EMBERS VERSUS ASHES ** Since antiquity a single-sided game Where always one team comes victorious Two teams namely Ashes and Embers Where winner only wins with nothing to reimburse It is brill with depth though it is hilarious ** The game starts daily in winters notorious Under the canopy of Pheran, our traditional dress Starts in wicker encased Kangar, the fire-bowl Except for kids no rule, anybody can enroll Kept till the match ends close to the breast ** All the tournament, there is some duress At the hands of that blazing charcoal Cruel erythema caused by the arrogant embers That makes life so pathetic and worse Plus the burnt clothes is the only left goal ** In all this troll, still, it's written on the scroll After the show sorry the victory is the claim By the Ashes, it only appears injurious Oh! the arrogance, you were always nefarious You never remained humble, see what you finally became. © KAWSAR KHALIL Valley of Kashmir, India ** A KANGAR (Kashmiri: کانٛگٕر , IPA: [kãːgɨr]; also known as KANGRI or KANGID or KANGIR is an earthen pot woven around with wicker filled with hot embers used by Kashmiris beneath their traditional clothing pheran to keep the chill at bay, which is also regarded as a work of art. It is normally kept inside the Pheran, the Kashmiri cloak, or inside a blanket. ** Pheran or phiran (IPA: [pʰʲaran]; Kashmiri: پھؠرَن, is the traditional outfit for both males and females in the Kashmir Valley. The pheran consists of two gowns, one over the other. The traditional pheran extends to the feet, which was popular up to the late 19th Century C.E.
WISH FOR A HERMITAGE
In this jungle of
Concrete monoliths
I only wish for a hermitage
Faraway from the people
Behind those insurmountable peaks
There only could I fetch
The lost peace of my heart
Smoldering one by one at my pace
Pieces of my existence
I wait silently under a shade
Of a lush green bush
Not on tenterhooks
To reach my destination
And I will be there someday
You have my friend
Right to ask me why?
In those magnificent edifices
Luxuries galvanize them
And under the shadows
Underdogs squeezed
In sweltering tinsheds
Dozens of dishes each time
In esthetical sense
Decorate their grandiose
Buffet tables
Am not alarmed at how they get
'Coz jealousy is an ailment
Of a rotten soul
One table of a small
So called noble family
Will suffice some dozen families
Out in the cardboard dwellings
And the leftovers
of elite dining halls
Land in the dustbins.
© KAWSAR KHALIL
Kashmir
THE LAST DAY
Commotion for many
Satisfaction, probably, for none
When the singing bird
Finished perching on the branch
Autumn had already
Spread its wings
Withered leaves and naked trees
Deciphering the language
Of seclusion and discord
The lawns had turned rusty
Sagging under its pressure
Broke the dry branch
And with it
Fell down the drowsy bird.
KAWSAR KHALIL
THE ONLY DEAD NATION This is the only dead nation That enjoys Allah's wrath They believe dry winters Potent therapy to their lands Wanting hustle and bustle thrive Through out the year in Bazaars Though that's a need too Accidents of this negligence and antithesis Happens to happen Against every season Winters without precipitation and snowfall With an ill hope that Springs bloom And Summers cloudy, cold and full of rain And the Fall with elephantine harvest Richness of science and hollow reason But they remain forever fools Our good, great ancestors Where better equipped with rationality Sapiens of this wise era Say... thank God it didn't snow at all It is not raining in March and April When the water bodies dry and leaves wilt This deformed species begin to wail Without any sorry and consideration Upon the ethereal glow that spread on their faces During the dry winters and now when The wrath elongated into the Spring Bountifulness of Summers came to halt Weak waterbed couldn't beautify Sun-baked canopies. Everything around us is designed With a divine plan Imagine how ugly it would be If a girl bear mustaches Or a boy gets girly voice So every season has its own grace Snowy Winter and Springs raining Hot Summer but dry Autumn Is that divine plan And how can a man of clear wisdom Consider himself at solace When everything is at odds. © KAWSAR KHALIL We have added Mr. Khalil's graphic design images of his poetry I a slider below along with an introduction:
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