS.
Zero visibility.
December fog sits.

Haze.

Burnt orange smog hangs.
Rickshaw exhaust floats up high.
Permeate my lungs.

F.O.B.

What’s with your accent?
Are you from Lahore, or just
An A.B.C.D.?

Chup.

I won’t let her know.
I know I won’t let her know.
She will never know.

Sufi.

Drugs mixed with colors.
The sufi’s dhol is calling:
Dance crazy mishmash.

Canal.

Brown sludge, or water?
Gross sewage, murky canal.
Little boys jump in.

Faces on the Bridge.

We live on his roof.
Cars on Jinnah Flyover.
Billboards stare at us.

Breakfast.

Cold tiles and bare feet.
Monday morning orange juice.
Chai, with parathas.

Ugh.

There are just some things,
Elusive understanding.
I can’t comprehend.

Sticky.

Monsoons in July.
Dust storms bring rain through the cracks.
Main Boulevard flood.

Knock.

I already know.
I waver outside your door.
Always hesitate.

Let’s Not Talk.

And I will notice,
Through the bottom of this glass,
Your eyes wandering.

Jamrud Again.

In what state of mind,
And in the books of what faith,
Are delusions truth?

Jamrud.

Masjid and madness.
As they turned upon heaven,
The minaret fell.

Delays.

On MM Alam,
coordinated chaos,
congested traffic.

Deal Making.

A new precedent!
The army’s weapon of choice:
subtle influence.

Taal.

Remember the time,
When the girls danced in Lahore?
Ah, but I digress.

Her.

A quick discrete glance,
Love is in the subtleties;
The lines in your hands.

Plastic Chairs.

In this road side joint,
We roll up our sleeves.
Oye! Chai leh kar aoo!

Maghrib.

Long shadows on Mall.
Yellow bleeds into orange,
A snickering moon.

Machar.

Blood found, needles poised.
Mosquitoes unleash a fury;
Calamine lotion.

Hookah Hog.

Smoke swirls around us.
Lemon, strawberry, and mint.
Pass the pipe now, please.

In His Grandmother’s Bathroom.

Behind the closed door,
Silently paper is rolled.
The rizzla burns slow.

Morning Chowk.

Liberty Circle.
Kaleidoscopes are bleeding.
Kya, yeh azaadi?

Lahore Lahore Hei.

Ochres, smokes, and forts.
Azaans drizzle lazily.
Lahore Lahore hei.