Aftab Yusuf Shaikh's Blog

Machinery Laws

On Friday evening,

When we were sweating at the workshop,

Someone cried, ‘Das Babu died!’

Everyone heaved a sigh,

Twenty years our senior,

A boy and three girls’ father,

To us a look was permitted,

At the body electrocuted,

And seven minutes later we were back to work!

On Friday the next, a week later,

Broke down the Generator,

It ruined the Crushing Machine,

A major fault was seen,

We all were given a leave,

And work ceased for a week!

(First published in The Red Fez Journal)

Noise Umbrella

I have forgotten my umbrella;

Not that I am irresponsible,

I was going insane

That was possible,

The deafening thump of

The hundreds of rain drops,

The loud crack of clay, and

The timid lightening

That cracks like a smile,

Where is she,

who said the world was me?

where is that liar,

that blaming authority!

In sun and rain, she told me.

Now where is she?

She must be in the arms of

a good man, unlike me,

she must be brewing beer

in his hormonal brewery,

Without an umbrella,

I try to feel it is not raining,

without her, I believe

I am a lesson, not parody.

Without those who are fine without me,

I am at peace with the world,

Raindrop, clay and a heart,

they are not shouting at the moment.

(First published in The Literary Yard)

Envious Witch

Who is this woman

in the mirror that

looks back with discern?

So what if she had in a life

too many heartbreaks for

one four roomed heart,

why does she look at my beauty

with contempt,

envious witch!

You say this is me?

Was I dust or

those nights and evening were

those joys and grieves

agonies and longings,

idle afternoons and

crippled memories- were

they dust too, Going by the manner in which

they withered off the

attire of my being.

Bring me a mirror from that

evening, which fooled me into

believing it will never end.

Or at least, tell a lie to my face,

I need my vanity back again

for a moment before I die.

(First published in The Literary Yard)

Rotten Daffodils

One throat slit in Bosnia,

One daughter raped in Chechnya,

One father shot in Nazi Germany,

One teary eyed mother in Jerusalem,

One burnt monk of Tibet,

One roasted man in Burma,

Yes, all know we have

achieved much greater than this.

Proudly, we have crossed

the limits

of our own capabilities,

But for the time being, one,

only one, just one of all these,

is enough to shame humanity

before its Creator,

And you kill children?

You kill children, too?

These children,

these rotten daffodils,

these futures crushed under our past,

spare them. They do not deserve

this punishment.

First published in the World Peace E-Anthology (2013)

Family

This man who fights with his own shadow

Murmurs vague words all day,

Breaks vases at trivial anger,

He is a December born May.

Rough in his speech, smooth to berate,

He drinks the peace of his house

His thirst to satiate,

Hiding behind the door, that woman,

Has her own philosophy to blame.

She fights her man, the man who gave

Her nothing more than a disgraced name!

Since the day she entered this hell,

She has just worked to make it worse,

Let it be a squabble, a small fight,

She is ever ready to take it further,

Consumes more pills than lunch itself,

She has her own bulk to bother.

This man and this woman

Are my only parents that can be,

And I just have them today

To be called my family.

(First published UK Poetry Library website)