During his undergrad (if you can call it that), Iqbal read at Trinity College, Cambridge. By current definition of the phrase, he was a ‘mature student’. He stayed at 17 Portugal Place.At that time, the house might have been college-owned, but I can’t confirm that.

It’s a smallish house with a narrow street on one side and a wider one on the other. The wider street opens up in Jesus Green, a large ground. The house is a 5 minute  walk away from the river Cam. 

I wish I could go and live there for some time, just to check if creativity is influenced by proximity to greatness, even if it’s time-shifted. Without going into any more details, here are some pictures.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

(P.S. Quoting Neruda doesn’t mean you are in love… Being in love doesn’t mean you should quote Neruda)

(P.P.S. The images go with the lines. I just took the pictures)

کھڑکی سے جھانکتی ہے کسے بار بار دُھند

sleep
please
the half empty
cherry coke can
will still be there
when you wake up
صبح کام نہیں کرنا کیا؟

Once there was a spider, who lived in my guitar
he listened to the blues, la musique de popular
but every time I rocked, he looked a bit crocked
and muttered, "at least play something in 12 bar"   

02:11-6.4.2009.

He travels on the metal road
and weaves on dreams unique
of ticklish clouds and purple pines
of papers that can speak

She comes and sits in front of him
and opens up her book
but words are smudges on a sheet
fordone, forborne, forsook

I watch them smile, I watch them talk
I watch them laugh and glow
I watch the sparks and flame and fire
I know where this will go

She’ll make him just a stepping stone
a mean to a selfish end
a milestone on the long road home
then make another friend

He’ll break and burn and tear and turn
He’ll think his life is gone
and then he’ll learn to live alone
let go, forget, move on

They’ll keep on flowing on again
to leave their pasts discreet
but all live on a single tale
recall, repent, repeat

6 May 2008 8:34 PM