They coloured his books with their names; his shadow stayed alone:
Monuments grew on pomp and fluff, wheelbarrows stayed alone.
Believers boasted of enormous faith, as a voiceless idol watched;
When believers and their darkness were gone, the candle stayed alone.
The distant clocks had stopped ticking, time alone did not stop,
The planets spiralled out of orbit, only the star stayed alone.
When nothing more was left be done, nothing more was undone;
When all to be done had been undone, nothing stayed alone.
When every insult grew a voice, every voice, a speech,
Every wound reddened the font, the ghazal stayed alone.
Qasim, you had a way with words, to laugh at your tragedy,
When laughter came to you as joy, the mazaar stayed alone.
Photograph Courtesy: Misko Dimitrijevic, Pixabay.
Arup K. Chatterjee 