our unrecognized
accomplishments
are
what we really
are

Pain makes philosophers of us all.

Arms
wrapped around me like clouds
holding me in place
so I wont melt…
Thank you, arms. For being dear to me.
For being near for me.

Eyes
Holding my soul down
so I don’t lose touch with the ground
I’m mesmerized by that hypnotizing sound
Pulling my mind, and twisting it around.
Thank you, eyes, for being here for me. Thank you eyes
for being clear for me.

Words
Teaching my skin
secrets and sins
honesty and whims
flipping me abound
with all these linguistic sounds
Thank you, words. For being heard by me.
For being slurred by me.

My heart
I’ve done so much
to damage you
But if you ask me
I think that damaging is through
I found a mate, who seems so true
and for once, I think I see eye-to-eye with you.

Never stop
Never quit

Find your star
Chase your dream

Don’t listen to doubters
Ignore
Smile
Prove them wrong

Long road
Never ending

Dark days
Darker nights

Rest
Regroup
Come back stronger than before

For one day
Someday
Looking back

Knowing you silenced the whispers
Crushed the critics

Just smile
Snicker and grin

And know you did things your way
The best way

Always
Never settling
Nothing sub par

Shining
Happy

Holding that elusive…

Never thought you would catch it…

Star…

Mohammed Wajihuddin, TNN | Mar 4, 2012,

In a modest flat off a dusty lane in the Muslim-majority town of Mumbra, a group of young girls is sitting in a semi-circle. Before they entered the apartment, they were all covered with the black veil, the unofficial dress code of any conservative Muslim mohalla in the subcontinent. But now, faces kissed by the sunlight, they await their turn at something equally liberating: poetry.

The young poets, initiated into the art two years ago, are gearing up to celebrate International Women’s Day on March 8 with yet another poetry recitation session. Emotions-some raw, others mature beyond their tender years-flow as the girls’ words become banners of dissent. Their poems protest the many inequalities that women face-female foeticide, financial dependence on men, unrequited love and the curses of divorce and widowhood.

The group came into being after Iranian-American poet Roxy Azari…

The News today

is Like the news yesterday

Sports page shines

Front page whines

—

Politicians trying to wreck the world

By saying they are there to preserve it

Scientists trying to find more ways

To keep us amused as though we deserve it

—

Some one got robbed some one got caught

crime and punishment with the daily lot

Celebrities having babies or splitting from each other

Stock markets worried Uncertain is the weather

—

Daily News

Daily Refuse

Daily I feel used and abused

—

By the wordsmiths and the words they play

To keep me hooked on for one more day

EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

Early Sunday morning and I cannot get to sleep

I’ve come out to th’computer to fathom troubles deep…

I cannot tell when I shall turn and amble back to bed,

Just want to get these things out of my head.

—

Consid’ring things political and the plight of refugees,

How will we ever pay our bills and do bees really have knees…

I’m all worked up with pretty faces and there’s nowhere to go.

And there are things that I may never know.

—

The client’s got an increase in our wages there at work,

We have a coffee maker that really does fine perk…

Our love has lasted all this time despite the pain and storm

And wife and I still live as one with God in an apartment warm.

—

Our cat,though almost seventeen, is still around to pur—

And though we take it day-by-day…

With and Without The Brackets of Consciousness

Each fallen leaf a memory
a past that has been drowned
(a piece of an allegoric pie, a piece of……….)
sanity regained, (re) lost, revived

(who knows?)

swimming   in   rekindled   inexistance,    f r e e

One is always alone at crucial moments

in an utter state of ‘nothing’

………………………… incapable of taking oneself seriously (Thank God)

.

.

Little notes lost in the dark. Calls of wanting uttered with surprise. Alone amid ruffled coverlets in a bed, small and forgotten each thing they dread. Ears gathering tones, hearts rushing to each call. Listening and waiting hoping neither falls. Slumbers interruptions welcomed listen across the hall. Hearing each dream issued in cries and moans bouncing off might walls. Eyes now wide anticipating each call. Here lying still for it all. Loving each moment as a parent I recall. Hope for each soul in my night across the hall. Rest now sweet angels sleeping so well. Morning soon comes and on this night we won’t dwell. Listening and waiting still I can tell. In each heart each hope there swells. Sleep little ones sleep well, listening as in the night your dreams you do tell….WAM

This is what comes of pondering the meaning of life whilst listening to Leonard Cohen. He is naked and he’s filthy and there’s sweat upon his brow. I can’t say the same for me. Shame that.

Gentlewoman magazine #5 SS12

Photos: Daniel Riera

Model: Sigrid Agren

Ks, Jo