My Room

Poem By Qaisar Janjua

Table mute, clock still, books silent,
Pitiable is the loneliness of my room,
My room, from years, is counting
Every throb of my heart stealthily,
It has offered me the motherly lap
On the fatigue of existence,
The memories of its silent blessings
Lull my heart to peace,
Its walls accompany me close
To kill the feel of loneliness,
Her two pictures, studded on the front wall,
Stare me lovingly sometimes
As I am the prince of some distant land,
My room, the buddy of my past
Is stranger to every care, every feeling today,
Its tomb echoes my sighs
As some devotee prays on the grave of a saint,
The features of people photographed on the dusty calendar
Gaze at the wrinkles of my face,
As the open eyes of a dead one
Stare at the faces of helpless kinsmen,
Even these books are not soothing today,
The poems of Keats,
The sayings of Aristotle are still as the marble structure,
You say some, Oh! My still beating heart,
You are my shoulder, my friend today,
Give some light to this dark room,
I know what pain you have borne;
Look at the sore wounds of my face,
I CAN’T even MISS her though I do every moment,
You can be restless; can cry on missing her,

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I feel no joy, no sorrow,
I am feeling empty, I am feeling hollow,
Some vampire sucks my life ether from inside,
Her fangs are pierced into my soul's neck,


When the darkness falls,
When the silence prevails,
When the air freezes,
when the stir stops,


The light begins to diminish,
When you are not around,

The oxygen begins to immerse in air,


When your beloved is infuriated,
Don’t lose temper, or become melancholic,
Hold her hand and let her wail,
Devour her angry shouts with as greedy ears


It is very foggy out there,
Like life nothing is clear,
Park's lights are far away,
Looking pale and distant,