Lyrical

pieces.

2010-09-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

-on a business degree...

i'm
taught the obvious,cemented
in vacant crevices.Chase
they tell me.
chase and compete.
chase and
kill. primal
instinct. utter animals,
disturbing.
humans as dispensable
rats(race).
mockery of life
i
refuse
to chase, follow,
overtake, stab
in the back, smile
at my step ahead.

stroll by my side instead, i
persist, there's more to life than just
this.

-on a sense of acute lost-ness....

''sense of purpose'' forgiven self.
forgotten. 'Purpose'
Direction.Dictionary definition.
Lost, life explanation.
consquence of an aimless
pursuit when
unclear of who/what/where to pursue.
unworthy
of my time and energy and yet
i
run
circles circles purposeless circles.

2010-05-20T12:34:00.001-07:00

your tone remains consistent mellow purple

mauve lilac lavendar

the subtle shades insinuate

your anger, displeasure.
.

i await bated blue breath

for the calm the storm or even

being stuck in your epicentre.
.

callous caring can indeed

be worse than cruel indifference,

or overwhelming love.

2010-03-18T03:22:00.001-07:00

reflections.

pitiful obsolescence of my presence in your life, i am
the extra letter carelessly tossed in, typo
my existence, use
less, in words, sentences,
feelings.

2010-03-18T03:21:00.001-07:00

All the king's horses, and all the king's men

couldn't put Humpty
together again.

My baby,
I wonder what nightmares darken the insides of your eyes
enclose your eyeballs with
swirling black anguish.
I watch you for hours, scrunching
eyelids tight,writhing
in white bedsheets as if you
unconsciously wrapped yourself in bandages
(before the war even began).
And I
too far to calm you with whisper
voice, or touch.

My darling, I wonder
what grotesque, appalling ordeal could possibly
make you whimper, so.
Your barely audible moans
chills the marrow in my bones, stiffens
fingers, blood.
And I
too far to translate
screams to symphonies, laments
to lullabies.

My love,
you say your nightmares involve
me.I wonder what you mean.
Could love horrify the soul
into pieces, asleep? I
will not leave.
Do not allow absences to frighten,
fracture souls with fear.
When I
too far to suture pieces together,
Too far
to remedy,
repair.

the journey.

2010-03-18T03:20:00.001-07:00

Momma told me to go get fixed, child. stay happy.
except happiness was not the cure.
So i went to see the shrink he said it
would help if i wrote.

It wasn't the cure, but I
plunged hands into my mouth and removed wads of
paper and tissue, old cardboard, magazines no one
wants to read anymore,
and still the words wouldn't come.
what came instead was mind-vomit florescent
green neon blue and daisies
in pink with frills.
think happy child, they had said.

i want to read she said
the cure, holding onto Pamuk, Ondaatje in hand
and Eliot leading the way across
vacant lots with newspaper scraps i am
an old lady. My soul is stretched tight
across the skies. Nut in blue, silver
stars i am afraid of the night it
reminds me of Him.

Cigaretteburnt

2009-09-07T09:13:00.001-07:00

there is something oddly alluring darling,
in the way grey smoke escapes your lips,
gently let sideways, cascading into summer swans
eagles, through the holes in my soul.
fine lines, tight lipped, half sly smile.

barely concealable how your indifference,
seductive so, melts me into quiet rage
sometimes.
some other times,
intense yearning.

inconsequential your white
tshirt unshaved shadows the tie rack
behind you the golden cube round
your neck.
inconsequential
my observations but for the fact
they are about You.

everything has Meaning.

pinky edged nightmares bloom
into roses, violets, sunshine darling, when i
wake them to thoughts of you.
my nightmares cascading away like smoke darling,
away like ashy eagles, radiant grey
swans.

.

2009-09-07T09:12:00.001-07:00

red gold dipped mornings drag themselves out of
pots of paint and sheer bluey skies
slash colour and spring across my open window i am
yellow gold blue on the outside red black broken
on the inside
i wonder if colours can explain feelings states of being
in ways words cant.

red is anger and black is grief
im spun of the twain consumed
beyond relief .

2009-09-07T09:11:00.002-07:00

.

i am shattered like crushed butterflies coloured red
smeared across blank white walls my wings
splutter and fall under your feet
cement and marble
tiles and tears
there is no compassion in your voice
in your feet.

.

2009-09-07T09:11:00.001-07:00

there is much to say
and not enough in me to declare it
i wish i could just
rip my heart out
onto this page
let the red rivulets map their own course, spell out
the way this feels inside right now.
your absence
makes heart sore and snap in
wooden splinters, newspaper shreds, glass shards,
sheer motes of
knife sharp dustsandblood
splashed on this blank white canvas.
elements forming stories, confessions,
vulnerable exposes of
spirit skin and soul.

(spiral red stains)

after all,
visual
graphic devastation
needs no more
feeble
poems, words,

explanations.

2009-03-26T05:22:00.001-07:00

Eloquence evades me.

I find myself distressed, because I cannot
spew out pearls of such intense clarity they make
jaws drop in awe, eyes bulge with wonder.

Write to me some summer lines.

Write to me an ode to the days of yore.
when words and daisies
lined up my street with white sunbeams,
golden dreams.

Now even happiness leaves me uninspired.
oddly content. oddly hollow.
bated breath and tip-toeing eggshells to see
if it (when it) ends.

Suspicion.
Superstition.

Hollow laughter in hollow silences.
Hollow words.

I become become become
speechless.

2009-03-26T05:19:00.001-07:00

I am the lovechild of glittery gold city night lights and illusive melodies on the subway.
urban child. city child.
child of the chaos. child of the beautiful .

child of the constructions which
lace cold pavement
and cold heart

stony smiles in gray water puddles.
stony imprints of people's gray souls.

snippet.

2009-03-26T05:16:00.002-07:00

A spectator watching my own life on a remote t.v screen I am
too far to even try and come close and
reach out and touch myself to
feel me and pinch me and stare me in the eye and see
if i am real and i
am me.

and yet...

2009-03-26T05:16:00.001-07:00

You find in me the girl I lost to the hands of time and eyes of men and
eyes of time and hands of men.

I lost myself to use abuse and scarlet
tattoos
of scars and wars fought, forgiven
and not
forgotten.

but you make me forget and you make me hope and hope
is not the thing with feathers but the bird of stone that
weighs me down and wakes me up and makes me wonder if
this bird of stones can fly.

i soar on these dreams and find the world
flying beneath my weary feet.

held

2008-10-16T21:21:00.000-07:00

you got me in a choke-hold.
Hold.
choke.
choke more.
check me.
life line.
check mate.

hate blind

cursed fate
fake case
suffa cate.
catch phrase
e rase
caught breath
brain dead
dread lock
lock down.
down cold
choke hold.

2008-10-10T22:33:00.001-07:00

snippets.3

On new students.

its like a parade of masks
facades
i get lost in plastic smiles
hollow eyes
flash all too briefly in my eyes.
surprised?
not quite.
it is Fall, and they, like me,
are unsure of who to be.

till then let's all dwell
in meaningless laughter.
Ricochet off the walls.

On some remark by the World Lit,prof.

it is hardly paradise
if not golden.
hardly
if angels persist
on moldy wings.

On some new girl in tutorial.

her eyes dance
around the room
almost
making us
insignificant
she glides alone here
with her gaze.
dancing the tap dance
in rubber
shoes.

On sum other person in tutorial

sit a little too composed
for comfort.
A class act
practiced all too many times
before.

2008-10-10T16:06:00.001-07:00

Hands.

Hands that curl and uncurl around soda cans.

Hands that hold onto bus poles, hold on like

they’re clawing, clambering, drowning,

To let slip is to let go.

Hands that

are tiny, and fit into a palm

and curl around a finger

for security, for safety, for

Comfort.

Hands

that lay twitching on lonely table tops

twitch to the beat of loneliness, to drawn out breaths

to the stranger who never comes.

Hands

that salute to power, hands

that pluck out flowers, hands

that dig graves for the brave, the old, the forgotten,

and the Cherished.

Hands

that follow like a breeze around her waistline

as he steers her around the crowd, steers her to

make her his own

Hands

that flourish pens, pencils, praises,

Hands

that she gently raises

to the Heavens every night in prayer.

Her hands

that pray for peace, for patience, for her

Salvation.

2008-09-18T00:20:00.000-07:00

inspired by Odysseus.

I am
the withered leaf caught
in iron rakes, the
land of eternal gloom,the
infertile eyelid
wrung out of its last
beads of grief.
I am
the agonized soul
that wanders forlorn,the
shattered mirror that yields not my
reflection but a broken
million faces of my wife, my son and my own
heart. I am
Icarus.
I fall.

Every flicker of hope
brings me closer to my ruin.

of them.

2008-08-12T22:34:00.000-07:00

hush now.
i will murmur ballads into your ear of how
they came back and back and back again
they came crying and lying, they came to you begging to be urs
again and again and again
and how is it and why is it was only after they had failed you
and they had told you that it was
You
who had failed them.
they will not know why they came back, when you
had already slunk away into the shadows into
the corners of your eyes into the tiny
holes in their minds.
how will you tell them then that you had found a new solace in a new
sun?
how will you tell them that you played by the rules
that were meant to be broken, because You wrote the rules you wrote
the untouched and the shattered.
how will you tell that you
loved them no more that
the world had spun around and lost itself
a million times over in its
multitudes of intricate threads
that were born and are born
and fade into a nothingness with every passing
second
and that new stars had shone a million times and a
million new suns had shone every day since
they last went away
and that
it was all a little too late?

hush now, flow
on the clouds of a myriad blues
dewdrops of iridescent hues
and spin
in the embrace
of a gentle dream's glaze.
hush now and forget
every word that was said.

.

2008-07-29T00:46:00.003-07:00

Sometimes I feel like a MS word file.
stretched taut to the sides of the page.
fully justified
of every breath I take.
I am predictable.
Written.
My full stops, questions are all in check.
I am margined.
My personal bubble
1.5 inch
The white sides roll around me like a shroud.

.

2008-07-29T00:46:00.001-07:00

When i miss you
i sing
bring
memories into my
mind
find
sublime
joy at things
we used to do.

.

2008-07-29T00:45:00.002-07:00

I can already see the story spelt out
across the sky.
I'm my own oracle.
I sense disaster as it comes.
sense Disintegration
of a bond. a habit. a feeling.
Knowing you care. Knowing you're there.

.

2008-07-29T00:45:00.001-07:00

.......................

it's like we're both on
parallel highways
suspended, by parallel
strings high above
the world.
Our realities don't
intersect.
We stay rigid in our place.
Twist and turn to cater to
life's
everyday monotony.

But for the brief moment
our breaths
overlap
I am alive.

Before reality pulls, before
we return to the gray, the
dull, the here and now
the never will be.

................

.

2008-07-29T00:42:00.000-07:00

i want to see your hands with
my fingertips.
trace out
your palms like a
fragile, torn
map.
i want to
tiptoe across your
intricate woven paths and
find an
eternal perdition
in your
fist.

Snippets 2.

2008-06-03T23:03:00.001-07:00

These ones r purely nostalgia-based..

This ones for you mum.

Now,I meet
swollen feet
in faded Nike's,
in my dreams.
They remind me of better days.
My mother lays
Healing fingertips on my heel
the feel
of that warmth
lulls me to sleep.

Dad

Dad drove me to school
on days
with pouring rain
no light rays.

Today I wait
my bus
Fifteen minutes late.
Again.

Liberate.

2008-05-31T21:45:00.000-07:00

just a heads up-----------> emo moment ensuing.
well it IS a poetry blog so you can't complain.
anyways, this was a quick sketch written in the car after a ride out at the seaside., well technically oceanside but whutever.. It's fairly.... well., elementary...or like basic..But i find that sumtimes the first words that come out, the ones that haven't been thought out through and mulled over a million times, those are the best, purest, truest ones.
soooooooooo without further ado, here it is.

Liberate

Gold dipped leaves
trees
that sway to a silent rhythm
unheard by our tense minds
I find
peace
in the moment.
The stillness
fulfills
the void inside.
Don't hide.
It is not weakness which
makes me sigh
at the amber of the sky
the molten pink hues
blues
that light up my window
in rippling iridescent triangles.
I let the rays
penetrate
my soul
flow
unfettered, unconfined
no blindfolds.

For every time I meet Adversity
I seek solace in little things,
Sunsets that bring
serenity.
Unburden
me.

Untitled 2.

2008-05-26T21:57:00.000-07:00

Under construction...but ima put it up anway..

When I woke up this morning, half

comatose, the only thing

on my mind even remotely

close to any definition of ‘challenge’ was

to rush and catch the 9:11 bus.

The only goal, to have breakfast

To make sure my clothes were ironed

Out, hair brushed, contacts

In place.

Keep up with this

Rat-race.

Trying to arrange, organise

The chaos in my mind, to still

The pendulum that is my world.

Uncurl.

It hits me that

The banality of my life, the stale

Menial detail, pettiness

Of my existence is laughable.

What are my goals? My challenges?

To think

I’ve made each day my battle,

Each day the ironed shirt my armour

The bus,

Last of the escaping fleet of ships, the

Breakfast

My last meal.

Now.

2008-05-26T21:52:00.000-07:00

This poem...doesn't need an introduction. It's for me to know and for you not to try and find out. :)

But now when I listen to songs you and I used to sing to

They play like obituaries,

Ours.

I sit in respect.

Let the clumsy stitches shine

Few more seconds vulnerable, remembering,

before I conceal the calluses again.

Seamless.

But now when I when I write about you and I

There is no more room for we, us.

The two words absurd

Paradoxical

In this sphere of honeyed lies,

Of petty fairytales.

I shatter each glass slipper, firmly,

The shards

Miniscule.

Memories.

2008-04-06T15:42:00.000-07:00

This ones from May 2005, probably the longest one I've ever done. Again, very doodle-type..utterly random, and inspired by Elizabeth's Bishop's poems 'The Fish', and 'In the Waiting Room.'

Memories.

The glazed eyes smile at me
from the pictures in my hand.
Eternal traps.
Lips pasted in frighteningly huge smiles
turning to painful grimaces
over the years.
The teeth like a yellowing
string of pearls.

I whip back to the past.
my mind shuffling the fraying pages of
a red plastic phone book I
keep in my head.
A-Z. Names whisper, like
Fish-hooks
struggling to grip, to catch
in that pink-fleshed brain.
Overwhelimg pain
Of nostalgia.

The images of a
life forgotten
flash past
like a black and white movie
and a single finger pressed discretely on Rewind.
A powerful, stubborn finger.
Feelings i faced, those
conversations I had,
jut out like snatches of an
old forgotten song
from a distant room.
the words jumbled
unclear
until the dim tune turns into a
dull throb
Aching. Aching.

Till the fish-hooks catch hold.

The distant door opens.
Commotion numbs me
laughter joys
the sorrows scream in my
head like an
angry mob.
Engulf
swirl
seep within
until

until comes the realization
from the blue,
You may leave it behind.
It will follow you.

Of Us.

2008-03-31T00:28:00.000-07:00

You know whats funny, ... i cant even remember who I wrote this for...I was just reading it and saw it saved as a draft, so anyways..putting it out now... its quite,,..graphic I guess...
oh, and emo.
Alwaysssssss that.
Gotta love it.

Of Us

You have been sown into my eyelids
sealed with wax,right from the innermost corners
spread evenly to the tip.
I blink
and our story spins out from the crevices.
unfolding like a lethargic series of music notes
out of sync.
It may have once been a peaceful melody.
Once.
This jarring sound brings no peace now.
No stillness.
No calm. No tranquility.No
Silence.
Of my mind's numerous echoing questions.
Tumbling over each other to be heard.

Snippets.

2008-03-30T18:11:00.001-07:00

i dont think i have the patience anymore to ever finish a poem, most times i end up doodlin a couple of lines in between classes, or on the bus or so on.... here's sum of those 2 or 3 liners, rangng from when i was 12 till recent..obv the darker, emo-er ones r from when i ws a kid..all of these still need to b worked with but ah, i'll write them down anyways,..

(new ones added.)

On People

These masks that pass around me
Stiff facades
Happy smiled painted on cement.

On Losing touch with Reality

And when the world comes crashing
Down
And when the stars snuff out their
Lights
Ans when the darkness seems so heavy, it
Suffocates.

Pray.

On Some Memories.

Cling on like mould
Inside rotten fingernails.

On Growing up.

They won't always be
The pink balls of cheeks
The black-buttoned eyes
The million-layered wraps
of wool, and arms.

On Relationships.

Glue them together.
The perfect pieces
that fit in this imperfect way.

They slip and fall

cut
and slip
and fall.

Hold onto each other
for a child's breath.
Seconds.....

...Shatter...

Glass sand.
Slipping through these
fingertips.

On Being There.

Crawl inside the palm of my hand.
Dear Thumbelina.
I won't let the world
Hurt you.

On Expectations.

Don't expect me to walk in Your shoes.
They're 3 sizes too big anyway
I shuffle forward.
I fall.
I can't fill them up. I can't wear them
long enough and pretend it doesn't
Hurt.

On Everyday.

I wonder whether the
monotony
may not kill me
eventually.

Might do good for a change.

On having the Writer's block.

A barren land sits inside my head.
Frustrated at itself for being dead.

On Hope

And from the centers of your clenched palms
I will draw out rainbows.

A piece of Sky.

Like a dewdrop caught
in cupped palms
I catch sunsets
in windows.

yeh i know some of these are really random. but they're like inside jokes with some friends so that's okay..

Untitled.

2008-03-30T17:03:00.000-07:00

You know how all poems, or most, have a purpose? this one doesn't....it's just a general rant on soceity, on life, on an unending confusion that exists in my mind.
written during a never-ending holiday in Pakistan, Jan 2007.

Untitled.

Trying to handle

Everything

at once.

Be too many people,

For too many people.

Too many faces. Too many masks.

Which Me to Be?

Laziness- lair of vile inclinations
Boredom- limitless time for thoughtlessly drifting

through the mind's endless corridors

and vacant rooms.

Unanswerable Questions.
A weary old vocabulary

Defunct

Too elusive to be of use.
Nausea
Sleep
Tirdeness

Weariness of the Soul.

Exhausting Co-operation.
Monotony of the Unwanted.

Insecurity, Inexperience, Innocence.

Tact, Taboo.

Etiquettes of Behaviour
Rules to follow Rules.
Dormant, Stagnant Voices resounding

Echoing undying power
Uncontrollable.

Spinning in a haze

of Endless Time
Endless Space

Thoughts, Ideas, Dreams,
Spiralling
Cascading
Engulfing

Totality.

Everything
is like

Vertigo.

Note: the original format of the poem is actualli much different but sumhow i cant get blogger to save it , it just reverts it to everything aligned completly left or completely center....If anyone knows how to save it in custom format please let me know, ..thanx!!!

On my poetry.

2008-01-20T17:27:00.000-08:00

i wrote this a while back..its inspired by the females around the world. About how they create and inspire but with the passage of time they all grow old, life gets in the way,and all tht creativity is forgotten, and erased, and never truly acknowledged.

On my poetry.

So Let your faces shine with my light.
I am, But a firefly.
I'll vanish before dawn's early glow.
At whose very steps the Darkness scatters.
I am, But a two-day jewel.
All Glow and Shimmer, yet in the end,
I too will join the lonely box of Stones.
For far superior are those, those Age and Time;
The tiniest speckle of my fire will erase.
Until even I will question the existence,
Of that Something,
I so treasured.

So be pleased with these works of art,
These Luckless Masterpieces.
No marble halls or glittering galleries will be their abode.
They too will fade away,
with the dust of the world.
Hold this dear now,
Cherish and Treasure.
Moonlight peeps in for only a few special moments.
The rest is dark Night.

Tonight at noon.

2008-01-20T17:08:00.000-08:00

one of the most awkward, and most entertaining poems ive read. It's all Contradiciton and nonsense, followed by a superb ending that clears up everything that preceded it.
By Adrian Henri..

TONIGHT AT NOON

Adrian Henri

Tonight at noon
Supermarkets will advertise 3p extra on everything
Tonight at noon
Children from happy families will be sent to live in a home
Elephants will tell each other human jokes
America will declare peace on Russia
World War I generals will sell poppies on the street on November 11th
The first daffodils of autumn will appear
When the leaves fall upwards to the trees

Tonight at noon
Pigeons will hunt cats through city backyards
Hitler will tell us to fight on the beaches and on the landing
fields
A tunnel full of water will be built under Liverpool
Pigs will be sighted flying in formation over Woolton
And Nelson will not only get his eye back but his arm as well
White Americans will demonstrate for equal rights
In front of the Black house
And the monster has just created Dr. Frankenstein

Girls in bikinis are moonbathing
Folksongs are being sung by real folk
Art galleries are closed to people over 21
Poets get their poems in the Top 20
There's jobs for everybody and nobody wants them
In back alleys everywhere teenage lovers are kissing in broad
daylight
In forgotten graveyards everywhere the dead will quietly bury the
living
and
You will tell me you love me
Tonight at noon

Nature's Massacre

2008-01-19T01:33:00.000-08:00

for the victims of the Pakistani earthquake, 8th Oct 2006.
Rest in Peace.

In the crushing embrace of the debris
I suffer
From a premature rigor mortis.
I try
But my vocal chords deny
The desperate appeal to respond.
Parched lips move
To maybe defy
The deafening silence.
Limbs strewn
Like tiny grotesque corpses
My struggle proceeds

Day
By
Day....

Through the lattice
Of thatched roof and stones
I see
Moonlight stepping in
Reverentially
Into our mass graveyard.
My head throbs
With too much pressure to cope.
Amidst the nauseous delirium
I suck in
The stench of dried blood and decay.
And pray
And
Pray....

Home

2008-01-17T13:47:00.000-08:00

first poem i wrote after coming to Canada. a little over the top with the sappiness but oh well.

They say its the best place in the world
But it means nothing to me
It ain't my home, that ain't my beach
'Cuz special they can never be.

It lacks the things, the tiny joys,
Things that made me Whole,
Mi heart ain't here, it strays to where
I found peace in mi soul..

Detached

2008-01-17T13:44:00.001-08:00

a highly emo poem i wrote when feeling detached and disconnected from evrything. Oh, another big reason was major bout of homesickness and nostalgia at the time too.

Wear my cloak
feel this Dark
this Void

Yes ,there's Light
Glowing dustmites
Apprehensive, Distant

I watch it
Indifferent, behind
My thick glass Wall

Misted over and over
By wet, shaky
Breaths.

13

2008-01-17T13:39:00.000-08:00

This was was written by an extraordinarily talented friend of mine, Dorothy Quimora. It's by far the most amazing love poetry i've read in a very long time.

I am nothing but an ordinary stone statue

Whom you endlessly try to coat with melted pure gold

(I may not be completely tangible without you

For your arms protect me from all hazards I behold)

I am not quite blessed with anything but living breath

That I attempt to bring the best out of and survive

(Yet you are there to take away those objects I dread)

Even if often unrequited, for me you strive)

I am composed of flaws, and faults, and imperfections

Splashed with tears and decked with pain, enough of which to bleed

(A stereotype of the world and all its nations

Although you do know that, you never seem to take heed)

I am a speck of dust in the face of universe

What the skies refer to as a vernacular scene

(I do not understand, you chose to be doomed and cursed

It is I you love; me with which your life shall begin

Growing up.

2008-01-17T13:36:00.000-08:00

i think nearly all poets have atleast once touched upon the subject of growing up. This one's about a friend and me. It's about trying to hang onto being a kid, and about letting go.

ur a stranger- emo and lame
but we're both stuck in a terrible game.
toughing it out; pretending we're fine
behind the curtains, we're hanging by a line
wound round our necks, it chokes but we
laugh and just talk about cookies
and pretzels, and silly things
we put aside our misgivings
and laugh it off, and act cool
ur the drama, im the fool
and once our silly rants are done,
turn back to reality, our masquerades begun
our smiles erased, return to hell
and crawl back inside our shell.

Humanity

2008-01-17T13:30:00.000-08:00

inspired by the thousands of people who turned up to run for the Terry Fox run. wish they'd show the enthusiasm for other issues. (excuse the bitterness.)

their lives are pivoted round blurs of
monotonous trends, monotony of friends,
the mall their
inflamer, their extinguisher,
and of all these
unsubstantial lives,
a single day spent running
for terry fox
fulfills their
debt to humanity.
miraculously makes them
human.