He stares so he observes

He stares so he observes,
the backpage is a flip,
dog turns into a man,
lion into a woman.

He stares so he observes,
happy he looks with eyes open,
merely smiling to oblige,
not remembers he started when.

He stares so he observes,
silent objects get quiet,
stillness still,
darkness in a diet.

He stares so he observes,
the detail he cannot find,
inspite of staring at large dots,
those unseen lines.

He stares so he observes,
it was flat and is now flatter,
also hazy, colorless, monochrome,
inambitious and paler.
 

From the Soofies

The black ink I write in Shines,
Reflecting when I stare in it,
the wind I blow isn’t sweet,
it has stories, history in it;
a tone I hear, a note I hear,
a poem broken, like porcelain pieces,
a Poet lost, in the midst of normal,
he can see his death, right here, formal.

The legacy of the Soofies,
the Qawwalli they gave birth to, sung;
is it pain, celebration, or is it exhilaration,
that just keeps enchanting.