Tuesday, December 28, 2010

My world is where I am

My world is where I am,

sorting the real and the scam
amidst visions of the recent dreams
haunting the mind in flashes
sounds dull and fierce screams,
time feels still and time fast flies
I try to stop the tears and the cries.
In vain, my world crumbles
As in my dreams I stumble
                   As thunder roars across the skies,

‘I have a dream” Ah
And I had dreams’, I am a dream,
I dreamt in pain, as down came the rain

My world , flooded to the brim
Chances of survival , thin and grim
I struggled and gasped for breath

A muddy slushy powerful gush
Of Death, reigned supreme,
A loud shout and a sharp scream
Twists and turns and a sudden hush!
Life was still , warm was the blood,

I woke up
And I understood-The Lord was Merciful
And I had time to do more Good.

Monday, December 27, 2010

MY POETRY BLOG: The Silent Carriage-Inspiration from John Keats O...

MY POETRY BLOG: The Silent Carriage-Inspiration from John Keats O...: "What cart is this? what Roman or Ancient Red Indian Shaped carriage, royal or classic or roaming on the range where the buffaloes run where..."

The Silent Carriage-Inspiration from John Keats Odes

What cart is this?
what Roman or Ancient Red Indian Shaped
carriage, royal or classic or roaming on the range
where the buffaloes run
where horses gallop rough
and race the stagecoach strange;
where for miles no soul can be seen
where cries of YUHOO , Hiyaah
sound in the valley
with snapping cracks of the whip;
where shooters hide in the alley
but now tis silent
still and cold, where is the coachman
brave and bold, no horses no reins
no travellers for the gains,
parked aside in red and white,
yet, its grandeur still abides.
'Away Away, no horses neigh
No oil burns the lamp, bright-
I do see a group huddled n hooded
rubbing their hands,long boot footed,
what plans , what journeys, what rides
A mystery masks the man in the dark
and so is the  silent empty carriage, parked.

Photo Credit to Salman Wajahat Dar-Boston USA

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Clouds Gather in The Sky

Clouds gather in the sky
some are dark some light up high
here they come rumbling
wonder why they are grumbling?
raising a storm , hue and cry!
Clouds gather in the sky;

are they showing us a fire?
frowning on a sinful desire?
warning of The Heaven’s Ire?
or  to cool the bonfire?
clouds gather in the sky

I wonder if their thunder

is a song of the celestial choir?
praising the Divine Moist Sapphire,
Dust we see and dust we are
yet the particles conspire
and relieve us from our misery
cooling comfort we do require,

clouds gather in the sky!

I know they come to admire
and blessing us , will soon retire
away to their ocean home entire,

they leave a message , a purifier
be at peace and mercy
be not a crier or a liar
be like us without any fuss
a bold graceful high flyer-

OH Clouds Gather in the sky—

Monday, October 18, 2010

Tracing Patterns in Life

I traced some patterns in life
and looked at them for long,
thought they were strong
in design color and length,
But I was told I was wrong-

I drew some lines
in symbols shapes and signs
erased and drew again
till my fingers grew numb
and my wrist cried 'pain'
I believed all was bright
But I was told I was not right-

I gathered some letters
and arranged them in words
I read them over and over
I thought I had the idea 
from under the dark cover
but someone knew better 
and I was entangled 
in iron fetters-

I passed some innocent smiles
being told to be nice
and polite and mannered
I thought I was human,held
Truth and Prayer as my weapon,
But I was dragged away for miles
and forced to pay a  price-

I collected some pictures
all plain and blank
no patterns or lines nor words
or designs, with soundless motions
no thoughts or notions
as hard as stone,
as thin as a bone
as quiet as a mouse
I lived-in the house
I was thus the better, 
good and best,
till the moment when
I was finally laid, 

to rest.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

A Lull Before The Storm

Ah, constant struggle yet
 Cannot reach the flower

 because of the thorn
 crawling and twisting
 trembling, climbing

  Up the tender twig,
  of wings the insect
  is shorn;
  sorrow seeps sinks
  what does one feel?
  Battle, blatant killing
  fields and one thinks
  why are there flowers
 steel and splinter showers?

  'as flies to wanton boys'
    are we, the human beings
    toys?  In the minds
    of sinners and sinning?
    When will love again
    Be born?

   O’ Innocent or knowing
    Insect, do you know the Way?
    We are lost and gone astray,
    O' Lord, if only I were one
    I would just creep and crawl
nor scream nor moan nor  be forlorn 
 But of the flower will think,
 and smile and smile and pray,
 till the end, every day.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Latent Wishes

Do I need a job so desperately?
Or but, rather, a bit separately
Where I can keep all the earning
And can count my very own saving;
Oh what a pleasure it will be!
When I will see, only  my money.
But wait, listen
Am I being a little selfish?

Have I washed my own dirty dish?
Did I remember to close the door?
Or how long ago did I clean the floor?
Ah don’t you know
These are also jobs to be done
Boring they may be, no fun,
Then what type of job do I need
A job to fulfil but, a strange Greed ?

Why is this feeling growing day by day?
Am I really going astray?
Who will answer this question?
Is anybody taking any lesson?
Is there someone capable?
Well, it’s no use neither hoping nor waiting
I guess this is normal.
I am not being so formal
I like being human some of the time
And this world does call me one, in line,
And I guess to be human once in a while
Really is not a crime, the Truth is-
Humans must all the laws obey
Humans must not fall and go astray.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

For POETRY JAM ~ January 20 2015 ~ Writing ~ As a writer, if I Be ~

One that I wish to be
One, I wanted to be called
But I was constantly stalled
What is there in this for you?
It’s not something that is true
What a waste of time sitting
And just drawing lines

But who knows the secret of it all
A writer to be is not The Great Fall;

The writer is Supreme
On any Theme
A writer is Eternal
A writer is the cream
Of thoughts ideas and views
Of visions stories and news
Of emotions happy or sad
Of feelings loving or mad
Of happiness love tragedy or drama
A writer is even The Great Dalai Lama!

So I can be, a user of the pen
And take a pseudo name among men
But now it’s not sitting and staring
At the pc, so mum and dumb,
Your thoughts must touch
The keyboard, and reach as such
The page that is blank

Must reflect the thoughts in ranks
This must continue for hours and hours
And words must form the patterns
And forms, for readers who yearn
To learn and feel good,
They know they are, understood
So to be the writer one must write
And sit from morning till late at night.

And so the Writer with the Pen
Must be Right and be a Guide
Be the History Maker of the Light
Lead the Field in the stride
Non violent Peaceful and Tolerant
Not with any race or creed but
Democracy and Plebiscite
So if you wish to be The One
Then Be the Best and
Second to None
Or leave the pen and the scene
And just read the lines, in between.

Friday, October 8, 2010

I feel it is a crime

I feel it is a crime
To play with someone’s emotions
And speak of silly unnecessary notions.

I feel it is a crime
                                             To join in company for fun
                                              And waste other people’s time.

I feel it is a crime
To first be friends, then
stray away to other ends.

I feel it is a crime
To frown without reason
And wear dresses out of season.

I feel it is a crime
to laze around making a sound
That’s not popularly hummed around;

I feel it is a crime
To close the books
And give others stares and looks

I feel it is a crime
To call someone fat or stout
 And pickup something to fuss about;

I feel it is a crime
Not to make things better
To destroy others by anonymous letters;

I feel it is a crime
To talk against ones own nation
Without any reasonable, explanation.

I think and I know, it is a crime,
Not to look at Nature and the beauty around,
To be Grateful and Happy at the Gifts
That abound.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

I Walked on the Pages of History

I walked on the pages of history
and discovered poetry

I stepped on the stages of mystery
and discovered imagery

I gazed at the rages of fires and flames
and discovered slavery-

I stood for hours in the extensive graveyard
And discovered bravery

I lay critically in intensive care unit
And discovered recovery,

I clutched the Religious Rope tightly
and discovered the depths of forgery; 

Drenched in mud and dirty blood
I discovered  the soul's cemetery; 

I prayed, I believed,I kept my faith
I see the Gates of Heaven
I am, but still in Purgatory…

If I have been true, in Allahs view
Surely then I will enter The Promised  Holy Vinery