Breathing and living are miles
apart,
and you know it, my sweet child.
Maybe, may be, one day,
one fine winter morning,
the sun will shine happily, but
not brightly.
Maybe, may be, one night,
one fine summer night,
you will dream of soft winds and
cool rains.
Maybe, may be, in another
lifetime,
in another world,
you will be able to attend The Conference of The Birds.
And then, there will be no lonely walks down
the forest aisle
and no words to pen.
Silence, and that alone
will be the Believer’s Gift.
And One Day, when The Meeting with the Rabb
will happen,
in the Garden of Heaven,
one day – maybe, may be- I will know
how many atoms and molecules were
strung together into me.
Maybe, may be, I will know why
the centre of the earth was not
mine,
But,
the walk on the moon was.
Maybe, may be, I will know if
stars have souls, too?
And if dreams are really that
and,
why silence speaks to the
heart.
Maybe, may be, He will then,
finally,
tell me.
Maybe.
“Khudi ko kar buland itna k har taqdeer se phle khuda bunday se poochhay, bata! Teri raza kya hai” – Allama Iqbal
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