|
How I saw you
How I saw you, a new age Cleopatra With an Instagram profile, Standing on the steps of a Sufi mausoleum. A solitary moon, over the Baḥr Al-Nil, Surrounded by longing, stars, followers. A revelation, pregnant with Beauty, mischief, mystery, and wisdom. How I saw you, a blessing, delivered On the sill of the stretched nights, To read you like a poem, watch you Move your hands and lips Watch the magic, unveiling, in your playful eyes Smell your, inner, fragrance Taste your, Mediterranean, mellowness Hear you like an Azan. How I discovered you carrying, a soul Of the Anath , roses in one hand and a lance in another. How I saw you, becoming A sprinkle of dew for The arid fields of a mind, triggering A new Odyssey Filled with Pyramids of joy and tribulations. -Notes 1. Bahr Al-Nil is an Arabic name for the River Nile 2. Anath (Anat) was a Semitic goddess of love and war. (The Galway Review Annual Anthology 7- Ireland)
0 Comments
Despite all grandiosity
Despite all grandiosity, All exaggerations, about Human rationality; Despite all wisdom Of Socrates, Plato, And Aristotle; Despite all discoveries, All inventions, And every human stride; Majority of our actions Run on an autopilot, looking for shortcuts, By-passing reason, by-passing awareness. (Poets Espresso Review-USA) You are always with me
You are always with me During my joys, during my grief, Like my breath, like my heartbeat, Like the marrow in my bones, Unlike the soul that abandons during the sleep. Despite all space All mountains, all seas spread between us I carry you as a cask of memories As a vial of saffron leaves, as a sachet Of Nun Chai leaves As a collection of souvenirs As a playlist of folk songs. I remember you everywhere..... In every meadow During every snowfall. I see you everywhere... On the forehead of every mountain On the face of every lake On the leaf of every Chinar . I see you In the language of my college friends Their jokes, their dreams, In my mother's dress, in her tea, in her worries. Where ever I drift Where ever I run I return to you Like a wave at the shore returns to a sea. (The Galways Review-Ireland) It is not every day I feel my heartbeat
I hear it bouncing like a ball on a ping pong It’s cusps flapping like sails of a ship. It is not every day I get a tide of dopamine I feel dreamy, open and vulnerable Dangling over a cliff edge. It is not every day I enjoy the sunshine I clear my Deadwood I notice daffodils, the purple lilies The colour of butterflies. It is not everyday streams sound like flutes Roses sprout in battlefields Doves rest on canons Dawn rides on the wings of butterflies Rain rejuvenates the garden of memories. It is not every day we feel a Spring When life crawls back to the Life When a heart breaks its icicles And flutters in an ecstasy. (The Galway Review-Ireland) I see a new face of Kashmir
I see a new face of Kashmir, Seething unarmed youth Protesting fearlessly Against the might of India; Defying curfew, braving bullets With only stones in their hands. I see frightening whirlwinds Around these courageous souls, Chanting fierce Liberty songs. I see a conflict generation, Full of resentment, full of valour; Carrying a fire of disobedience, A cyclone of dreams; Slayed, maimed, blinded By alien bullets, by alien pellets. I see a mercurial nation With grief eternally fastened To her bruised forehead. I even see fat cats Licking double cream At the gates of its graveyards. (15th July 2016) (The Galway Review-Ireland) I sing a song for those
Who are full of energy and fairness Full of love juice, dreams and unpredictability; Who are not afraid of failures; Who walk with both arms And legs to climb an arduous summit. Who jump into turbulent waters To collect treasures from the sea bed, To create history with their strides. I sing a song for those Who burn books to light new paths, Who dismantle the idols Of dogma, inequality and injustice; Who burn old bridges to carry a nation On their strong, just, arms. I sing a song for those Who have cleared the dross of bigotry From their hearts; whose clamour Disturbs the sleep of fascists and tyrants; Who adorn the forehead of the life With their dreams, loves and impulsivity, With their dissent, valour and sensitivity. (The Fable Online-USA) O my soul
O my strained soul, long have I dreamt about Seeing you fly joyously; high above the cloud. Long have I known your gravity-defying nature With an inherent longing to fly to your creator. Long have you moved like a crawling reptile Collecting dust, grime and shame in the exile. O my squatting soul, long have I seen a shame In your eyes; loaded with heaps of self blame. Long did I try to freeze my dragons for your joy, To set you free, from the heavy fetters, to enjoy. Long have I invoked you to glide like a bird Away from the green grazing of this goat herd; Look straight into the eyes of a noontide sun, With your winged feet; and go for a higher run. Enough of this squatting, cringing and crawling, Rise and dust off your wings for an inner calling. (2013) (Gushing Fountain-USA) A paint shop
A local meeting point, Like a coffee house, near Gaw Kadal Bridge, where he sat Behind a counter, with shoulders of an ox, selling His dreams, his colours. Like a lighthouse, in our youth, for watching College girls, and political fireworks. An address for our letters, For meeting our friends, For colouring our paradigms. Like an Epicurean Garden, To debate our ideals; to discuss Cricket, movies, and music; To sketch rainbows, With the hands of time, On our Tabula Rasa. (For Majeed Toth) (The Galway Review- Ireland) River Jhelum
I have seen your origin, at Verinag, gushing pure like an affectionate mother. I have seen you nourishing people until you deluged our city Srinagar. You have witnessed our ups and downs; you have carried our youth, our blood, and the grime of our towns. You have watched our politicians, and their mud; heard them speak in that abode of corruption. You have frowned, at our fakery, at our worldly races. You have witnessed our every political eruption, our every joy and grief, our fear-stricken faces. You have seen our departure from simplicity, to a mire of doubt, to an Eden of duplicity. (Muse India) I know a place
I know a place where the sting of poverty is hurting its soul, gnawing its marrow, leaving it anaemic, ragged, and tired. Where poor people die with their unfulfilled dreams of eating enough food, drinking clean water and living under a roof; where affluent people, with their refrigerated souls, live in a bubble of privilege. I know a place where corruption has creeped into it's DNA, where corruption is practiced at an Olympic scale, where corrupt people are honoured like Olympic medal winners. (The Lakeview-International Journal of Art and Literature) Once again
Just when I thought I had doused my fires, An amorous spring is changing things again. View of snowdrops, hellebore, singing birds, Elegant women walking in the spring rain, Dancing Tulips, morning breeze, butterflies, Laughing souls, murmuring dreams: all reigniting An old flickering flame. Once again, caught in The talons of love, my heart is carried helplessly Over a new terrain, loaded with new delight, and new pain. Once again, my days are filled with ecstasy, and strain. Of Women
I know you are a blessing. Soft as snow Hard as a pomegranate The God's light Carrying his beauty, his kindness, his glow. I know you are A cloak for his imperfections A fig tree for his appetites A sea of patience. I know There is a degree of unpredictability A streak of randomness In your temperament. I know you have a majestic Essence, like the Quantum World, Shrouded in mystery. (Poems about women-Author Press Anthology-India) Of wind
I have seen you blowing A blade of grass, A bed of tulips, a flower basket Hanging at the front door, Branches of a willow tree, Her hair, clothes on a washing line. I have seen you moving A boat at the beachfront, An aeroplane by a tailwind, and by a headwind, Things caught in a whirlwind. I have heard you, howl During a tempest, speak Through a flute. I have felt your touch like a stroke Of a feather. Yet your, enigmatic, face Remains all hidden, Like a black hole. (The Lakeview-International Journal of Art and Literature) Of man
Just a pile of some flesh dressed up on few bones; some veins and arteries branching in and out of a pump; a little breath constantly going in and out; a myriad of formless thoughts due to the action of neurochemicals. With an insatiable hunger for new things, he is often, ungrateful, unsatisfied with the things he possesses. With a fear of being ordinary, and unharnessed desires, he sprints, on a thousand feet, with an occasional cramp of altruism. Finally his flesh, his fears, his dreams, dissolve into elements, disappear into nothingness. (The Galway Review-Ireland 2016) |
Dr Javed Ahmed
Poems1. These poems have been previously published in various literary journals, magazines, books and anthologies around the globe including the UK, the USA, India, Ireland and Canada.
2. Here I will post some of my previously published poems. Archives
August 2021
List of Poems
All
|
RSS Feed