Usman Shaikh

Hindi

खराब वक़्त

कफ़न ओढ़े हुए हैं दुनिया काफ़ी दिनों से कुछ मासूम बच्चों की खिलखिलाहट-ए-आवाज़ों के साथ। चाँद का भी वो आख़िरी नहाना, मुर्दा सूरज का वो दफ़्नाना, ता

English

Yellow Balloon

Drip drop, drip drop! Off the unfastened tap after the little one fills up his yellow balloon, And drops it down from the first floor while singing his Favorite tune. Drip drop, drip, drop! I said, “O you, Chubu, it’s no good to lean out the balcony—now go

English

Adulation

The cat's meow has put us Into the bubble of friendship, Not knowing how well it can expand. But here we are—at too far, yet close, Writing poetry for the ones we love and adore. Now we know that our planet is small, Where distance doesn'

Love in times of war

Oh, the daughter of my world, When I saw your earing fall To the ground, It was the heart of the enemy Which was slain with No bound. Oh, the daughter of my world, Every time I saw your veil striped A side, The hell awaits with a 'shush&

Cotton Candy

This is the final letter of madness— The farewell note of my childhood. After this, I shall no longer know The purity of youth, Nor the wild beauty of being unafraid. I loved you Like a boy fleeing school, Hiding birds and poems In his pockets— Like cotton candy Melting

English

This Night-Bitten Dawn

This night-bitten dawn, a poet’s creation, I read it in times of dark desperation. Where genocide walks as a daily affair, And even the wounded light gasps for air. Faiz once wrote, in verses profound, “This is not the dawn we longed to have found.” It’s just the

Book

Don’t worry, my sweetest, I write you into every poem. Even if we can’t see each other, I read you every now and then— While holding the book of love To my heart. It whispers your name, your eyes, Your sweet cheeks and your red nose— Which is

Hoopoe

So let me write my poetry on your unadorned feet, so that it can dance to the heart of a magical beat. As we know, some sit under the solitude tree, and some are sunk within the boundaries of being free. And here we are, debunking the status quo built

The City That Forgot Its Name

When you left, the jasmine withered on my windowsill, and the city tore its dress of spring. Even the clocks refused to move forward— as if time had no reason without your breath to count. I wrote your name on the tongue of fire, and it burned my mouth each

AL-HAJAR

It’s Not Raindrops I wish they were— Mother, look outside: Those are warplanes and bombs. I’m the oppressed, not the oppressor. Let me tell you all— They are destroying my right to exist, But not my existing soul. The day will come, and you will fall, Just like

Ṭū𝖇ā ŤяⓔẸ

Like a Tree, I Grew in the Desert Below your feet: As you rest on the thirst of my roots And bite the fruits of love... Let me ask those glass eyes what they’ve seen, As they want to be gone—seeking Refuge in the wind. So, to hold

GRAVE

Come down towards me, O’ night sky, Come, rest in my narrow grave, And tell me the stories of those breaking stars, As we have some laughs about their indispensable behaviour. While the gravedigger has gone to break bread, We’ll lie and talk about light and colour, sin and