Precious Voice


An old friend, from ancient times
As he toiled, through words of rhyme
An old passion, study of human mind
As he whirled across in these signs
From the mountains of Caucasus
To the plains of Ravi and Indus
Often I see him, with rolled up laughter
And wisdom up his sleeves
As we find each other in domains
The fabrications of time and dreams
Through these compositions of distance
As we find out, in silence, of our minds

He says, “Your voice “
“Now a precious commodity”
Only for limited few
Why don’t you speak?
Through those tales of philosophy
From Socrates to Descartes
From Ghalib to Iqbal
And all in between
That we have shared, he says
Why don’t you reflect?
What you learnt and understood
What harm will it do?
Just few words of warmth
Just few glances of smile

The questions, by an old friend
Simple and profound
As the student travels to decipher
As new oceans find their ways
The torn newspaper and pencilled notes
In between, his time and space
The stories of freedom
And the fuel of revolutions
In between, the wall,
In there, the old humans
As their faces remind them of the pain
And in there, the precious voice
Lost in their despair and screams
In there, the precious voice
Around the wall, as the millions flock
Destroy it, no longer the need
To remain in these fears and lies

They say “when will you come”?
The old Sufis, still on our side,
The voices now the storm,
Find you will everywhere,
The precious voice, of change
The precious voice, of progression
Find you will yourself in that ocean
As it discovers new shores, and poetry
From the old mountains of Caucasus to Indus
The old stories laid out, in pencilled modes
Haphazardly drawn, compositions of memory
Cannot you discover on hands of fate and destiny
But in the mornings of tomorrow and in their faces
As they followed the moon on their heels

Kashkin

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