Instagram Poems
A collection poems posted on Instagram.
Tag: poetry
The City of Jewels
Inspired by the aerial view of New Delhi at night.
By Shayaan Khusro
In the heart of the Subcontinent
Rests the City of Jewels
That can only be seen at a night
That hides the moon from sight.
It was built by the djinns using
Diamonds, rubies and more gems
To protect their homes from
The pitch-black pools of evil
That await the chance
To swallow the city whole.
The city’s roads are molten gold
That burns through the pits of despair.
They reflect the fiery ones as they travel
To their homes, markets and workplaces.
When the sun rises
Its light blankets the city
And banishes the darkness.
The jewels refract the sunlight
Splitting it into a myriad of colours
That engulfs the city in a mirage
From all ten directions.
The moonlight powers the spell at night.
If a traveller were to arrive here
At a time other than a moonless night,
They would find nothing but concrete ruins,
Cold, silent and eerie,
As if djinns are not celebrating life
Right in front of them.
If they dare step in,
They will fall asleep at one gate
And wake up at the opposite one,
Unaware of what transpired.
Those who enter on a moonless night,
Never return because they are spellbound.
If you wish to catch a glimpse
But don’t want to be enchanted,
Then you must fly above it
On a night bereft of the moon.
An Unfinished Business
A message from an unfinished poem to its poet.
By Shayaan Khusro
You started crafting me with a few taps on your keypad.
You cracked your fingers after a few verses
And went to sleep when words stopped flowing.
I would have been content had you given up then
And sent me to the Recycling Bin.
But no, you promised to complete me
Down to the very last character.
Yet here I am,
A mere .doc file in your smartphone
With pretty words typed in it
Waiting for a few more verses to complete me,
Unsure, whether you even think of me
Or are my stanzas fated to remain buried in your mind,
Never to be read, praised or criticized.
But I warn you, do not keep me waiting any longer
As you have kept the unfinished poems in your diary
For they can give you papercuts
Only if you bother touching them
But I can and will bring your phone down with me
When my impatience and the things you download
Eventually corrupt me.
So, either open my file and finish what you started
Or come up with some new rhymes
To write a lamentation for your phone
That you will probably leave incomplete anyway.
Vendetta
This one’s a revenge story.
By Shayaan Khusro
You came with a horde,
Burnt a home,
And some more.
You slept well that night,
You thought no one saw you,
That no one could find you,
That you could get away,
And riot another day,
You were wrong.
Every day you greeted your family
Was a day I spent alone,
Every night you slept well
Was a reminder that you had to atone,
Every breath you took
Was a breath short from your life,
Every step you took to your home
Brought you closer to your doom.
And now here you are,
On your knees,
Begging for mercy
In the name of the deities
You think I believe in.
You even invoke humanity,
But did you have any
When you burnt my family?
You came with a crowd, didn’t you?
You thought they’d protect you?
Where are they now?
Where are your bannermen?
Where are your slogans?
That’s right,
None of them are here.
It’s just you, me
And my vendetta…
A Celestial Love Tangle
If love is to revolve around someone then stars and planets are out of luck.
By Shayaan Khusro
It’s ironic that humans look to the sky for matchmaking
When space is filled with miserable lovers.
If you don’t believe me,
Just grab a telescope
And see for yourself.
Moon loves Earth
Because to him she is all the life that is
In a universe that seems as dry and dead as him.
Earth loves Sun
Because in a sky full of stars
He is all the warmth there is to her.
Sun is the saddest,
For he is just a speck in a cluster of lovers more brilliant,
Who all love Sagittarius A*,
A cruel black hole who only takes and never gives,
Yet Sun cannot leave her for she is all that holds him.
Despite her cruelty, the black hole is pitiable too,
For her lover and love story may or may not be real.
And as if space wasn’t miserable enough,
With celestial bodies trapped in an orbit
Around ones that revolve around others,
Any love story that could happen here is doomed
Because everyone is drifting apart faster than light.
But despair not,
For in a sky full of miserable lovers,
There are a few happy couples that return each other’s gravity
And revolve around each other for life.
A Murder Most Foul
With winter testifying against the culprits.
By Shayaan Khusro
Under a bridge near the metro
Flows a drain, black and wide,
Filled with filth that man made
With their hands and otherwise.
Carcasses float upon its surface
As uncovered as the drain itself,
Drawing bugs, crows and hawks
In air, pigs and rats on the ground.
Everyone who passes by wonders
‘Why couldn’t it be a river instead?’
Yet the December mornings burn
The sky and the water grey
And subdue the drain’s stench
Turning it as clear as a mirror,
Reminding us that a long time ago,
It was a river, beautiful and alive,
Till in arrogance and ignorance
We choked its blood vessels,
Gouged its organs for supper
And defecated upon its corpse.
After Life
Vows of an agnostic lover.
By Shayaan Khusro
After life, some say
Comes heaven or hell,
Some say yet another life
Among more to come,
While others claim nothing
But dust and abyss.
If eternal damnation is my fate then
Let your salvation be my respite.
If the cycle of rebirth is our curse
Then let’s meet again and again.
If dust is all that will be left of us
Let ours forever merge in soil.
For until death do us part
And after parting we will unite
This I promise you, my beloved.
Unfortunate, Wicked & Wretched
This is the result of every romantic movie, soap opera, anime, K-Drama and web series I’ve watched over the years.
By Shayaan Khusro
How unfortunate he was,
He loved a girl
Who loved someone else.
How wicked he was,
He plotted and waited
To have her.
How wretched he was,
She was not the other’s,
She was no one’s.
How determined he was,
To see her smile
At any cost.
How content he was,
She was with someone else,
She was happy.
What if Mother Earth is feeling suicidal?
It’d explain a lot really, still our fault.
By Shayaan Khusro
What if Mother Earth is feeling suicidal?
And human evolution is nothing but
The longest ongoing suicide attempt?
After all, of over eight million species
She could choose from why select the one
With no regard for her fate or wellbeing
Except to end it all in smoke and polythene?
But wouldn’t a comet to the surface suffice,
To end the suffering since before the age of ice?
Earth already tried that, several times in fact
Yet, except craters and dinosaurs, she is intact.
On the other hand, though slow as a snail
Mankind is a deadly poison seeping through
Air, water and land, killing one life at a time.
But why end a life meant to last aeons more?
Perhaps she misses her siblings Mars and Venus?
Maybe she is wary of being the only living planet
In a cold dead universe void of others like her?
Maybe she feels overwhelmed by her fate
Of being swallowed by a burning red giant.
Perhaps all of the above in varying proportions?
So, if Earth is depressed and committed to suicide
Should we see this euthanasia through the end
And jump onto the next ship and then another
Till all the worlds end the same way she will?
Or do we wrap Earth with trees and flowers
And give her the therapy she always required
To show her that life isn’t as woeful as it seems?
Words Don’t Flow Anymore
About a poet who’s losing touch. Longer than my usual ones, hope you enjoy.
By Shayaan Khusro
At the tip of the tongue
Like my own name
But now I can’t
Recall the words anymore.
Once clearer than crystals
Like the truth itself,
But now the verses,
Don’t make sense anymore.
Ink once flowed on paper
Like a river through the plains,
But now my thoughts
Don’t flow anymore.
They used to hide
Like a treasure
But now meanings don’t lie
Between lines anymore.
Once sought after
Like an antique
But now my books
Don’t sell anymore.
Once refreshing
Like the morning tea
But now my sonnets
Don’t please anymore.
Once hummed
Like a song
But now my lines
Don’t rhyme anymore.
They once adorned my poems
Like paintings on a wall,
But now no metaphors
Come to mind anymore.
Were once played
Like a piano
But now the syllables
Don’t have rhythm anymore.
They once spread
Faster than rumours
But now people don’t
Recite my stanzas anymore.
Once stuck in the head
Like a jingle
But now my readers
Don’t know my name anymore.
Once put together
Like bricks in a wall,
But now my paras
Don’t stick together anymore.
Once crafted elegantly
Like Nadir Shah’s throne,
But now my works
Don’t employ techniques anymore.
Once laid out
Like a battle plan,
But now my elegies
Don’t follow directions anymore.
Once precise and concise
Like a bull’s eye,
But now my rants
Don’t end anymore.
The Jotting Pen 