The sun was in them flowers,

A field of gold that gaze upwards,

North-east to the west and then

stoop they all went -

And left the dull ones prying.

They burst with a zesty haste

on their disks in rotation,

A cure for the morbid curse -

The celestial connection.

Perched on the stem

for a pent up ceremony,

how fine do they co-mingle

if simply let it be.

A Heaven to the eyes of the deserving.

Sophisticated ones, minds romanticizing.



Asked by whomever, whenever

I define the day that I was born,

And the moment I screamed out of tranquility.

Wasn’t there to take detailed notes to satisfy, sorry,

Or even gather pieces of memories.


It was when the ball started rolling and I,

stroking forward in the vastness

of consciousness and experience.

It was exactly when I, started to ‘pearl’ up the oyster

from within.



22 years is a long time when you’re missing someone,

Sporadic memories fly by, of how my father used to keep diaries — journaling his mood, thoughts, and the backdrop.

There were piles of them in the house, stashed here and there.

The house was big, inviting, and homely.

I thought of keeping them close, to my heart and self.

But then I didn’t.

And now I’m desolate, screaming blame silently to myself.

From a hollowed-out decanter, I pour regrets down on me.

Thought they were “too heavy” (literally) when I packed my bags and left the country, perhaps for good.

My hands now shake to even begin to imagine writing a piece -

Of how much I miss them. Him.



I strode for an elevation

’tis not out of curiosity but suffocation.

I was compliant, for such a while within

But now I’ve rebelled, brought myself up to the task.

To see, be sure how humans go. Would there be the reaction slightest?

Don’t be miser cognitively or just intellectually viable

’tis not enough. And

Stop the narcissistic & bulky thumping you loud bunch!

Find the prophet, any prophet, and get off your ignorant highs.

Just see me and recognize. I’m the sight of agony, warning havoc.




Went for a jab and that was really fab.
Not at all like a stab so there, I took a cab.

Apologies! My syringe and my needle.
You were not administered but used and
your sanctity was ruptured.

On us, by us, who wanted roaming-rights more than anything,

our notion of freedom, the make-belief.

And I know you played being tools of the technocrat's.
And I, their domesticated leader's.



Instead of the Kenney hypothetical, have it this way:

“Ask how good a country has been along your path and then, only if satisfied, ask yourself: what can I do that serves both of us for the better.”

Have that for a pragmatic mantra and carry on.



Hasib Iftekhar

Hasib Iftekhar


Two sets of freelance fidgety fingers, labour to produce meaningful reads. City person, coffee lover and I tend to talk ‘Values’ or the lack of it around.