Faiz Ahmad


If you rest your hand upon
This strange silence of mine,
You maybe reminded
Of a cold stone
Aching to feel the road’s endless sadness
Or you maybe reminded
Of words that lost their
Warmth as they became distant.
The wind is indistinguishable
From its absence.
All of my existence
Is staring back at me
With its blank, unblinking eyes – freedom laden.
Where shall I flee?
Where shall I flee?

I, who stretched my arms
To match time,
Am thirsty like an empty cup,
Thirsty for clusters of violet
That grow if a window opens itself.
A cupboard is wide
Sometimes wider than those moments
When I had nothing to do.
I am cold like that stone
And imagine how cold
Would the soil’s cry be,
If sunlight became tired and heavy
Before it could reach the earth’s lips.


I no longer wonder
At the fact that my dreams
Have lost their sleeping place
As I stare at the swinging of mirrors
From my lonely bed.
I shall turn my face away
From those offers
That promised truth in their
Vague, colourless hands.
I became a white cloud of my thoughts
I became a gap sunken in the
Ambiguity of two sleeps.
Yes, I am scattered across time
And my heart is witnessing
The birth of eternal longings.



I have lived on shores
For too long
And like a matchstick
Amidst so many more matchsticks,
I am well aware of my insignificance.

I have loved
And I have fainted like
Leaves in the embrace of light.
I have loved
And I have seen
How minute all else appears from heights.
I have loved
Until my heart contained only horizons.

I have heard people exclaim
‘Perhaps life shall shed its skin soon’.
I have seen the youth of banyan tree
Descending into the earth.
I have seen death turning yellow
In the arms of leaves.

The thought of death
Burst upon my dinner table
And I picked up
Of what was left of my freedom.
My feet have no
More hunger left in them.
(My feet that once
Feasted on rain rich soil
And love struck alleyways
And playful dream-laden grass.)
My maze like journey through these
Sorrowful roads,
Caused the rise of languages
Within my soul.

The dried up throat of my soul
Coughed, and the
Moist passage of wind between the door and
The window of time,
(Time has room like properties:
Square, man-made and
Full of shelves, closets and wardrobes)
Caused my eyes to turn outwards.



I shall s p r e a d myself
In front of my eyes
To become a lake for
Fishes born out of my



My heart is full of windows
That open to the green pastures of leisure
That open to the direction of wind
That open to the transformation of shadows.

The journey to friend’s home
Is ripe with metaphors
Behind blue doors
And remember
To not grieve
When the heart sheds its clothes
Beside the pregnant lake of loneliness.

The sky may extend
A friendly hand to
A sad faced passerby
And dreams shall hatch
Like eggs
In his eyes.

In this room
In this ashen room
Of my small existence,
A bird on the rooftop is spreading its wings,
As gently as life in my palm,
With hope drawn from a child’s breast
I shall soar above green dreams.



I am alone
And someone is calling my name
From beyond the seas of the world.
My hands are weak
And the moments escape
From the edge of my fingertips.

My bed is cold
And my eyes always watch the
Longest part of night on the wall.
I am sad,
Sad like the pen that
Travels along the white page of separation.

I talked to the people of this town.
There is no breeze that
Blows over their words.
Nobody takes the shade of
The oldest palm seriously.
I saw shadows that open their wings
Above every sleeping man.

There have been moments of delight too.
I met a woman in spring time,
Who was so lost in comprehending the flowers
That their colours sang hymns
Right in her eyes.
I saw a poet who,
Like a cloud,
Was full of rain that washes the words.
I saw many children,
Their hearts full of balloons
That had escaped into the winds of time.

Someone is calling me again.
I shall leave this place.
I shall sail with the waves.
I shall sail with two dreams on my lips.

The walls around the loneliness
Of a fish shall break,
And the blue song of sea shall pour.
Dawn shall overtake my boat
And lead me into the
Widest expanse of fables.
The sky shall drift into my silence
And like a bud,
I shall blossom from the ancient soil.


Faiz Ahmad is  the founder of healthcare startup, Orbuculum and he hs a passionate interest in poetry as an art form for understanding life. His poems have been published in Indian Literature Magazine of Sahitya Akademi.