How does one discern between the dream and reality? Do we ever need to? Us … the dreamers who voyage on the surface of water and then slip into the coolness and the stillness … then the flowing … thus the rapture … the subconscious …  the place where we retreat to meet our dreams … but then again on the surface one sees the residents of one’s dream walk alongside the day … and dusk is littered with the remains … that bench in the park is still there …   where we sat and spoke for the longest hour of our lives … dreams are more dependable than reality … always there … always tangible … I found the nazm I wrote on the first page of the miniature copy of Ghalib’s complete works … it was the only thing I ever gave you … a copy of it fell out of one of my old books on the shelf today … and I couldn’t place myself back in Time Present … I oscillated between my dream and the moment I found the nazm … was it today or yesterday or 19 years back that you asked me to write something that would authenticate that moment … it was a dream perhaps but more real than the moment that I am in … a WhatsApp window popped up today with the dp of a grave … cancer is a killer they say … I fold the nazm neatly into a four folded square and place it back inside the book I was reading … hexagon of a lifetime neatly put away … no one knew you in this household so it must have been a dream … or not … who knows but the dreamers …

ﮨﻨﺴﯽ ﮐﻬﻨﮑﺘﯽ ﮨﻮﺋﯽ

ﯾﺎ ﺑُﺠﻬﯽ ﺑُﺠﻬﯽ ﺧﻮﺷﻴﺎﮞ

ﮨﻴﮟ ﺩﻭﺳﺘﯽ ﮐﯽ ﻣﮩﮏ ﺳﮯ

ﯾﮧ ﺭﭼﯽ ﮨﻮﺋﯽ ﮔﻬﮍﯾﺎﮞ

ﻣﺰﮦ ﺍﻧﻮﮐﻬﺎ ﺳﺎ ﮨﮯ

ﺁﺗﮯ ﺟﺎﺗﮯ ﻟﻤﺤﻮﮞ ﻣﻴﮟ

ﮐﺘﺎﺑﻴﮟ ﮔﻮﺩ ﻣﻴﮟ ﭘﻬﻴﻠﻴﮟ

ﮨﻴﮟ ﮐﻬﻮﺋﮯ ﺑﺎﺗﻮﮞ ﻣﻴﮟ

ﺭﻓﺎﻗﺘﻮﮞ ﻣﻴﮟ ﺧﺰﺍﻧﮧ

ﺟﻮ ﮨﻢ ﻧﮯ ﭘﺎﯾﺎ ﮨﮯ

ﻧﮧ ﺩﻝ ﭘﮧ ﺑﻮﺟﻬ ﮨﮯ ﮐﻮﺋﯽ

ﻧﮧ ﻏﻢ ﮐﺎ ﺳﺎﯾﮧ ﮨﮯ

 

ﮨﻤﻴﮟ ﯾﮧ ﺩُﻫﻦ ﮨﮯ ﮐﮧ ﺧﻮﺷﺒﻮ

ﮐﻮ ﮨﻢ ﺗﻮ ﺩﯾﮑﻬﻴﮟ ﮔﮯ

ﯾﻘﻴﻦ ﮨﮯ ﮐﮧ ﺳﺘﺎﺭﻭﮞ

ﮐﻮ ﺑﮍﻫ ﮐﮯ ﭼُﻬﻮ ﻟﻴﮟ ﮔﮯ

ﮐﻬﻼ ﯾﮧ ﺭﺍﺯ ﺑﭽﻬﮍﻧﺎ

ﺑﻬﯽ ﺗﻬﺎ ﺑﮩﺎﺭﻭﮞ ﮐﻮ

ﮐﺴﯽ ﮐﮯ ﮨﺎﺗﻬ ﻧﮩﻴﮟ

ﭼﻬﻮ ﺳﮑﮯ ﺳﺘﺎﺭﻭﮞ ﮐﻮ

ﮐﺒﻬﯽ ﺩﺭﯾﭽﻮﮞ ﻣﻴﮟ ﺷﻤﻌﻴﮟ

ﺟﻮ ﮨﻢ ﺟﻼﺗﮯ ﮨﻴﮟ

ﺗﻮ ﮔﻴﺖ ﻟﮩﺠﮯ ﺧﻴﺎﻟﻮﮞ

ﻣﻴﮟ ﮔﻨﮕﻨﺎﺗﮯ ﮨﻴﮟ

 

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