“1999 Summers #Lahore”
Slowly pass the languid summer noon hours
Like the blossoming, on our terrace vine, of flowers.
The streets are quiet at this time of the day
The cricket matches of early morning, now seem far away.
Slowly pass the languid summer noon hours
Like the blossoming, on our terrace vine, of flowers.
The streets are quiet at this time of the day
The cricket matches of early morning, now seem far away.
I was Afridi and the Bakery Road boys didn’t miss my catch
I lost my wicket and we lost the match.
I re-calculate the days and feel content
21 days since the last time to school I went
69 more to go; an eternity
Faintly recognisable strangers, my textbooks, seem to me.
I lost my wicket and we lost the match.
I re-calculate the days and feel content
21 days since the last time to school I went
69 more to go; an eternity
Faintly recognisable strangers, my textbooks, seem to me.
Early June 99 it is, life can’t be better
Cricket, video games and love for Shoaib Akhtar.
At times, I am a fighter pilot of Shahpar, out to destroy the enemy’s base
My BMX is my F-16 and across the deserted roads we race.
Cricket, video games and love for Shoaib Akhtar.
At times, I am a fighter pilot of Shahpar, out to destroy the enemy’s base
My BMX is my F-16 and across the deserted roads we race.
Me and my cousin who is my wing commander
Under the cool shadow of Circular Road Mango trees we wander.
And I imagine my plane getting crashed - a technical fault
While coming back from the successful assault.
Under the cool shadow of Circular Road Mango trees we wander.
And I imagine my plane getting crashed - a technical fault
While coming back from the successful assault.
My comrades bury me in the Green Flag, a martyr!
While Sakina, my 6th Grade Crush, watches distraught and remembers my unrequited love for her.
Life is also the scent of watered lawns before dusk:
Grass, mud and water - a scent headier than the Musk.
While Sakina, my 6th Grade Crush, watches distraught and remembers my unrequited love for her.
Life is also the scent of watered lawns before dusk:
Grass, mud and water - a scent headier than the Musk.
In the afternoon, the Bakery Road boys, we again face
I am Shoaib Akhtar and I’ll show them my pace.
CHANNNN - The metal bars rattle
We win the match & I prove my mettle.
Like Wasim, I see myself pictured on Dawn’s Sports Page
Lifting the trophy, standing on the stage.
I am Shoaib Akhtar and I’ll show them my pace.
CHANNNN - The metal bars rattle
We win the match & I prove my mettle.
Like Wasim, I see myself pictured on Dawn’s Sports Page
Lifting the trophy, standing on the stage.
On this June night, moon light is fair
The murmuring of Lahori Pankhas fills the air.
From our terrace, we see a young man playing piano
Shirtless, sitting in his room in the house on the front row.
The murmuring of Lahori Pankhas fills the air.
From our terrace, we see a young man playing piano
Shirtless, sitting in his room in the house on the front row.
What does he sing?
Udit? - Raat ne Kuch Kaha – Chaand ne kuch Suna….
Junaid? – Aankhon ne Aankhon ko jo Sapna…
No longer do I remember - so many images today in my mind ring.
Udit? - Raat ne Kuch Kaha – Chaand ne kuch Suna….
Junaid? – Aankhon ne Aankhon ko jo Sapna…
No longer do I remember - so many images today in my mind ring.
How his song melts gently into this June night!
On the white sheets of our cots, falls the moon light.
Disinterestedly, we hear the unintelligible words of the 9pm PTV bulletin
“Ehtsaab, 15th Constitutional Amendment & Nuclear Explosion…
On the white sheets of our cots, falls the moon light.
Disinterestedly, we hear the unintelligible words of the 9pm PTV bulletin
“Ehtsaab, 15th Constitutional Amendment & Nuclear Explosion…
War in Kargil - now that we fully understand - part our my patriotic oeuvre
My school mate comes to meet me, filled with war-fervour.
“We’ll liberate Kashmir before we win this World Cup”, he is high
It electrifies me – makes me restless with joy.
My school mate comes to meet me, filled with war-fervour.
“We’ll liberate Kashmir before we win this World Cup”, he is high
It electrifies me – makes me restless with joy.
Like Shoaib Akhtar, I wish to fly with my arms open
Or like Afridi, dance down the crease and the send the ball beyond the horizon.
Ah! The nights of summer 99 - a box full of jewels
Life means breaking all the rules.
Or like Afridi, dance down the crease and the send the ball beyond the horizon.
Ah! The nights of summer 99 - a box full of jewels
Life means breaking all the rules.
We stay awake beyond the Khabarnama
My elder cousins, couched on Sofas before the TV, watch some slow boring drama.
It isn’t Alpha Bravo Charlie and there are no soldiers
No stories of the dacoits and there are no police encounters.
My elder cousins, couched on Sofas before the TV, watch some slow boring drama.
It isn’t Alpha Bravo Charlie and there are no soldiers
No stories of the dacoits and there are no police encounters.
Being awake beyond 10pm! The sheer sense of adventure
The sinful joy of sneaking into the room and turning on the computer.
Noiselessly, we play Mario and The Lion King
In the silence of the night outside, whistles of the nightwatchman, now, ring.
The sinful joy of sneaking into the room and turning on the computer.
Noiselessly, we play Mario and The Lion King
In the silence of the night outside, whistles of the nightwatchman, now, ring.
Shirrrrrrrrr Shirrrrrrrrrrrr Shirrrrrrrr!!
Not a soul in the streets now stir
12!! Announces the clock on the wall
On our mattresses before the Lahori Pankha, we lie all
Again, I count the days – twenty two
Still, there are sixty eight more to go
Not a soul in the streets now stir
12!! Announces the clock on the wall
On our mattresses before the Lahori Pankha, we lie all
Again, I count the days – twenty two
Still, there are sixty eight more to go
Summer night, serenity of the vacations & droning of the Lahori Pankha
Moonlight falls on the flowers of our terrace Bougainvillea.
Afridi hitting sixes, Shoaib making the Indians crawl.
Jumbled in my dreamy reveries, I head towards sleep’s waterfall
#Lahore
#90s
#poetry
Moonlight falls on the flowers of our terrace Bougainvillea.
Afridi hitting sixes, Shoaib making the Indians crawl.
Jumbled in my dreamy reveries, I head towards sleep’s waterfall
#Lahore
#90s
#poetry
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