An Artist Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

I am born to be you, an earth’s smile in a flower
A stream, a rock, a tree of life, an inventor
I am blood spilled on canvas, I dip my fingers
In the ink-pot of my heart, I give tongue
To your chains. Tongues that lick your desire,
Your narcissus self. I am a mirror.
I dwell deep in your dreams, the ones
Forgotten, the ones making you hysterical.
To know you, I have slept with the bones,
Grappled with angels of hell, I lived many nights
In cold, I burned my oil for myself. I killed myself.
I wrote you to the eternity; I wept in anguish
I was torn apart between agony and ecstasy
I made you into a marble statue, a stone carving
I sang you in poems. I prayed for you, into my possession
I meditated you, broke conventions, fought evil
On the cross, beheaded, amputated, stoned
Barefoot, in the streets, gazing moon
I extinguished the wish of wanting you
“The ashes of my youth, in the Ganges
Of your love” so was the holiness of my love.
Now I look upon my hands and with my thoughts
-The illusion is not unlike the promises of Providence
After death- The illusion is akin to a mirage.
The least, “In the end, I deserved a few good lies”
And I think very often that what a dread
This meaningless life had been, these past years.