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.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
and yet...
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.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
held
you got me in a choke-hold.
Hold.
choke.
choke more.
check me.
life line.
check mate.
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.
fake case
suffa cate.
catch phrase
e rase
caught breath
brain dead
dread lock
lock down.
down cold
choke hold.
Friday, October 10, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
of them.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
.
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.
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.
.
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.
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.
.
.......................
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.
................
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.
................
.
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Snippets 2.
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.
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.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Liberate.
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.
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.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Untitled 2.
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.
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.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Memories.
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.
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.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Of Us.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Snippets.
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.
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..
(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.
and slip
and fall.
Hold onto each other
for a child's breath.
Seconds.....
for a child's breath.
Seconds.....
...Shatter...
Glass sand.
Slipping through these
fingertips.
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.
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
Laziness- lair of vile inclinations
Boredom- limitless time for thoughtlessly drifting
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
A weary old vocabulary
and vacant rooms.
Unanswerable Questions.A weary old vocabulary
Defunct
Too elusive to be of use.
Nausea
Sleep
Tirdeness
Nausea
Sleep
Tirdeness
Weariness of the Soul.
Exhausting Co-operation.
Monotony of the Unwanted.
Monotony of the Unwanted.
Insecurity, Inexperience, Innocence.
Tact, Taboo.
Etiquettes of Behaviour
Rules to follow Rules.
Dormant, Stagnant Voices resounding
Rules to follow Rules.
Dormant, Stagnant Voices resounding
Echoing undying power
Uncontrollable.
Uncontrollable.
Spinning in a haze
Spiralling
Cascading
Engulfing
of Endless Time
Endless Space
Thoughts, Ideas, Dreams,Endless Space
Spiralling
Cascading
Engulfing
Totality.
Everything
is like
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!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)