Weaks in The Yeah

Another cycle like another tide
Penning memories on a Moleskine
Laughter that rose only to subside
Victories turned to losses
With the miseries that inflicted us
And devils that would sit with us
Or angels that would comfort us
And lend us a place to smile
Perhaps a wing to cry on for time
Even make weeks pass like days
Vice versa in a lonely place
The losing of a homely face;
The sunlight appeared on a timed horizon
As we wait for the fragrant rising
And hope for a twist of fate
The sun rising
Illumination of our regret
As opposed to who would eulogise
Their heartbreak
The melting of frost that covered sorrows
Now longing for content tomorrows
An opening approaches
The prayers we may begin to send
In hope that the calamitous may begin to end

These Messages

Let it be felt
By the hard of heart
In their heart of hearts
Let it be seen by the harsh eyes
In the hue of hard times
Or one's wearing hearts on sleeves
Slightly understood, or properly perceived
By the people purged pure
Or the rightful wrongdoers
Saintly sinners
In the sewers
Or even the tall tenements
In the sky refined regiments
These fast or slow sentences

Smirking at the evidence

Of words far from effortless

As they spew from a tongue 

That before this begun 

Had a heart space for drums

The melodious and rhythmic

Mixed with

Verses of aggravation, my reverence

It still did

Much to produce

And enthuse

These messages

 (www.hiphopdiplomacy.org) 

The City's Faces (An Ode to London)

Someone takes a heartbroken  bite alone, and cold.
Just minutes away, two relax in romantic opulence
Near to the ironic latest vintage,
The newest new.

Under the cities constellations,
Gazers and geezers in conversations
While a child grips her Mother's hand tighter
In the bitter cold of a quaint pathway
But still smiles at the brightness;
I see myself in her

Meanwhile, over the warmth of coffee and company
A man impresses his opposite,
And blows dust off what they'd forgotten;
I don't see myself in him

In the same evening close to historic beauty,
Lays a man
Wrapped up in what he can,
And what he can't do.
How do you sleep in the heart of the city?
Where the beat can wake you, or make you.
A group of newcomers walk past and catch a glance
And silently thank God for their own circumstance,
One mutters a prayer for him,
But they have to walk on now

Some streets away, in a row
A tailor jokes with his client
Off the cuff,
As he adjusts
His sleeve
To reveal
Just the right length of the gleaming white shirt

And away from this in a Kensington window,
A Grandmother smiles,
As a glimpse of an heiress reminds her
What she used to have.
But a small frame on the sill
Reminds her what she has, still.

At the bank of the Thames,
Two lovers
Newly bound
Admire the bridge
In its twilight glory
And stand longer,
Absorbing the blessing of one another

A world away now
In the same city,
Immigrant worker toils and grinds
With dirt on his hands,
And family on his mind.
As each push brings him closer
To his goal, and the edge.

Not too far apart,
Sits a pale faced intern
Lost in his hands
Wondering what he's doing there,
How he let go
And if there's still time

All photos from Google Images.

As he drags his soul from that chair to leave.
He had dreams of changing the world.

Now above its waters, in a plane,
Childlike joy upon her youthful face;
Will she make it?
She braces
What will she make of all these faces?

Lopsided

I'll hang on to the words you say
Remember that which you'll forget
It doesnt work both ways
I don't expect it to either
Just a numb sting i feel later
Remembering what you don't
Something i might look to
When the hue turns blue
You mean more to me
Than i mean to you
Its not unfair
I think at least
Just another cause for despair
Or just another easy tear
No malice, ill will aimed your way
Just something more to figure
Wrestle with and strangle today

Morning Blues

The passage of time
Simply, complex though
Propels us from innocence
To decisions of paramount importance.
From the beauty of a child's stare
To wrestling with ourselves
Tears of overbearing strain
Care remains for the fortunate
With surrounding structures
Firm foundations
And warm arrangements;
Is it hurt that could blind us to blessings?
I never thought much of it til now
But this hurt you see
Its what it does, thinking,
Like drinking
To an alcoholic
My lilac wine
Bringing back what I can
This tainted tonic
Forcibly fed to me
By my own hand,
Sweet and heady for a part of it
But the rest,
Well, you know what wine can do
Thought upon thought
And then thoughts about that
A drifting one about insanity
Who would have thought about that?

We, Us

Bus window
Others play
As I sit alone
Not a soul
We need one another
We work in groups, us.
Nina sings in my ear
In foreign French tongue
But I can guess at melancholy

I am not wicked,
I do try
I'll tell you frankly
In this ocean of people
Swimming with no school, or
A tight knit outfit
Is what I thought I'd have this winter
But I'll have to get by in this thin shirt

This Young

Tea time poetry
A photo put the flow in me
Jamal's at nostalgia again
Not again
I'm afraid it is
Strange it is
That I would feel old
This young
And let lamented remembrance
Roll off my tongue
This young
The past screams love
And today we're scared to whisper
The world could end
And we wouldn't know each other
And we'd be sat with wilted flowers
Hour after hour
As a coward
As we cower in our sour tear puddles
As a stray droplet creeps into our lips
As if we didn't know already
What we could have spoken
Now even if we did
These rains would make it bitter
Almost dead,
And pollute our poetry
With words we never said

Walk

Sometimes

I  prefer to walk

And just smell the same air

See a crisp picture

Without pasty bus window glass

To separate the real

From me

This paranoid paki boy

Might have to turn around
Then and now

As silhouettes lurk

In and out of turn

Mostly just mine

But its better

When I walk

Breathing the air

Times of foul and fair

Reality clear
Perfect soundtrack in my ear

When the rhythm fits the scene

When I walk

And the chaos is serene

City lights

Dark, black railings

Old street lamp ridden

Mist hidden

Intermittent, paces

Now the sounds of faces

Laughing

Clicking of the heel

Of loafer

Purpose walker
Smooth talker


Neon fade
And reappear
Upon the wired canvas
City campus
Bustle hustle
Teach preach
Make your muscle
Touches of a thousand people
Rainbow skin
Tall and feeble

As a sun beam meets
The glass door
See yourself
Catch a glimpse
Did you forget that you exist
When you persist
To keep pacing
On the pavement
Catching strangers
As the day went
Time favours
Those who take it

Take a walk.
You just might like it...

Gratitude to God

If I were to spend every breathing moment
Thanking God
For my Mother
My Father
Those around them
I would fall short.
For every friend, companion of soul
Who ever shared a laugh
Who respected and protected
For any who loved me
And told me so
And even those who didn't
For an embrace, or an arm around the shoulder
Figurative, or otherwise
The welcoming ones who healed
In ways they have no knowledge of.
God bless them eternally,
Whether I was truly theirs or not
They've done enough to earn my prayer.

A Letter to Yen

Yen and I, January 2011

I sat in the heat
Looked to my left
And saw you atop
Of those stairs
Like heaven
And you walked down hurriedly
Dressed well,
As you do
Smiling,
Like you do
At first you didn't notice
Me alone
Then as you did
Paces became pacey
And you met me
Like a lost friend
That you are
And just as I wanted
To write it all down
I noticed your smile
Was on my face

We would have talked my friend
About why we were there
And as my eyes well up
Once more
I remember my harsh reality
If we could only live in dreams
Then we may share again
A word or two
A laugh or three
A day or four
Why stop there?
Even a life of more...

Talking to The Mirror

I could have been somebody
Laughable lament
Nonsensical nostalgia
At nineteen
Wondering what could have been
Had I held out and struggled

I had excuses though,
No excuses
Everything was set

Such an unsettled inner
Had me thinner though
For a period
Many that were parallel
With peace
But with permeable parameters
Osmosis of the focus shifting
Impulses passing thicker pulses

So you see I couldn't have had it
Trying wouldn't hurt
What if it did?
I'll never know
Will I ever know
I know that I could have
Why wouldn't I strive
I knew better than any the prize
Perhaps it skewed my eyes

Dusty Smiles

The dusty smiles settled
Voices ring in my ear
Rusty,
Simply red-like
Holding back the years
Of Laughter
Resonant with mothers, aunts
Their mothers and others
From an era sadly bygone
What time we'd forgone
In confinement
Each to their own
Moments as if stolen
From when I was six
1998 again

The homes I grew up in. My Nan still lives in the house on the right. 

We sang a song in school back then
Yesterday once more,
We'll meet again some sunny day
We'd say
Never thought I'd need to mean it
But now I feel it
Feel the need to say
Who'd have known I'd feel at all
Back when I didn't feel the need

Was it all together then?
I'd like to say it so,
What a blessing
To count when I couldn't
And now I hope they stay
It took loss for this gain
Heart engulfing pain
I prayed and prayed
For this but not for that
I didn't choose
But want to keep this and hold it close
Smiles that crept from pain
Like the scarlet concrete rose

Picturing Ramadhan

Photo:Google Images








Witnessed bearing witness
In a place of prostration
Meaning Masjid, meaning Mosque
Au Masgid fi Masr
Belly laugh from a brother
Mellow chants from a mother
Or smiling sister
Beads back and forth
In Baba's hands
As he remembers

Warm looks, soft pardons
Homes meet and eat in gardens
Sweet first dates
Jesting mates
Sharing teas and grapes in plastic plates
Where you'll see the brotherhood
In and out of other hoods
The world over
This world's sober now
Grounded, human definition
Prepositions from divine Source
mixed with samosas dipped in fine sauce
Good looks and feelings, what a fine force

The Short Walk Home

Walking, talking
Light shining
City sounds
Join the conversation
But has nothing much to say

A security worker sits on a bench
And seems to ponder life
Others lay, sit
On the grass
In the coolest heat of the night

I move closer to my abode
I step the first stair
Spotlights for my feet
I guess its what the city does

Now the skyline clearer
City still talking air
But far from still

Blue and light reflections
Upon each other
As a man puffs his cigarette

I open the door
There's trouble
Who knows who I could be?

I call the lift
She answers right away
And now I wait and speak again
29th floor, I move closer
The cool breeze
Of the air conditioning

I slowly make my way to the door
So I can finish this poem
If you can call it that

Please Don't Call Me Sir

Sir,
I just don't need it
Compliment not deserved
So let the term be reserved
I apologise if my demeanour
Means you treat me this way
Or my position as fate would have it today
My disposition just won't have it
I'm no nobleman you see
You seem a noble man to me
A smile would keep me happy
So don't coat your words with fur
I appreciate the sentiment
But please don't call me sir

Seed

(Photo: Google Images)















As blood spills
It seeps
Into sands and other surfaces
Becomes seed as a blood stained rose surfaces
We know the thorns too well you see
Lost in intimacy
Used to the searing
Listening but not hearing
To the blood everyday
That drips
From lips
And limbs
And salt water tears
Rubbed into the wounds of women
From the beginning
Probably begging
The silent victims of the bomb drop
The fire fight
The lost plot
The non stop
The screaming and the jaw lock
Are the children of blood everyday
I hope the words made your jaw drop

Serenity And Her Son

She came draped in dark green
Among all the colour and chaos
She looked like dignity.
Serenity stood
With her son by her side
I tried to shake his hand
But no response
I had no wings

And then she did
And when she did
Like resonance
His smile multiplied
Ecstatic joy
Pure as his Mother's face

And as she spoke
She sang
The note was high
Piano
With crystal keys.
Peace be upon you
She asked him to reply
But we spoke a different tongue
I spoke,
They'd sung

Then they left
Like a tide
In this desert
Mirage like; the tide alone
No sea at her back
But her son at her front
Away maybe to sway another soul
To put a smile on a face
They say you can meet angels
I saw a compelling case...

African Vibrant

Photo:Google Images














She walked out
Limping
For reasons God knew
In her multi colour
Dressing
Sharp spikes of yellow
And darks
The African vibrant
Against the white and silver
That dullness
The blandness
Of terminal 4
Arrivals
As her arrival
Was different
Though she didn't seem to know it
I couldn't see her face yet
But somehow I seem to know it
There was tiredness in movement
Pain perhaps
No amazement
No awe or surprise
At the fact she's under British skies
Where did she come from?
I could've checked the screen
But didn't
I watched on
She slowly limped
To her son it must've been
And hugged
And kissed
And loved
And shook his hand
He smiled
like we all do
Her story unknown
Sadly I could guess at heartache
How awful of me
Or them
Or us?

Desert Rainfall

Glamour
On the run
Neck crooked
Catching strains
From skyscrapers
Draping the desert
Like technicolour rainfall
No drought here
As they pour from the ground
Pushed upwards by clouds of slaves
Brave brown men pushed to the sky's limit
But ride with it
The wave, still rising
Tsunami surfing 'civil engineers'
Basking in the sun's glory
and soaked in the rainfalls
The recipe for rainbows
Unseen by many

Dreams From My Father

Dreams from my Father
Dreams of my Father
Selflessly deflated
For me to go farther
Little could be harder
But Father is a master
Of service, an art that
I should've mastered
Before a disaster
To put life before laughter
My Father a Master

Looking Upwards

We are not from here
These realms of hellish facade
I am heavenly
As are you
Regardless of what they tell you
Regardless whether its the A or B team
We play for the same team
And walk around the same drum
As we drop from clouds and seep through
Earthly clay
And through the velvet
Elegantly trimmed curtains as we play Shakespeare's men
And women
The celestial is where we come from
In both tenses
We sit and marvel at wonders of the Mother
And rightly so as we glorify the Source
Who may produce His brilliance through many a means
Which means
Dubai is no Manhattan
But the Nile remains the Nile and the Amazon the Amazon
Rivers which we swam in before
The skill itself left us
Wanting and panting for breath like fish
Who leave the sea
If we could only see
That all the water in every glorious depth
was within us and running through our veins
Since the days we were born.

Jeans With A Kurta On Top

My tattered past
Strips of it here and there
Across artificial borders
Historic notions of home
Blurred by visions of the present
And friends and family
And songs sung in different tongues
But a love song is a love song
I suppose

Fearing betrayal of both my houses
A plague has struck me
Of questions and uneasy answers
Said smiling because I love the asker
And want them to take me as their own
I am one of you
My blood is red and my soul hidden

Strange to read poems
To prose like questions
Like two different languages
So here we go again my friend
Having swam in both salt and sweet seas
I know they're both just bodies of water

Home

Is love
Can be found softly resting
Intertwined in the arms
Of an embrace
Heartfelt
Or the small space
That sits between the shake of two hands
That come to each other with nothing
But peace

Is familiar territory
And sometimes not
For the character within
Those four walls
Can turn any dwelling homely
But is most at home
At home

I have done neither
Love
Nor home justice
My words tremble
At the thought
Of their reality

Layla

That mystery
That spoke to me
In interrupted silence
A language so clear
And polluted
There's something about her
She comes alive in herself
Serene and superficial
Silent and deafening
Starry eyed when she appears clearly
Sheltering and exposing
Its as if sometimes
The rules don't apply to her
But still after dusk
She's at it again
What a sight in the city
She competes with it
For light
You know her name
At times I feel insane
Majnoon if you will
But I join a hundred others
Necks strained
And she has the time
For the lovers
Whisperers, screamers
And the ones barely breathing
The prayers
None prey after her
But many pray after her
Some cannot love her in her absence
And forget their odes to her later
And when she arrives again
She'll be the same Layla

Candlelit River

It is as if he threw
A thousand candles
From himself
And aligned them so
They drifted
Of many, one
Out of place in the day
But perfectly put
For my naked eye
As I watched them glimmer
And shine and simmer
Calm down Jamal,
Its only sunlight on the river

Reflection

We may live in a balance

The more grief I see

The more love I feel

Sometimes It Snows In May (In Memory of Yen Soh)

As I saw
The tiny cluster of clouds
That held some light
It made me hope
You might be safe again
Sound and found
But the sound of silence
Still pierces our ears
The world just feels a little harsher
Now that you’ve left it
And left us
I have run out of words
To match what we feel
And that screen of memories
Has been playing today
And all of them great
This bittersweet fateful taste
We will never forget your way
Cars like that don’t pass us every day,
And sometimes, it snows in May

Paradise Beneath Your Feet

Mother, Mother
Not even Marvin could sing your worth
No poetic flourish, no Wordsworth
No prose could be so perfect
No writer so competent
No painter so skilled
Why am I still writing?

The arms of a mother
Irreplaceable by the charms of another
No Shakespeare could create a fitting ode
To depict that heavenly abode
Resting beneath your exhausted feet
That earn you a warrior’s reward
For a warrior’s resolve

Pray I feed you one day like I was once fed
And keep me in your prayers
So I walk untouched through the forest of naysayers
Pray I never break away from the warm clasp of your hand
Meditation, the deepest contemplation, I will never understand...
Your worth.

Nano

Still seated
Hand clasps wrist
And that beautiful face
Calm, collected
Although pain may brew
In every vein
It even shows at times
Even as light beams reflect
Off the gold rimmed frames
And glowing skin
Glistening juxta-
Posed to a beneath
That silently screams sorrow
To the avid listener
Myself, this time.

Lessons

I want to know myself

Exegesis of the scholarly work mapped out by my chosen step

Whether they be footsteps or hand prints

Words, conversations; I want to know

To listen attentively to the echoes,

To reap what I can from the sewn seeds of behaviour

Undoing the knots, not possible as such

But to sit, embarrassed being taught by wrongdoing,

Is a lesson I hope I can sit through

High Piano Note

Love
The word alone
I have so much to give
But not one place to target
So I should aim it at everything
At everyone
Let it bleed from me
Cry from me
Drip from me
Let it slip from me
Let it overcome me

Find it between the lines
Of hateful prose
And remember how close
Are the thorn and the rose
Both as real as the other
But only one
Resides near
To hearts
And feelings of love
That rest in hands
And upon lips
Of the fortunate many
Who carry heavy hearts
In their absence
But can walk lightly
In their presence

Those feelings
That may dance
At the sound
Of that high piano note

Veil

I live in the shadow
Of peace
How it seems at least
Some truths
Remain veiled
In the confines
I may find
The mirror to my state
A shared fate

Is anyone free?
From the constant questions
Constant pressures
Two, three and four and more fold
Listening to what the core told
Or are they doing their best?
To suppress that test
And have done their best
For so long,
That I’m writing this now...?

Peace Be Upon Him

Humble,
Great,
Cried for my fate,
Friend,
Father,
Husband,
Leader,
Judge,
Exemplar,
Helper,
Teacher.
Orphaned and illiterate
At once magnificent
Reformed an environment where
Decadence was prevalent
Ever seeking betterment
Journey anything but effortless
For over a millennium
Steeped in reverence
Embodiment of scripture and his life was the evidence

The Wandering

My wish;
To be lost in my hands
Joined,
Lost in this prayer
Without return
To the place in which
I need to be found
To travel from field to field
In Rumi’s meeting place
And just as I went deeper
The light from the bulb
In my passage
Breaks through a gap
In my hands
That play host to horizon
The rising sun of reality
The truth of wandering
Through right and wrong
Wrong and right
Day and night
Until I raise the hosts
Once more
In the faith
That this wandering becomes easier to take...

The Absentees

The power of the memory
To tug at heart strings
The heart sings
As mouth smiles
Silently to itself
For as long as I remember
Until I realise those moments
Belong to the past
But take refuge fast
That past
Is also mine
Lost only to time
And he allows me to beckon
At an old laugh
And laugh it anew
And laugh it through
That season of sighs
That befalls my lonely town
Where the snow in April
Maybe gone ‘til November
The absences I remember

Loose Ends

These loose ends
Took me a to a depth unseen
A world unknown
Prior to the madness
With God’s help
My mind closer to the surface comes
Still restless at times
But perhaps for the better
It may be that time is my buoyancy
And maybe not,
A loose end as yet.
It could be
To just be
Is be my best bet