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In Lucknow’s Hazratganj

I came out of the Leela, the show was bad,
The picture was the same monotonous crap,
Walking a distance , to my mind it came,
It’s mother’s birthday and I have nothing to wrap,

Inexperienced in buying a gift for a woman,
My only options were bangles and bracelets,
The easiest and best to arrange they was,
For necklaces are pricey, wasted will be anklets,

To the same old shop I marched on,
Where I have been since I was a child,
Variety of choice, variety in price,
The flashy colors, all patterns wild,

I chose one set of silver and black,
And another one in gold and green,
And in that moment, I heard a voice,
Drenched in love, soft and clean,

I realised she was right behind me,
When I felt a sudden touch of her arms,
The crowd had pushed and shamed her,
The crowd blessed me with her touch warm,

I turned around and she looked at me,
I saw beauty which couldn’t be believed,
The sad innocence of her eyes,
Made it the best moment I ever lived,

She looked down but returned back,
And a thousand words we heard and said,
That quiet moment of hundred years,
I looked at her like I have never had,

And then she moved away from me,
With the women who gave her company,
Mother’s bangles kept now in my bag,
In my heart sown now love’s agony,

I don’t say this is a love story,
But I never felt that moment again,
I don’t know whether she looked at all like that,
Din’t knew whether I was glad in vain,

Whatever it be, but in Hazratganj,
I met love, and this is the truth,
So what if it lasts not a century?
In that moment I had an eternal fruit!
Blessed be those lanes, famed be!
Each bend and twist of Shiraz-E-Hind,
The one which brought to me
The fragnance of her hair,
Blessed be that kind gracious wind,

Once may call me a liar or over excited,
What I felt was indeed not common,
Love pays not a visit to everybody,
For such small a span and so sudden,

One may call me madly infatuated,
As the reality is hidden in my soul,
Only I know how I love, that voice, the face,
That simple sad look, my heart which stole,
Her arms with care will touch me all life,
Her blank stare will watch me all life,
Her face will be fresh, though memory be stale,
Her query about love will torch me all life!

 

(First published in Muse India)

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One response to “In Lucknow’s Hazratganj

  1. Arjumand Shett ⋅

    Delhi done. Lucknow done. Now write sumthing for me on my goa.

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