20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)
“Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.” - Amir Khusrau
My paradise is lost. Was it mine, to begin with? If it was
mine, was it paradise?
It was a safe haven for me - Not just a piece of land, not
just a garden and an abode I called home,
To make sense of where I belonged. It was my solace, my
peace of mind where I carefully hoarded
The fragmented pieces of my mind.
Where the wind blew melodies of the forest and the seas and
the lullabies of the starry nights,
Songs that breathed my existence and gave me the reason to
call everything mine!
It was the fountain of mirth where the tears of joy sparkled.
It was the cave of sorrow where shadows dried my tears.
A nest that cradled my life calming all my fears, feeding
me, clothing me, satiating all my desires…
Then I lost it all!
So violently torn, so bitingly violated that I questioned
the verity of my memories.
To become a tumble weed in the desert, a paper boat in the flood,
a lump of meat in the feast,
A compass without North!
The beasts come in hoards to eat the leftovers, stripping
the meat from the bones,
To gorge on what scraps are left of my humanity in an arena
full of spectators who debate;
Shall it be a thumbs up or a thumbs down?
And yet I want to live, I want my love to live, I want my
hope to live, I want my tribe to live,
I want to live to find my paradise one more time!
I want to live for our songs of paradise to stay alive.
