Irfan Habeeb

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Verses

Verse

Words arranged in ways that feel like something.

So far

14

verses, updated occasionally.

Something About the Way They Looked at Me

They looked at me as though I were something precious, as though they already knew I was going to die. The moment felt distant. I tried to tell them I wasn't going anywhere. I tried to speak, but I couldn't.Maybe it would take some time. There were too many people. They might not hear me properly.I smiled at them anyway.There was no way I was going to die.

Another Answer

What I once passed without seeingmay stand before me laterand ask for another answer.The boy wants to become a man,

"An ale, If you please."

The roads were nothing but mud.My horse was getting tired, and so was I, though I wasn't sure which one of us had more reason to be.From where I was riding, I could already see the street lamps in the distance. Beyond them was the city, crowded even from afar, with smoke hanging above the roofs and little movements everywhere. And behind all of it, standing higher than everything else, was the castle.I could see it clearly.

A mouth full of quiet

It's curious..how longI could carry a silence,as if it belonged to me.

Love without expectation?

I would say hellfor those who whisper,“Love without expectation,”as if they have found a fire

I Romanticise the dust

I look at footstepslike they’re trying to tell me something.Even when they mean nothing,I listen.

Love in the time of cancer

I may have months to liveShe sighed and looked at the bulbThe specks were still thereAs they counted the

There was this woman

there was this womanshawl around her necksitting just right therefront-right from me

Specks

She saw him, always,outside the ward,standing stilla figure like time,

Why I write

I'm a thinker, though not always a good one. I think I'm a flicker, rarely predictable and do not have a schedule or an ambition to write bigger. I write, because sometimes writing leaves a mark in ways nothing else can. I don't write consistently, but when I do, I feel like the quiet is listening. I don't know how it works, maybe no one does.

“What is written belongs to the beholder.” Maybe it means something. Or maybe it's just words.