at memory.

it is very sad to tell you that most ever illiterate persons happened to read my love letters to you and presumed themselves to be messiah of what not. Notwithstanding that I am trying another poem for you may you like it.

I have heard
flowers are beautiful

I go to
sometimes
time at

some whisper

I make my best
to know
what they say

try hard

remember

what it

sometime
again

may be

I feel

short of
running


at memory

time spares none.

Love this is an hour of silence around me. I am keeping my best to remain relevant even with letters to you. This is a secret of life which even the most intelligent and coveted ones may not understand even abc as time makes their aura literally opaque to such frontiers of know how. Does it mean you probably overshot of your being only a  picture may be your aura can tell you as time spares none.  

may be.

I am sad
pensive
retired and hurt

lost all desires

empty runs roost

may be

I have some work

something for

it may not

worth is
I focus little

may be

miles I have to go 

The Center.

Probably you need to know again which I putting as a flashback now, I got married in 1984 and my wife suffered from acute illness, her brothers devised a novel method to trade their females and RC minhas was borne from the deserts, my family was forcefully broken and I surrendered the kids, time went on, Minhas brothers tried avenge with the help of Dr Harish Arora, all the in laws and this doctor combined to screw in different manners,  the matter went out of their control as every thing backfired. NOW EVERY BODY BLAMES me whilst you can very well understand I am simply doing nothing rather I am the victim of their collusion with each other this doctor being at the center and guiding every interested one. 

concept of fate.

Love when you are playing hide and seek yourself I am compelled to pen down even psychological parameters which I know will again be misused by the ones whom even I dont want to refer; when pathogenic interests overtake even most sanguine occurrences are used to/for meeting nefarious end meet. Continuous incidence lead s to cognizable life that further get reflected in the concept of fate. 

Those were beautiful days.

Love I am painting love of my small days. Dad was living in a kacha house made in L shape. There were 3 big rooms one small and a kitchen as an extension. It was supported by an elevated mud platform. There was a big tree ( acacia arabica ) on west just outside the room another tree called lasura in lingua franca stood beside this majestic rustic one. One small earther chulla was supported this side. I used to play with rustic friends underneath this kuccha make up. I remember we often used to pick pig spicules and put it on one side lest they pierce our skin. We never bothered of heat which sometimes even touched 49 degree Celsius. I can recall those were beautiful days. 

dirty disc s around.

lost horizon
haunts
at vacuum

struggle
to find

step by step

toddler spirit

know little

wealth of ocean

if it means

askance
remains

dirty discs
around