Valentine’s on February the 14th,
The internet drips with Urdu
And its syrupy tropes
For romance.
The language of love,
With its endless supply
Of affection
Blooming in letters
Like lilies
Draped in syllables
Of gossamer.
Mohabbat. Mehboob. Jaan-e-jahaan–
Love. Beloved. Life of the world.
14 lives of the world
In which lived Bilkis Yakoob Rasool Akhlaq, Asgari’s beloved,
Haunted memory.
For brothers in Yogi’s kingdom;
Love was not theirs to have,
Jihad, eternal struggle, their only bequest.
But you, your unencumbered mohabbat, your caste-blessed mehboobs,
Will never speak, the impossible consonants
Of this language
That make your tongues limp
And your throats convulse.
ﺥ Khe for khoon, our cheapening blood,
ﺥ Khe for Khudaya, our unheard prayers.
ﻖ Qaaf for qatl, our slaughtered sunbirds.
ﻍGhayn for ghaayab, fading friends, forgotten Najeeb.
Mohabbat without justice is oblivion.
So send no roses to this gloom.
Here is a graveyard where poppies bloom.
Send No Roses
