It was autumn when I came to you…

The faded beams of the sun shone both in the midafternoon of the day and the year. I looked for a pale leaf, about to fall, as it would whirl down chanting Lord’s Names… I sought a chilly wind or a cold draught that would penetrate into my bones and make hairs stand on end… You met me with your warmest embrace. My hair, patted by your wind, touched my face.

It was autumn when I came to you…

There were roses on your streets… roses, which were following you wherever you went… roses with very large petals… Smiles dwelt in your gazes… inviting and coy… with smiles, roses were looking at you whenever you turned a street. Otherwise, they were leaning out recklessly over garden walls. I mostly heard a mild ‘welcome’ while they were swinging in the . I was putting my hands on my heart and answering with the whole of my heart.

It was autumn when I came to you…

It was the trickling of the rain that interrupted my sleep. Seeping by long threads through the windows like my life. Kisses of delicate roses were making fresh fires in my heart. Somehow, drops were falling with curves. They were full of solicitude as if they washed an orphan’s face. Fragile and sensitive… Your rain at times lasted so long and was incessant, yet it never made us drained of life… Never did we miss the sun, for instance. I never witnessed that it would turn pitch dark when it rained. It was a luminous rain. It was gleaming and cleansing. I, for example, was able to hang around under the heavy downpour to buy corn-on-the-cob being deep-fried in fine sand. How else could you respond to those raindrops that kissed the cheeks of roses but with thanks, for it kissed your cheeks as well?

It was autumn when I came to you…

Jovial children were frolicking on your streets. They were living my childhood, filling cricket grounds after school. There were spoilsport children as well as the offended ones… never to forget the negotiators. Innocence and artfulness were together on their faces. An unspoiled generation, which was not enslaved by television culture. I saw them on the way to their schools next day. In their school vans, as if, they were trying to find excuses because of not having prepared their homework. I wonder how many of them had guests and how many of their homes had suffered load-shedding on the day before.

It was autumn when I came to you…

Adhans recited by fasting mouths were whirring on your horizons. My hands raised with others hands open to sky. Prayers were looking for will of God. Fires of hearts were being tried to extinguished by tears. There was a competition to serve iftar, break of fasting, even with one bit. That every bit became an illumination of eye even you have to break fasting for two while fasted for one person. I felt cold first time in taraweeh prayers with a reading of the Qur’an. ‘Let’s hold tight rank. Let no devil among us. And even you become warm’

It was autumn when I came to you…

I felt embarrassed when I remembered that I forgot to bring my wallet after marketing for one week… and seller’s ‘take this home and I calculate until you come’ saying. A Spartan whose heart is like volcano… I now understand why autumn is not cold.

It was autumn when I came to you… but there were roses in your street… big leaves, smelled like heaven…

It was summer when I left you…

Mangos were yellow… there were bananas on your trees. Coconuts were full of milk. Hearts were still like fireplaces. Hands were still rising to the sky with sincerity. Purity was in eyes to get the will of God. Roses were still saying ‘welcome’. Your sons and daughters were still on streets. Rains were still falling with curve, taking kisses from roses, and then falling down to the earth. Drops were still netting my destiny by drawing lines on windows.

It was summer when I left you…

Love was behind… nostalgia was like hearts. Every friend was like big mountain. Memories worth of worlds…

It was summer when I left you…

You have my heart with you…

(*) Dedicated to Islamabad…