Matters of the Heart, Wrapped in Words

Not all can taste the intoxication of poetry. It is a rare goblet, sipped only by the kings of feeling.

There are days when poetry finds you without warning, in the pause between conversations,

in the weight of unspoken goodbyes, in the quiet lessons life forces you to learn.

This post is a gathering of such moments. Not just my words, but the voices of fellow wanderers of thought. Each piece is a fragment of someone’s heart, laid bare for anyone who dares to feel. 

So take a moment, slow down, and let each verse settle where it wishes to in your heart.

Every line carries a piece of the writer’s world, all you have to do is step inside.

These lines are the beautiful responses I’ve received after sharing my story

and asking people to send me their shayaris and poems.

If you’d like yours to be included too,

share it with me—we can add it to this post anytime.

Enjoy the read.

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We spoke for so long, and now silence remains.

I never knew when he faded away.

I’ve waited for him through endless days—

Is he still here, or has he slipped beyond my knowing?

-

I meet myself in the hush of solitude.

When I sit alone, the world fades away.

I’ve roamed enough through barren lands—

It’s time I rest; here, I’ll stay.

-

The shadows and silences call my name

As I return from my journeys to your city again.

— Mohammad Ahmad (my college junior)

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You are not by my side,

Yet hope still waits to meet you.

I drank the ocean of tears alone,

And still, a little thirst remains.

I’ll search for you later,

For now, I must search for myself.

It feels as if I’ve already died—

Though breath still stirs in my chest.

— Musavvir Shaikh (my childhood friend)

---

Wish you were a poetry, 

So I could think of you, write you down and call you mine.

And people would just call it art 

Instead of asking how, when and why ?

Wish you were a poetry, 

So I would have you lingering in the back of my mind all day long.

I would find a perfect melody for you, 

a chorus to vibe to, And turn you into a song. 

Wish you were a poetry, 

Yes I want you to be the one and I’ll tell you why, 

So I could find pieces of you in cold breeze, 

high mountains, deep valleys And the blue sky.

— SD (a good college friend)

---

Their arrival brings news of spring,
for they hold the art of changing seasons.

— Javeriya Zareen (My sister, dedicated these lines to me)

---

Cast away by the world,

I’ve come to your door.

Accept my prayers,

For I’ve tied my hopes to you.

-

A note arrived, written with care:

“When you come, fireflies, buds, the moon, and stars will come too.”

I often think of it, and laugh to myself—

How beautiful we’ll look in the same frame.

-

I wonder what I should write,

If my words even hold the weight.

Can I lift the pen to praise her?

Do I even have that right?

— Abdul Rahman (my first cousin)

---

Life teaches a new lesson.

I have learned

In the darkness, when we are alone,

Every character of life walks before our eyes.

We see their mistakes,

And sometimes their mistakes bury us.

In that very moment,

Life teaches a new lesson.

When dreams are sacrificed for home,

When we set aside our own desires

And wear a mask of hope,

When truth beats in our hearts but

Stony words face us

When the breath shortens, the heartbeat slows,

When tears retreat into the eyes

And only a false smile remains

Life teaches a new lesson.

In the ocean of life,

When the worth of each drop becomes clear,

When each moment feels heavier than ourselves,

When living itself feels like waste,

When dreams pull us down into deep waters

Life teaches a new lesson.

Countless tears hide in these eyes.

When they grow tired,

They have soaked many nights.

And when the tears return in memory,

Life teaches a new lesson.

In my college years,

I saw many seasons of life.

Even the stories of elders paled before them.

And yet what have I truly learned?

Life’s lesson is still unfinished.

We have read many such chapters,

Or perhaps, life has made us read them.

In the rhythm of learning,

We have come to understand life

Or perhaps, it is the gift of experience.

— Bhaiyasaheb Chaudhari (a good college friend)

---

Binding my leisure, carrying my dreams,

I took flight like a bird.

Prayers still follow me on the road of solitude,

So why shouldn’t my heart be at peace?

I took flight like a bird.

A new job, a new city, a new tale each hour—

With the same zeal, I took flight like a bird.

Crying, laughing, writing every feeling,

Killing every suffocation—

I took flight like a bird.

-

The journey is long,

I search for my destinations.

I have no care for time,

For life is still with me.

Why this suffocation inside me?

Why this distrust in myself?

To others I am ordinary,

Yet to me, everything I have is rare.

Chasing this, chasing that—

This mischievous heart!

The journey is long,

I search for my destinations.

Will I complete this journey?

It is a question I ask myself.

I sleep thinking—

Mother’s prayers are with me.

Sometimes a question, sometimes a storm,

This is the state of my journey.

I can’t speak anymore—

There’s a roughness in my throat.

The journey is long,

I search for my destinations.

-

Sometimes I found peace in hatred,

Sometimes love made me cry.

Sometimes loneliness was my companion,

Sometimes my own people forgot me.

Sometimes I cried deep into the night,

Sometimes tears rocked me to sleep.

Sometimes I wandered in dreams,

Sometimes reality woke me.

Sometimes despair weighed me down,

Sometimes hope dressed me in light.

Sometimes I spoke of sorrows,

Sometimes I made myself laugh.

Sometimes courage stood me tall,

Sometimes it dragged me down.

Sometimes without a bed I lay,

Sometimes the light burned me,

Sometimes the darkness soothed me.

Sometimes I hid my desires,

Sometimes I burned them away.

Sometimes I shared my tales,

Sometimes I hid my pain.

Sometimes I called her the moon,

Sometimes I cast her from the sky.

In my heart was a garden of buds,

Until someone burned it down.

All I want to say is,

I never held it against you.

-

Rose-like eyes, wine-like eyes,

Eyes beyond compare.

In them, love and hatred,

Reward and punishment.

Sometimes hiding the secrets of the heart,

Sometimes reading it like an open book.

Perfect eyes, beautiful eyes—

Eyes without equal.

Pride in them, intoxication in them,

The north in them, the south in them.

Some saw them as lakes,

Some found them to be mirages.

Eyes that remain, eyes that speak,

Eyes that hold resolve, eyes that run.

Thousands have died for them—

O man of God, guard your eyes.

— Fazil Khan