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by Zuhair Allibhoy
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Method in my maddness
Writer Zohair AlliBhoy
Dedication
To
Zahra
My
lady of the light.
All rights reserved: Next Level The Interior Mall Schon Circle Karachi.
“Not everyone who clashes with Darkness is Light, rather
perhaps he was Darkness too. But everyone who clashes with
the Light is Darkness, therefore we must search for and know
the Light and by it we shall know the Darkness.”
Imam Ahmad Al Hassan (a.s)
Truth
The sweet smell of your perfume
Sometimes.. graces my spoken word
This whisper, “The whisper” is much crisper
An illegitimate shout, often unheard.
TRUTH
As the title suggests, this particular piece is my tribute to the rarest and most
precious commodity on Earth, the truth.
Those people that speak the truth or make a conscious effort to do so have a very
special place in my heart. The unique thing about the truth is that it is instantly
recognizable, no matter whose mouth it emanates from. It is like a beautiful scent
which instantly makes its presence felt and announces its arrival into a
conversation to all who are present listening. It is unmistakable, and has a
universal appeal to all the people of this earth.
The speaker of truth does not need to shout to be heard nor does he need “bells
and whistles” to signify or grab the attention of his listeners. Armed with truth,
even a whisper is enough to get ones point across.
Lying, however, needs a lot of promotion. It is based on such flimsy foundations
which will crumble under investigation. To ward of this unwanted intrusion, the
speaker has little option but to distract the listeners from the questioning which
will undoubtedly expose him.
He may have to shout it, to artificially enhance its appeal and effect. What history
has shown us is that no matter how one tries to make black into white, falsehood
into truth, the imposter will get exposed. A lie is unsustainable, for an indefinite
period of time, and it requires a lot of effort to keep it going. Truth on the other
hand, is ever living and everlasting.
Dense Silence
Spiral staircase, the ceiling beckons
On turquoise tiles, feet patter
Fleeting swipe, jewel in mouth
Digestion not an option
Heavy boredom, weak mind, lethal!
Retracting jaws at gravities mercy
Foundations shook from unfamiliar shatter
The dense silence.. no more
Unhappy union of crystal and tile
The former divided and dispersed
Labourious task, this collecting fragments
Embedded splinters overlooked, unnoticed.
Dense Silence
Inadequate foresight is a huge liability to have. It is what leads to defeat and is a
sign of a hasty and immature mind.
In the case of foreign policy, it is even more dangerous. The troubles of the last
century carried forward to present day can be attributed to world powers not
having adequate foresight to anticipate social economic and demographic
changes. The consequences of which has cost millions of lives and continues to
chew away at the prosperity of nations subjected to external pressures from their
former colonial masters and other powers eager to fill the vacuum left behind.
The “Spiral staircase” represents the upward ambitions of a particular nation,
trying to lift itself out of poverty, evolve and develop into a significant player on
the world stage. The “feet patter” represents an external entity trying to safe
guard its own influence in the region. The “jewel” is the industry, population and
natural resources the country has been blessed with which is a tempting morsel
for any invading power. This power has no intention to digest it, since they only
have their own interests at heart and thus only want control, to act as leverage in
order to secure better deals for themselves.
It is only natural that the victimized country in question will try to defend itself
and protect what little it has and so, it is inevitable that the super power will face
resistance on this front. If the onslaught is sustained, they may have to let go of
the “jewel” but obviously, not without inflicting serious damage.
The infrastructure, will not be returned in the form that it was before, its nature
will be changed during the course of the conflict and will lose its present form.
The “unhappy union of crystal and tile” represents the destruction of the “jewel”
The super power can be made to leave but it will cause so many divisions among
the people of the victimized country that splinter groups will form. For example,
when the United States left Afghanistan, after the Soviets were defeated, they left
the Taliban. The Taliban is infact a splinter group testament to failed US policy in
the region. It is the people who live in these lands that have had to suffer this
torment for many decades. Since the opportunity was lost to proverbially nip
them in the bud, it became increasingly harder as the days turned to months and
the months into years. Ultimately, they became so ingrained into the everyday life
of the Afghan, and infiltrated into the political, and social fields alike. Now it is
close to impossible to weed them out completely and just like the pieces of the
“jewel” they have shattered into millions of little fragments which are sometimes
so small they tend to get “overlooked”
To conclude I address those countries that exert their dominance on weaker
states, to see the consequences of their actions, and refrain from adopting such
policies. Not only does it damage the said country, but its neighbors also are
affected adversely.
The Puppeteer
Merciful entity, the sovereign saint
A little food, A little dance
Strings you say, more of a noose
The rope taut, never loose
Tears streaming from syrup smeared faces
Protests muted by grapes in mouth
Fruits of investment, now appear
His intentions now, seem so clear
Striking nails against limestone
A lone rogue spark, unleashed
Blackened leverage, squandered spoil
Hold on, I smell oil.
The Puppetier
When we find people who are poor and hungry, it is the duty of the common man
to help alleviate the troubles of those in need. This is not done to make a profit or
to expect any compensation or remuneration. It is done simply because of human
nature. When we are blessed with certain things, it is our responsibility to help
others who have not been so fortunate.
However, in the case of states, somehow the rules have changed. International
aid has almost always had strings attached, and riddled with demands. How can
one make demands on someone in this position? They haven’t asked for help
willingly, they have been compelled to do so because of their lack of resources. It
isn’t fair to profit from the troubles of others.
If this is done, it very quickly changes from being aid to exploitation and thus all
the goodwill generated from giving aid, is all but lost.
The purpose of helping someone is not for financial gain, it isn’t a business. It
should be done out of humanity. Any gain actual or perceived, nullifies the entire
effort.
The first stanza, deals with a so called saint who provides food for the needy or
destitute in return for amusements and benefits. Like the IMF, which gives loans
to so many needy countries, but always asks them to make changes, which are
not only painful, but very hard to implement. It defeats the entire purpose of
asking for the loan in the first place. That is why now we see, many countries
shunning the IMF, for their demands on them, and refusing assistance.
The politicians and people in power are showered with gifts and benefits to keep
them full. The banks know full well, that it will be the common man who will have
to satisfy these outrageous and often impractical demands. The politicians are
almost always exempt and insulated from these hardships.
Countries with vast natural resources but poor infrastructure and rampant
corruption are the best targets for these international bankers. If they become
dependent on the aid or loans, these same bankers will have power over them,
through which they can secure for themselves and their countries the best
conditions and terms for trading.
Oil is more of a curse than a blessing if the people in power can be bought and
sold easily.
This is the plight facing many African and Asian countries today and is also why I
believe, their economic well being is stagnated. It is the international bankers and
corrupt leadership which has formed an unholy alliance to keep these countries
and their people in poverty and destitution.
Paradox Iraq
Prostrating men, to the east and west
Thunder in the skies… and on land
Speeches made by those demigods
Looking for grass in the sand
Green horned youths take to battle
Bodies pile, count the dead
Water scarce in the desert… no matter
Bath in the streets running red
A serpants decent into a burrow
From its fangs, poison does ooze
The opening collapses…. Buried alive
How can you win but still lose?
Paradox Iraq
The American invasion of Iraq, How many countless words have been used to
describe explain and understand this unfortunate situation?
Let us begin by understanding the first part of this verbal illustration.
The first stanza introduces the reader to the environment in Iraq, where the
majority of the population is Muslim and so prayers are being performed in the
east and west of the country.
Nato air forces are continuing their aerial assault, against insurgents, while the
local scholars are gaining influence among the people as they look to them for a
solution in these hard and confusing times.
It is the youth, which has been awakened, by this attack, and despite their relative
inexperience, they are the most eager for battle and glory. Perhaps they are
unable to truly comprehend the gravity of the situation and the suffering that
accompanies it.
As in every war, there are a lot of casualties, and the death count is constantly
growing. In dry lands, such as these, water has always been a scare commodity,
but another type of liquid is abundant, the blood of the innocent.
To conclude, I have liked the aggressors to a snake. They have superior
intelligence, weapons, financial resources and highly skilled personnel. All this is
in stark contrast to the prey which is compared to a mouse whose only realistic
chance of survival is to hide when faced with such a foe.
The snake in its supreme confidence would invade the home of his prey(burrow)
without much fuss. However what it does not understand is there is always a
chance of getting buried alive if he goes too deep or stays too long. In my opinion,
this is a very real threat facing the armies conducting operations in Iraq.
L For Death
The stumps of uprooted trees
The smell of blood on the breeze
Homes destroyed, throw the keys
A little justice if you please
A planned invasion I seem to think
Burned children, their flesh pink
Cant even get water to drink
Rotting corpses begin to stink
Heads of state turn their heads
Completely justified their papers said
HURRAY…!! Profits made in trading lead
Shoot the “terrorist “ bastards dead
Finally ended in a month and a bit
Unfortunately, the targets they failed to hit
Scrambled to find a theory to fit
Time for diplomacy! Let us sit.
L for Death
This was written during the time of Israel’s invasion of Lebanon. The “L” in the
title is reference to Lebanon. I was greatly affected by this scenario, not to
mention all the millions of images and stories continuously pouring out of this
tragedy.
Diplomacy is a tool put into action when the other alternatives are unthinkable,
because of the huge loss of property and life involved.
If diplomatic efforts are used after all the carnage is done, then I feel it cannot be
called diplomacy. It is a truce as none of the parties that come out of the conflict
escape completely unscathed.
Without A Map
Rumaging with boney twigs
In a sea of dirt
Using a jute bag
As a makeshift shirt
An intruder in the realm
Of the black resin gods
Their constant humming , a relief
To its beat he nods
In a concrete shell
On a porcelain platter
In a silk suit
Which aims to flatter.
The almighty eye, provides nourishment
What he hears he obeys
Ignorance punishable, but truth obscure
Without a map, in a maze
Without a Map
Have you ever asked yourself how different your world would be if you were born in
some other family? If you didn’t have access to all the material comforts that you are
accustomed to? Would you still be you? Also, how would you view somebody who has
these things? Your worlds would be different, even though you may be living in the
same vicinity. Which is better?
In the first part of the piece, the readers are introduced to the “poor self” This person is
malnourished, and appears to be wearing a discarded jute bag as clothing. This fact
highlights his extreme poverty.
He is not welcome there by the flies “black resin gods” as they view him as competition
over their food source, the garbage. He makes the best of it, as he uses their buzzing as
a source of music, serenading himself.
Next we are introduced, to another individual. This gentleman is extremely well off, he
lives in the pent house of a tall building overlooking the slums.
He wears the best clothes money can buy and has access to the choicest of foods which
is available to him.
It may seem that he has everything and is in a far better position than the man looking
through the garbage for something to eat, below in the slums.
However, the truth is that the well off man, is the slave, because he has to take
instructions from his superiors and do what they command him to. He does this because
he fears poverty and losing all the things he has worked hard to get. The poor man, does
not face these same problems, because he is free, doesn’t owe anybody anything and is
not afraid because he has nothing to lose.
Ignorance is punishable, especially for a man, who can think for himself and see the full
picture, but the truth itself is not clear to everyone. It becomes a question of balance.
Unless this balance is discovered and understood it would be like being stuck in a maze,
without directions showing how to get out. All energies would be spent and no real
progress would be made. Life is all about balance.
The Wall
Solid black wall of stone
The cloaked figure does approach
Through the darkness, a hand extends
His nails against it he tests
From the shadowey mists a bull!
Fiery eyes, the seeds of hell
Into the obstacle it crashes
Again and again, and once more
Then… the mighty clouds disperse
The sun now naked and exposed
A nightingale descends with opened beak
Attempting to serenade the lifeless beast
YET……
To the claws of deceit it is immune
To the force of man, unmoved
To the temptress, deaf and defiant
And to its roots… sincere.
The Wall
Have you ever seen an individual, who values their principles above all else? It is
the principled man who is always heckled. The Wall symbolizes this man and all
the types of adversities he faces because of his inflexibility on his values.
In the first stanza, we are introduced to The Wall. It is made of solid stone
signifying the strength of the person in question. The “cloaked figure” is a
reference to the mischief of those people who are close to the individual but have
evil intentions. These people are the most dangerous as they are two faced and
so they are the enemy from within.
In the second stanza, we are introduced to another adversary. The “Bull” refers to
the open and evident threat the man faces. A bull is renowned for strength and
with this strength, be it in the form of capital or sheer man power attempts to
flatten all obstacles.
Another adversary makes an appearance in the form of a “Nightingale” This is
reference to a woman, who would use all her charms in order to seduce a
principled man thus leading onto the path of ruin.
The last stanza is a testament to the man, who despite facing the deceit of the
cloaked figure, the force of the bull and the wiles of the temptress maintains his
stance, keeps his dignity and remains firmly grounded in his beliefs.
The Well
Fistfulls of sawdust and grime he flings
The deeply devouted scramble to shield
Their master, their lord, their dead
Succumbing to the onslaught, they slowly yield
An untarnished reputation in life, his legacy
With lifeless eyes and limp arms he begs
Rare opportunity, too tempting to miss
Undefended, exposed, like throwing rocks on eggs
Approaching with a sadistic smile, his pleasure
Blade glinting in the settings suns glow
The wind slapping his cheeks in disapproval
For prodding the deceased with his toe
In days passed he had quenched his thirst
Watched how his empty belly did swell
Even the once thirsty, have been known
To turn their backs on the well.
The Well
Whenever the head of the family passes away, it causes much grief to his former
dependents. Not only was he a type of shade for them from all the difficulties but
now that he is gone, they must fend for themselves.
As if this wasn’t enough, hypocrites, have now emerged, amongst them. They
have shared in the delights and abundance during the lifetime of the “protector”
but now that he has gone, they scramble for the scraps of whatever is left.
The well represents a benefactor or provider who during his life time was greatly
loved and depended upon. He was the sole provider who never discriminated
against anyone. He gave all he had and helped all who appeared in need.
This person is now no more, and the hypocrites from among the flock have begun
to taunt the former dependents, making life very difficult for them.
When a person dies, he becomes an easy target for smear campaigns as he is
unable to defend himself nor confront the accusers. It is as easy for them as
“throwing rocks on eggs”
Not only, was his reputation attacked but they stooped as low as to desecrate his
earthly remains.
In the last stanza, the reader is given a glimpse into the past where these same
hypocrites were needy and the patron had quenched their thirst and filled their
bellies. However it is not the first time in history where people once full have
turned their back on the same person who came to their aid in their time of need.
Butterfly
Feet sinking on a clayey bottom
Overhead through fluid, clouds obscure
Message passed via a bubble
Obliterates before it matures
And on a hill, horizon behold
Damp surface but balance maintained
Burning butterflies desperately approach
Turn to ash, flame sustained
Ash falls like snow in summer
In their remains children play
A message carried on those wings
If they succeeded, what would it say?
Butterfly
What would have happened if….
Russia won the cold war?
Hitler defeated the allies?
Spain remained in Muslim hands?
Pakistan never developed the nuclear bomb?
There are certain crucial stages in history where if one decisive battle was won,
the World as we know it, would be very different than it is today. History is
written and recorded by those parties that have defeated their adversaries and
thus gained the right to project their view on the world. This over time becomes
official fact and shapes the world order to suit the ones in power.
I was always fascinated by alternative history and its implications on the World
system as a whole.
In the first stanza, I refer to two armies doing battle to get supremacy over each
other. For one of the armies in question, things are not going well and they are
“sinking.”
Without the proper reinforcements, they will surely fall. The message in the
bubble represents these very reinforcements. Unfortunately these
reinforcements were intercepted and destroyed, which led to the inevitable
defeat of the army.
In the second stanza, a similar instance is being referenced. In this case, both
armies are evenly matched and the victor will be the one who can endure longer
than his rival.
Similarly, the reinforcements were intercepted and destroyed, resulting in one of
the armies tasting defeat.
The last stanza highlights the repercussions and impact of the victory of one side
over the other.
Snow in summer, is a freak phenomena, signifying that the battle has at last been
won and “the children” represents the naïve populations of the victors country
who rejoice at the triumph and the end of the war.
What they cannot comprehend is the effects of this victory and what
consequences it will have on their lives and future generations. In hindsight, they
will inevitably ask themselves, what would have happened if their side had lost
and if they were truly supporting the right side at the time?
Visage
Stubborn stain on fine linen
Presence on flesh of unwanted hair
Gulps of sea water for parched throats
Broken legs of a prize winning mare
Promise of fidelity on adulterous lips
Respect induced by fear alone
Once great artists in decline
Absence of marrow in a bone
Forgiveness sought from the dead
And closure in a mirage
Insincere tongue spewing praise
A crease on a flawless visage.
Visage
It is funny how some of the most perfect things, can have that one fatal flaw that
would diminish its beauty to such an extent that it becomes a mere shadow of its
former self.
It just goes to show that apart from the Divine, nothing is completely immune
from the inevitable blemish, scar or tragedy which would render it tainted or
polluted.
Pink Lady
Resting on my face, his boot
Hardened soul, used as leather
And his lamenated tongue
A bobbing pink lady… singing
On his left breast a medallion
Its shine, substituting a heart beat
In my eyes it shone
A distraction from snake like slits
Prescribed truth into my gullet poured
A black and white illusion… too simplistic
Sorry… my dreams are in colour.
Pink Lady
The pink lady is a reference to the tongue. The tongue is a remarkable muscle that
has the power to enlighten or misguide. It is for this reason, a person has to have
complete control over it, otherwise the effects and implications can be
devastating.
Propaganda is truly a devilish instrument. It can turn relatively peace loving
people into an angry unruly mob, unwilling to listen to reason.
What is even more dangerous is when the state employs such tactics on their
unwitting populations. When something is confirmed by official sources, it
becomes fact. Governments can and do manipulate this power and anyone
denying the official version is a heretic, madman or conspiracy theorist.
The medallion on the left breast symbolizes authority of the State. Telling people
the official story, drilling it into their brains and discrediting anyone who opposes
it. When a person works for the State, he becomes bigger than himself. What this
means, is that he is part of an institution and so all emotions are considered a
weakness.
I end the poem, by addressing the official and official story. I am not one of the
sheep that can be led blindly in which ever direction the power brokers wish. I
consider myself illuminated. They force me to view the world as black and white,
when in fact I see colour, even if only in my dreams.
Endless Procession
Through murky black, squinting I sit
Blinding fragments of light provide clarity
Splinters from my wooden throne do pierce
Consider this blood my charity
Out of the darkness, a handsome face
Young, free and flawless it is I
In Return to my perplexed smile
An exaggerated grin, but his eyes lie
His body convulsed into ecstatic dance
Fascinated…… I must draw near
From His neck gold did sag
All the things I hold dear.
But when he speaks… so crude
The flowing language, rehearsed, sincere
My mirror image in a well
The water polluted it does appear
A stare like shackles….. binding
His tongue caressing my quivering cheek
Powerless the endless procession I follow
Regurgitated flesh from an eagles beak.
Endless Procession
This is particular piece is one of my favourites. It is the battle against the beast.
Every human being has had to engage in this battle of that fact I am certain.
However, very few people realize the gravity of the conflict and what losing this
conflict would entail.
The reason why most people fall prey to the beast and finish on the losing end is
really simple and I feel I have successfully identified this very crucial point.
The beast approaches and whispers, in the form of something very pleasing to its
victim or prey. He comes in the form of the victim or prey himself.
In the first stanza, the person is sitting all alone in the dark. Only true knowledge
can illuminate ones sight, but because of everyday struggles, and minor
temptations that are yielded to, the individual is in darkness. This person is
reasonably well off and is a person of wealth and power. The throne which he sits
on symbolizes this and the splinters that pierce his mortal flesh are constant
reminders that he is in reality, nothing but a frail and feeble human being.
Through his ignorance and darkness, comes to him a face. A handsome face, a
pleasing face, his face. This face is free from all the troubles of the world, is young
and flawless. It smiles at him, beckoning him to draw near, it is smiling and seems
pleased. With all the perfection surrounding it, there is something amiss. The
eyes, they seem to be concealing something.
In the third stanza, the beast, starts to dance, a provocative dance, the dance
designed to put the victim into a trance and get his attention. On drawing nearer,
the victim sees, gold hanging from the neck of the beast, another item that
attracts the unwitting and naïve.
Now, sufficiently confident, the beast proceeds to speak. But unlike before, with
the visuals, the prey senses, that the speech is insincere and would go as far as to
say that it seems and rehearsed, meaning not genuine and coming from the
heart.
But it is too late, the prey has fallen too far and recovery is very difficult at this
point. The stare of the beast snares him and he takes full liberty in making him
know now who is in charge. The bigger picture is revealed to the victim, where he
sees, other people like him who have fallen prey to these same tactics, not only
from his time, but times long since past.
He is now powerless, to resist, and all he can do now is follow the endless
procession. He is nothing more than a piece of meat, chewed digested than spit
out.
Patron Saint Of Crows
Baptised in the dust of diamonds
My languid tongue dipped in ink
Through this verse, you dance and rejoice
But facing you, these pupils shrink
Fingertips that balance an elephant
From the carcass bloody heads do emerge
Old friends, foes, old foes still foes
Towards sweet honey, bees do converge
Sweat tricking off my brow… slowly
In that pool a stone I did throw
Embrace me for I am
The patron saint of crows
Patron Saint of Crows
The first stanza is the opening of the story. It tells the story of a man who is the
life of every party. He is rich, charming , charismatic and is loved by everyone.
However, he knows that this is all an act and that he feels like a fraud.
He is apparently, able to do the impossible, and for this trait he is admired.
Through his efforts, everyone feasts, benefits and rejoices but he knows that he
cannot genuinely be friends with everyone, nor can he go back in time and
apologize because that is the way he is. He knows that is the price he must pay for
his lifestyle. He is wealthy so he is wanted. The people around him are like bees.
They all converge on him as they would on honey.
As the last stanza suggests, the man is getting tired, of this act. He wants to
shatter the norm and do something that people do not expect of him. He wants
to break the cycle. He wants them to love him for who he is, and not make him
feel as if he is nothing more than the leader of ugly scavengers.
Love
Running around this tall flower
By its thorns, flesh ripped skin scarred
Eyes now bloodied, sight dimmed
Yet its beauty remains unmarred.
On its leaves, dew I suckle
With its roots, a noose I tie
Rain delayed this past season
Feed on my tears as I die
As I swing, limp and numb
Rebounding off your hollow stem
Outcast, untended this much I knew
Undisturbed the wind left my hem
Clouds begin to gather and unload
Fill this abyss with a saltless sea
Joyous you are, with the necter
In truth, this audience is for me.
Love
If you know love, you know heart break. I am a man who counts himself lucky to
have experienced love and also lucky to have experienced heart break. This is
because I would not be able to appreciate love or even identify it had I not known
heart break.
In the first stanza, I liken the object of my affection o a flower, which is in full
bloom. I am attracted by this flower and I strive to get nearer. The defense
mechanism of this flower, thorns etc, reflect the defense mechanism of a slightly
cruel woman. This could include taunts, jives, harsh words, condescending starts
etc. Like most people in love, this only emboldens them.
They are in a trance like state, where nothing can diminish the beauty and
splendor of their object of desire and affection.
After fighting through the minor obstacles, the lover is rewarded. This is a sign to
the flower, that he is determined and that he knows full well what he wants. The
dew he suckles, is in reference to the pleasant words, smiles and attention he
receives from his beloved (flower)
Unfortunately, just like the dew, it is short lived. His beloved wants more. The
flower wants more. She tests his love through his wealth, his time, and energies,
evaluating each effort. She hasn’t experienced a wind fall recently and so she
enhances her pleasures, her love for material things through his sincere and back
breaking efforts.
This ultimately leaves him drained and dry because of her insatiable appetite and
his extreme affection for her.
Now that he has given everything he had, his lifeless body is beginning to be a
burden for her. There is nothing more he can give her in terms of material
possessions as his resources have been depleted. She does not display any more
interest in him, in fact, nobody does because he doesn’t seem of value to anyone
anymore. Even his so called friends have deserted him.
Suddenly, as if by some divine intervention he is rejuvenated. His wealth returns
to him, his friends return and he is prosperous again.
The flower, is happy because this means that her lover will be able to provide her
with all the material comforts as he once did. The lover, by now however, has had
the veils removed from his eyes and the rose tinted glasses he was wearing have
now been broken.
He is now able to see what the flower for what it really is. A parasite.
He realizes now, that he has been given a second chance by the Almighty not to
fall into the trap again, but to learn from the experience and not sully the name of
love. He must move away from the flower and equipped with this new knowledge
and experience go off in search of greener pastures.
The Whip Exists
Inky water stangnant in a well
Cold sunshine on his shoulder
Engines reving at full throttle
Being sodomised by a bottle.
A warm breeze on his face
Worms presence in his last apple
Rabbits search for a soul mate
Being electrocuted on a crate.
Unproven rifle naively taken into battle
Being struck by waxen arrows
Those “jews” toiled and slaved
Stripped naked, beard they shaved
Lubricating the moon with stinking fat
Infected wounds in sea water washed
A Hairy coconut on rocks dashed
The Whip Exists! His back lashed.
The Whip Exists
External rendition, secret prisons, and torture cells have always disturbed me
greatly ever since I first heard about them.
My aim was always to connect with people who feel the same way as me on the
subject, but was always confused as to how to go about it.
Then it came to me, express truth, or my perception of it via poetry. This
however, was no mean feat. To convey a message with impact especially on a
subject like this is extremely difficult. So, I experimented and the result was The
Whip exists.
Basically the message of the entire piece can be found on the last line of each
stanza. The rest of the lines that make up the stanza are just images. Some of
these images are pleasant, some not so pleasant, and some neutral. All in all, its
an assault of imagery on the mind of the reader.
What is the purpose of such a design? It is done to train the reader to form a
picture after each line so that when the last line approaches, the one carrying the
message, the picture can be formed easily into the readers mind.
Most people when confronted with topics such as this, would turn their heads
and look the other way. All sorts of rationales would be employed to justify such
an action. Furthermore for the average reader, such instances and practices do
not have a direct impact to their individual lives and so it is easier to disregard and
over look.
Now, it is my sole wish, that the average reader would ponder over it a little
longer,and with the aid of the images, be able to label this practice for what it
really is. A gross violation of basic human rights.
Orange Mistress
Treading on the skulls of my brothers Is their blood so impure?
A plight clear cut, obvious
Is my future so secure?
Extending my hand towards the Orange Mistress
Her threshold, I wish to explore
But her nature, very fickle
A fact fatal to ignore.
Betraying the smile, those dead eyes
Contempt muffled by an embrace
A ticking bomb as a present
Wrapped in ribbons of silk and lace.
Orange Mistress
The term orange mistress represents fire. Fire engulfs, it is unable to differentiate
between friend and foe, and so cannot be trusted, or expected to show any
loyalty.
This piece was written at a time, when Pakistan was sending its soldiers into
Afghanistan to help the United States, eradicate the threat of the Taliban. During
the cold war, these same United States, were supporting these same Taliban
against the Soviet Union. Once that objective was achieved, they left, simple as
that. It is all situational. What this means is that loyalty and friendship among this
country and others are solely based on a policy of self interest. The American
foreign policy is like fire. It cannot be expected to show any loyalty, maybe except
to the ruling world elite, but that is another matter.
In the first stanza, I ask what is really the difference between Pakistani people and
Afghans? True, there are terrorists among them, how were they made like this?
Who is responsible? Furthermore I ask, if the orange mistress could turn on them
what makes Pakistan so safe and secure from their advances? We already see it
every day with drone strikes etc.
Pakistan may, find it tempting to form an alliance with this super power, and reap
all the delights and benefits it brings. Unfortunately, it does not take into account
the recent past, which shows what will be the end result.
In the last stanza, I attempt to show that underneath all the flowery language,
there are a few tell tale signs. These should give an indication of the true nature
of the beast, even though the recent past should by itself have been sufficient.
Going by face value, and short term objectives, is the greatest of all follies.
Those Reeking Lips
Spotted skin and flowing fur
Around bodies, stapled and wrapped
Starting fires, moulding stone
Yet in mortality still trapped
A million days reveals itself
Stories of men, unravel, unfurl
Building bridges, making Rome
Does the shine escape a pearl?
Raging beasts, fed by the devil
Fresh meat, but not his own
Dampen their hunger if for a while
Then feast on them all alone
An extended life is no exemption
A truth too bright to miss
The reaper approaches inch by inch
Those reeking lips demand a kiss.
Those Reeking Lips
Every living creature on this planet will have to face death. There is no denying
this fact. No exceptions.
The first stanza highlights the point that there are people who despite their old
age, cannot and do not want to admit the fact that their time is coming to an end.
They use expensive clothes and plastic surgery in order to delude themselves and
everyone around them. Mankind has made a lot od progress but death is an
enemy that can never be defeated, no matter how far technology advances.
The second stanza states that history is littered with examples and stories of
people from days past who used to think the same way, but their efforts were
futile and in the end they too had to taste death.
However, in the third stanza, I don’t attribute all of the blame, to these short term
thinking ego maniacs. I think popular culture and the media drives this dream and
gives its faithful, false hope. They too know that it is futile but they feed of the
furious efforts of the misguided, by selling them products, obviously in the name
of profits. Even in death, some are not released, they are frozen cryogenically in
the hope of technology being able to bring them to life some day. All at a huge
cost ofcourse.
In the last stanza, I admonish the victims of this game and illusion, assuring them
they will die. Instead of wasting time doing things to camouflage and hide the
fact, and its nearness, perhaps they should embrace this certainty and spend their
last days and energies in the service of humanity. This in my opinion is the best
use of their time.
Parched Lakes
I hear faintly in the distance
The perpetual sprint of that liquid snake
Originating from the invincible West, it marches
Demanded by the many parched lakes
And my flesh I did submerge
An illusion of beauty, in truth corrupted
Like the sediment lifted and engulfed
The flow neither stalled nor disrupted
Meandering beast now tossed and turned
Ultimatum to comply or be swept away
Cloudy mind illuminated, adrenaline fueled spark
Retna burned, as light as day.
In bed with solitude, feet rooted
An unadulterated mind is worth the saving
As they pass, feet up relaxed
Pity in eyes, smiling and waving.
Parched lakes
Water is life, there is no denying this simple fact. It keeps both animals and plants
alive. Every living thing on the planet requires it to sustain itself.
Now, being a citizen of a less economically developed country, it wasn’t difficult
to see the importance of western aid to our economic well being and to keep the
country fully afloat and solvent. Not only in Pakistan but nearly every third world
country is extremely dependent on this revenue source, just as dry lakes need
water to maintain the fragile eco systems that are dependent on it. Thus,
equating aid and water was a very interesting opportunity, to explore my range as
a writer.
Following this trend, the first stanza becomes pretty much self explanatory, as I
am introducing my concept to the readers. Since this has already been explained
in the introduction of the analysis, there is no need to elaborate.
In the second stanza, I accept that there was a time that I too, knew of the
importance of aid and I too was in favour of getting it from the western countries.
If it meant keeping my country afloat, I considered it a minor evil and was solely
concentrating on the larger picture as most people do. However, I always had the
feeling in the back of my mind that something was amiss, but I wasn’t far sighted
enough at the time to define it.
As we became more dependent on the aid, I noticed that the demands were
getting more frequent and taxing. On some occasions even threatening. At that
point I had a revelation, and everything became crystal clear to me.
In the last stanza, I decided to give up on the advantages of receiving this aid and
even decided to shun it. What was the result? Solitude, I found myself feeling
increasingly excluded and isolated, by friends and family alike.
It was a small price to pay, to be my own master, free and in the position to make
my own decisions. In the context of a country, for it to really grow it has to be self
sustaining. We may be out of imperial rule, but aid such as this is subservience
just without the label.
I also see all the countries,that have not realized this as yet, and are living a life of
luxury. Atleast, they think they are, but in reality, they are little more than slaves
whose chains are not made of iron but of gold. It doesn’t matter, chains are
chains and the hand that controls them is the same.
Now these people are so deluded, they look on the country that has made an
active decision to reject politically motivated aid and adopt a path of self rule
minus external influences with pity.
Pity what? Pity the nice cars, the infrastructure, the buildings and monuments,
the schools, freedom of the media? Who was responsible for paying for all these
things, the local population? Ofcourse not! It was paid for by external
governments so that they can seduce the decision makers to further their own
foreign policy agenda in the country under question. The cars are all imported,
the infrastructure designed by companies outside the region to facilitate trade
with favourable conditions. The buildings and monuments a testament and
tribute to the invading power, not militarily but economically, and a media to
project their alien ideals on an unsuspecting and naïve population. Draconian
politics 101.
Her Haven
Look!
Her face doused with acid
A foaming cyst for an eye
Around limp wrists those fingers coil
A blackened banana as it spoils
Yellowing teeth exposed, lips parted smile
Release of a euphoric cackle
On her feet, bolting towards a haven
Following a blue dove, an orange raven.
Her Haven
Based on a Palestinian woman, I saw one day on television. She was standing next
to the corpse of her 14 year old son who was gunned down on his way back from
school by IDF soldiers who mistook him for a terrorist. Next to him, his school
books, were strewn all over the footpath where he fell. I will never forget the look
on his mothers face, her eyes were swollen with grief and too much crying and
her face looked like someone had thrown acid all over it.
Just then the news channel reporting it switched to another story, about some
other subject and just like that it was forgotten. I on the other hand was still
stunned, I couldn’t get the images out of my mind. What happens to the woman
now, she will have to live her whole life with this grief. I began to imagine what
she was going through. For me, it wasn’t as easy as switching the channel. That is
when I wrote this piece. I began to imagine what she is doing now that the
cameras are not rolling and people have moved on. What about her? What would
happen to her? How do you get over something like this? I hoped for the best, but
I feared the worst. I saw her face, and I don’t think I can ever forget it. She was
holding on to the boys lifeless wrist, knowing full well that every second that
passed, his body was decaying and there is nothing anybody on earth can do
about it.
In the first stanza, I implore people to look at her and see what this grief has done
to her, she has no soft features anymore, it has been distorted by the immense
pain. Her son has been murdered!
I imagined her to lose her mind, all the extreme sadness would result in a mental
break down. What really is the difference between laughing and crying if you are
dead from inside? They mean the same thing, if all you feel is grief.
I imagined her to lose her mind, to go insane, her features didn’t allow her to cry
anymore, but she had to find another way to lament. Everything just turned
upside down, she began to laugh, but it wasn’t a normal laugh…, no, it was the
laugh of someone who has lost everything, it was a cry for help, it was automatic,
it was defiance, it was pure primal madness!
Then I imagined the visions to start. The first sign of a deeply disturbed mind.
I imagined her to run, just get up and go. This reality she was living in was too
much. Her mind created creatures which cannot possibly exist in the world. They
beckoned her to follow, destination unknown, but then again any place is better
than here for now.
The Loaded Brush
An iron spike, I lovingly grip
Into my arm, I blindly bore
The sweet escape of the crimson wave
Its impending departure I do adore
In its contents my brush I furnish
Now loaded, I prepare to proceed
Dancing colours, clothing the canvas
The emerging leaves from a seed.
The Loaded Brush
This piece is about artistic inspiration. When an artist creates something truly
unique and beautiful, it drains him. He has removed something that was lying
latent in his soul, and endured a painful yet pleasurable procedure to bring it into
existence.
I personally liken it to sticking a needle into ones arm to draw blood. An unnatural
pathway to access this blood is created, which requires sacrifice, endurance and
ultimately satisfaction.
Just as seeds require water in order to show its true potential (otherwise what
differentiates it from a small rock or pebble?) An artist has to reach perfect
harmony of mind body and soul to produce something which would reveal to the
people his true nature. Like a seed whose true potential is often veiled from
casual glances and first impressions.
The Lowering…..
The seed of desire will
Surely sprout the deviant tree
Thinly veiled, the spy of the hearts
Through whose loose lips, secrets flee
And you, oh messenger of the intellect
What other names do you go by?
Is it the lowering you cannot bare?
The watching lush leaves, slowly go dry?
Blinded, bedazzled that familiar glint
In haste you mount the trodden path
Weep you should and weep you will
Decay the beauty, beauty the wrath!
The Lowering
Let us begin by showing the various perils uncontrolled and wild desires may
cause in a man. It takes away rational thought and replaces it with a type of blood
lust. This will lead a man down the path of ruin because he will stop at nothing to
satisfy it and fulfill these outrageous desires and thus cause irreversible damage o
both himself and the ones he holds dear.
In the first part of this poem I address these desires, which I refer to as the
“deviant tree”
The “spy of the hearts” is a thinly veiled reference to the eyes of a person which
reveals the innermost thoughts of the individual and makes it known to all look
upon him. The eye lids are akin to lips which cannot bear to keep secrets.
In the second part of the poem, another quality of the eyes has been made known
to the reader. In this case, they are called the “messenger of the intellect” This is
because apart from revealing the innermost thoughts of an individual, they also
reveal the persons intellect. They act as doors to the mind a gateway if u will to
hidden qualities not made obviously clear, save to those who know how to read
it.
The eyes are very fertile, meaning if they are not protected from vain desires or
unreasonable passions, seeds will begin to germinate in them. This cannot be
controlled because a door way lets things out but can also let things in. What this
means is that the subconscious mind is very complicated and is not under the
direct influence of the owner. Subtle things get absorbed, and before one knows
it these seeds become trees and slowly infringe upon the realm of the conscious
mind affecting the individual directly.
However, it is very hard to look away from something the heart finds interesting,
beautiful, foreign or strange. This is where the trap lies, and where most of the
problems are caused. However, if the individual reminds himself that all beautiful
things will decay eventually. That beauty is fleeting and cannot be preserved
indefinitely. To run after these desires is folly and a more constructive use of time
can be found which may yield greater rewards.
Unfortunately most people are tricked and they don’t take the time out to think
on their actions long enough. They are hoodwinked by the glimmer and so
mesmerized and hypnotized they follow all the countless souls before them on a
well trodden path to destruction. It is well trodden because the majority of the
people have fallen for this age old trick, yet very few have learnt and I am sure
very few will learn.
Eventually once these desires have become an obsession it is too late for the
victim. It consumes him and takes over every facet of his earthly life. This causes
him to weep at his situation which has left him totally incapable of anything. If
only he had realized that the beauty was in the decay of the object of his desire as
the truth would have become manifest to him. The beauty was just a trap as
mentioned earlier and because he followed it so blindly and made it his sole aim
in life, it has roused the anger of his creator who has left him in abject error due
to his foolishness and unwillingness to learn from the mistakes of those who have
gone before him.
Souls Sold
Throne of knowledge, their thighs
Fingers negotiating the next word
Broken walls and peeling paint
Harbouring terrorists….. ABSURD!
Eighty stories left unfinished
Eighty corpses cold
Responsibility claimed, arms raised
Reciepts in hand, SOULS SOLD!
Souls Sold
A straight forward piece, simple to understand once the context is made clear. It
was inspired by a news report I saw a few years back, in which a religious school
was bombed by unmanned US drones, instantly killing all eighty occupants. What
makes the story even more tragic is the fact that all occupants were between the
ages of five and twelve.
In the first stanza, the “throne of knowledge, their thighs” is a reference to the
holy books these students placed on their laps, while reading them. With their
fingers they used to turn the pages, increasing their knowledge as they
progressed through the writings in order to illuminate themselves further. The
building where they were studying was in severe disrepair because of the lack of
funds provided. This however did not deter them from continuing their studies.
These little boys were nothing more than innocent children, not the terrorists
they were made out to be when the decision to bomb them to dust was made.
This truly tragic event cut short their lives and all the potential in them was lost
forever. What is really disturbing was the reaction of the Pakistani government
after this fact became known to the media and permeated into main stream
Pakistani society. Not only were innocent children murdered in cold blood but
they were killed by a foreign power in their own land. The government whose
function it is to protect the citizens of the land failed these young boys. Although
they had little choice but to accept responsibility, it was put down to inaccurate
information and pilot error.
Frankly it doesn’t matter what the excuse was as the damage was already done. I
know of no power that allows a foreign entity to encroach upon their sovereignty
and kill its own countrymen, be they innocent or guilty. There is only one
explanation that comes to mind, for such behavior. The government officials have
sold themselves, they have been seduced by money and power and are too afraid
to stand up to these aggressors. These are the same elected officials who have
been voted into power by these same people who they have sworn to protect.
Instead of protecting them, they lead them like lambs to slaughter, all in the name
of self interest and fuller pockets.
Empty walls, Empty Minds
Mocking me from a distance
With its daffodil tongue
Stirring the air… clockwise
Sits diagonally… the ivory snake
Exuding an arctic chill
Its blue eyes do pierce
Like two dusty sapphires
Peeking through the slit
The same sand which perhaps?
Is the haze around my flawed mind
Clouding judgement, distorting reality
Through cupped hands, sipping insanity
Such hate as I approach
Under each step, a resounding crunch
Insignificant snails that I crush
And each bush I set a blaze
In the heat of passion
Through the crumbling leaves
By the sound of charring
I release you… I swear
And what of the bone serpent
Should I grab it by the throat?
Wrap it around my thigh?
Squeeze its jewels into my already full pockets.
Or……..
Bath it in the blood of doves
Stain its lips crimson… same as hers.
Gash it open with my blade
Throw it into the furnace to stew?
But maybe…?
No I couldn’t!
Perhaps I should?
Forgive the pathetic creature.
Empty Walls, Empty Minds
Although this poem may be hard to comprehend in the first reading, it is in fact,
quite simple.
It may seem to be about revenge but it deals with the road that leads to
forgiveness. The journey a wronged individual takes in his mind to reach a
peaceful place. His hate and anger melting away, to reveal serenity and
acceptance. The realization that revenge will only ruin his quality of life and that
only with true forgiveness, can a person transcend the petty squabbles of this
world.
In the first stanza, he sees the person who has wronged him. He likens him to a
snake taunting him with its tongue.
The negative energy emanating from him is unsettling to the victim, and is well
aware of the ill intent this transgressor bears towards him by the look in his eyes.
This constant negative energy, is affecting his mind, and is making him
uncomfortable. His quality of life is also suffering as he is constantly looking over
his shoulder. Whenever he sees this individual his blood boils and the anger is
clouding his judgment, making him act as a fool.
His anger is slowly taking over his everyday life. Since he cannot confront his
enemy, he takes it out on all the people who are close to him, meaning his family
and friends.
Before he reaches tipping point, he begins to realize what this anger is doing to
him. He now knows he must dispel it from his presence before he makes a serious
mistake and is deserted by those who love him and are close to him.
He asks himself, if he forgives and lets go all the wrong done to him by his enemy,
what will happen to him? Should he plan one final assault to finish him? Should
he take from him all that he has? He considers to do it out of spite, even though
he doesn’t need it, he is well off himself without having to stoop to this level.
Or should he expose him, by making his true nature apparent to the people? He
recalls a time in his past when a woman did him wrong, he finds similarities
between that affront and this current one. He is aware his mind is wandering so
he quickly pulls himself back to the problem at hand. Other thoughts of torture
and payback surface, but by now he realizes what he has to do, and these
thoughts are little more than empty suggestions his ego is throwing at him, with
little chance of success or actual implementation.
In the last stanza, he comes to terms with the fact that anger and revenge are
useless, and he would be better off, just forgiving his enemy and moving on with
his life. He doesn’t want to risk what he already has on a foolish vendetta, which
would make him no better than his enemy in his own eyes and the eyes of the
world.
Now Immortal
Spin your web of death and destruction
Leave me marooned in this shallow sea
Spin your web of death and destruction
For the best of planners is HE.
Spin your web of death and destruction
Gorge my eyes with this burning branch
Spin your web of death and destruction
Don’t need eyes to maintain my stance
In this vast web you spin for me
Alone and blind you relish my pain
But with head held high in whatever direction
The blood of the truthful flows through these veins
What is it you strive for?
To see me reduced to ash and dust
Pillage rape and ruin me
Just to satisfy your undying lust.
If this is what it takes to be a martyr
Look at my open embracing arms
Clinging to you, tears of joy will flow
For I am now, immortal.
Now Immortal
The righteous man is almost always outnumbered. Numbers however are of little
importance for him because he has the truth with him. Even one soldier of truth is
enough against an army of falsehood. This is God’s law, which can never be
changed. Truth will triumph over falsehood just as light pierces the darkness.
This is my tribute to Imam Hussain(a.s) the King of martyrs, who like in many
things, was my inspiration for this piece.
This is the story of a man, who finds himself outnumbered by the hypocrites, who
want to destroy him, because he disagrees with what they stand for and wants to
stop them.
He stands in front of them, telling them to do their worst, rob him of everything
and leave him isolated. He will not stop doing what he thinks is right, he has faith
that God is the best of planners, and they are bound to fail.
Once he sees that they are not satisfied by his isolation and his ruined reputation
which they unjustly inflicted on him, he invites them to take his eyes. He warns
them that the light of truth is so bright he doesn’t need his eyes to perceive it and
his stance on the matter will not shift one iota.
Even though he is mortally wounded, he has kept his composure and dignity. This
is because the blood of the truthful runs through his veins. He is totally as ease
with the situation, because he knows he is right, and this is the price of not
compromising on the truth.
He asks them what they are planning to achieve by subjecting him to all these
tortures? Do they want to burn his earthly remains, desecrate his corpse then
burn it? Why? It is their ego, which is making them do all these detestable things.
However, they are too blind to perceive it.
He realizes his time has now nearing the end. Since his earlier efforts to
communicate with his enemies have come to naught, he begins to speak to
himself.
He prepares his body and mind for martyrdom. He is at peace with himself and is
even joyous while awaiting the final curtain call. He would embrace his
aggressors, if he had the strength, because like the fountain of youth, they have
made him immortal. An epic that would be retold to countless generations to
come, all singing praises to his name, the martyr of truth.
Vultures Descend
In the tight warm embrace
Of the cold grey city
Perched on those shoulders of power
A misguided creature, a parrot I pity
A mascot for the “enlightened”
A glowing ember in the dark
A perfect mate for the bald eagle
A magnificent, mighty lark
And your offering dipped in venom
A publicity stunt do not pretend
Sip your wine, write your lines
For soon, the vultures descend.
Vultures Descend
The enemy within, is something all regimes and establishments fear most of all.
They are very hard to detect and have been known to cause the most damage.
They hide behind a façade of respectability and patriotism as they look talk and
act like one of the team. However, their innermost thoughts are often very
different from the words they speak.
If ever, you wish to weed out the imposters, know them from their actions, not
what they say.
Vultures descend, is my effort to highlight the truth about these so called patriots,
free thinkers and revolutionaries. I would like the reader to know and recognize
the difference, so that they may stay well clear of them, and if the opportunity
arises, to expose them for what they really are.
In the first stanza, I begin by introducing a particular individual who has willingly
exiled himself from the country and land of his birth, from his culture and
heritage, from his religion and morals and taken safe haven in the arms of his
colonial masters.
He has adopted another country as his own and in order to secure their favour
has been mimicking their call just as a parrot would do to his master’s call.
For this act, he is considered enlightened, because he seems to be one of those
that have shed the “the backwardness” of his people and has evolved to such an
extent, to convince his hosts and masters that he is a worthy partner in their
struggle against all they deem contrary to their culture and civilization.
It would seem that such an individual would be an inspiration because if his
former countrymen hear these words coming out of his mouth, they are more
likely to listen and follow him. What he doesn’t realize is that his efforts are
obvious to the majority, and they refuse to ingest his poison. He is nothing more
than a propaganda tool to them, something they know his imperial masters will
tire of as soon as his effectiveness declines.
Although to him, he is living a dream life, enjoying all the luxuries that this world
has to offer, death will put an end to it as it does to all living things. The vultures
circling overhead, represents death approaching with each passing day. Soon it
will be upon him, and all his efforts would have come to nothing.
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