I have moved to www.jamalbhai.com

everyone is dead

the wars upon the land
had crawled ever closer
the distance from implosion
grew as thin as the skin
of those worn down
once tall, strong, historic

they had crawled ever so slowly
harsh claws
agony as they went
down the artists throat
words fell upon brazen vocal chords
consumed by the hunger of war
his voice, fallen
like sweet angels forgotten

the wars they took his laughter's life
but his hands they knew not death
they played the strings
they sang his song
the wrote his passage
they became his lungs
they gave us gifts

his words too absent to give
so he played us poetry
he dare'nt speak of
in quite so certain terms
so he played for us
the sounds of life
the haunt of war
that we might see
what we are dying for

every one is dead
and no one knows anything
and the keys to the kingdom
lie with the monster
as he fights his savage

we are our brother's reaper,
our mother's shame,

and as for our sisters,

there is only silence.

your city

i could be your city
you look upon from the sky
through my every pathway
you're free to wander
the keys are yours to throw away
i hope you'll be safe
where streets aren't lit
your soul more than compensates
for the darkness I left behind
in the shade of lost homes
and buildings drawn in confusion
roads paved in guilt
by yesterdays innocent youth
and today's wayfaring man
discover all you wish
so go on
'til your soles ache of love
but leave some time for rest
your head on my shoulder
to watch the sun return home
as we grow a day older

Better in Tune With the Infinite

more than mere reaction
something
that encompasses yesterday
compounds the present
and screams the future
eternity is no far cry
for those who see in infinities

behaviour laden in silk
itself shrouded in mystery
with a legacy of history
hurried footsteps t'ward paradise
at Mother's feet
tear ducts follow the suit of a kindred spirit

sacrifice at the plea of companions
closed eyes through the gale
a cut against the grain
words forged that imprint the scale
more than just ink on a page
the gravitas of forever.
to hear the self cry
lama sabachtani
to rise above.

a delicate touch to agony
an embrace that painted home
in the heart of a torn soul

and of course to Love
as if you hadn't already
with a truth that turns the storm tranquil
warm hands that open eyes
to the height of intimate
and bring oneself, and a beloved
better in tune
with the infinite

Morning Mist

our most treasured tales
are those that cling to us
for reasons known and strange
bridging the writers gap
taking listeners away
to the road less travelled
paved by tongues
home to bitter-sweet taste
and songs of accepted fate

An Ode to Those Who've Met Before

way over yonder
and on street corners
close to our homes
you'll find penned reasons
to hold me in contempt;
even harm me.

so in our sour times
friendship is counted twice
when held through
screams of scorn
and bellowed bigotry,
our silence speaks.

it proves its worth
against the tales and poetry
how could it not,
with roots in love,
there's proof enough;
it was destined to succeed

oddities and rarities that were shared ordinarily
with a golden soul
beneath golden suns
and our typical grey
that plagues a little less,
with solitary thought lent to another

this unfamiliar territory
chanced upon by a traveller
with a heart that warmed
through a spring that never came
and a summer that shone
and burned time past

laughter that would
light flames under January's snowflakes
and company that would
remain after parting,
whither sorrow to ash
and turn me to gratitude

for fortunes upturned
in the mystery of patterns
spelled by God
that lay in paths tread
by those who've met before;
called friends by some.

This Bitter(sweet) Earth II

this place
this compounded earth
home to fallen souls
the earthy ground
where tears of joy
dilute rivers of blood
but the flowers still bloom
and roots still rise.
see Maya Angelou.

this place,
ultimately,
beautiful, and abhorrent
swaying in the balance
of both these faces of ours
this compounded earth
living under
seemingly infinite
assailant-footsteps
is also home
beneath dancing feet
and innocence unbound

this place
where lovers fear
and the fearful run
the feared may run
some fleeting borders
lost to time perhaps;
myopic we can be
indeed

are we trying to
forget,
our feelings of love
at the simplicity of seeing
our vicious selves?
forgetting our mother's hands
and her lips
upon our foreheads;
she is not the queen
of this place, true.
but neither are those
who smoke our sight
and blind us so,
to all but plight.

Eternal Sunshine

do you remember me
did that smile I left
on your face
stay long enough
was any word poetry
was any lent hand
weighted with purpose
or was facade all you saw

was your laugh forgotten
amongst the thoroughfare
where its sound lost its source
in the millions you met
were they, more memorable than I
did they stay
in your heart

was anything written
anything more
than passing clouds
that sat perfectly
for a moment alone
to then leave you be

did my touch
ever reach past
the surface we share with all
and cling to a soul's portion
who's reaching cries
went unheard 'til I came
did I ever mean that much

was anything ever
more than it was,
did meanings multiply
as I departed
and left you not alone
as our past gave way to eternal sunshine or,
is that too much to ask?

This March's Snow (In Memory of Yen)

whether in prayer or pause
we still think of him
as march snow falls
and april approaches
with open doors

time may heal wounds
but seals our hearts
to bygone days
with none apart

each year the thread
taken from memories unstopping
with the needle of our songs
and the will of our longing

to meet once more
after skies have fallen,
with all ashore
to be safe in heaven,
where we long no more

Society on Men

don't you dare shed a tear;
lest they know
you were born of a Mother
or speak love in public
keep such words in silence
or at least confinement.

think thrice,
before serving,
manners can be misconstrued, man
open your arms to liberty,
and lower us all
with your language
we left chivalry with the cavalry
and stories of old,
and poured liquor over the carcasses
of gallant men
whose names are lost
swimming upstream to us.

the victors of new stories told to you
worry not if they told the truth
ubiquitous deceit is the order of the day
men set the order of play
a scene not fit for you child.
take your words elsewhere
aesthetic action matters here
so part from poems
leave your scripts at the door
of all that's normal
and let me show you
who real men are

All of It

this is all of it,
every tear that ever fell
every run of breath
that came with the harrowing
of solitude
or shared melancholy
when embraces
multiplied in meaning
and we wept in the arms
of whoever would be so kind;
fearless sorrow
dripping with salt water
inner left exposed
to anyone
no shame
no shame
love knows no shame;
tonight anyway.

could we be constant
in our out-pour
let them all fall this night
just to touch who they fall for.
fingers tremble with emptiness
the heart unwise
unknown paths of pain
make weak hearts;
and they still beat.
lost,
but find temporal homes
close to kindred souls

this is every aspiration
that we amassed
only for hope's vapour
to collect like a grey afternoon
rain fell
steps glistened in the water
the image absent
between our eyelids
our aching bones lifeless
searching for room
to start again
or a new dream
to pin our passions to

to not know
your own reflection,
be yourself they say
which self to be
is self unitary?
or to know you
more than you ever could
and leave you drained
of so much of yourself

this is every loss
every heart left
to the cold ground
severed in two parts
longing for whatever
may bring wholesome heartbeats
or run back time's coils
and erase yesterdays
to colour tomorrow
in something more void of misery

the distraught inexplicable
plaguing so many
demanding insanity in some
the downtrodden trodden on
the poverty of love
the fingernails that etched horror
into walls that saw too much

may we be harboured whole
from the madness of that pain;
all of it.

Sing About Me, I'm Dying of Thirst

www.soulculture.co.uk

I'm a dying man
in a sea of similar souls
swimming well, resting,
on your buoyancy

promise that you will,
sing, about me

write after loss
it might be therapy
sink with your ink
into my memory

promise that you will,
sing, about me

just in case
as dawn falls up on us
I'm erased
along with
my hearing

promise that you will,
sing, about me


if I leave myself
and turn away
stepping t'ward eternity
with only my own feet

promise that you will,
sing, about me

if my disposition differs
and withers in to another form
if mellow sunsets deform into another dawn,
if you even just,
begin, to doubt me

Just promise that you will,
sing, about me

Promise that you will,
sing, without me.

Travelling

http://www.destination360.com

I'll see you at the airport
to wonder
rather than think
sink into guessing
at the story
of each coloured face
a view of the world
each with their own world view
their destination
beloveds that drop tears
at the thought
of separation

cut suits and rough boots
tread the same path
drone of escalator
meets spare change and bangles
a rowdy few
astounding view
hurry and measured tea sips
as he slips, into elevator shaft

By Mike Richard (vagabondish.com)

and he meets his other half.
those made to work
walk with those who make them
we don't know each other
but we're all in this together

my child like awe
at departures and arrivals
surrounded by scurry
coffee and money
nervousness
pain, pleasure
free of duty
hacking away at
shackles of routines
and rat races
dragging trolleys full
of far less formality
holdalls of sanity
poised to board
and embrace, a new normality

mediacentre.heathrowairport.com

what time's the plane leaving
mothers waiting
lonesome lunches won't do any longer
silverware and perfection mean less
with each plate
cooked by strangers,
who know not her lullabies of old
distance chipped away
at opulence
while solitude's gale
blew romance away

Girl of East

unknown web source

the reds, motifs
striking stare
that cuts divinity
into ungodly horror.

teeth take shawl in between
and bite for respite
from the wicked, harsh
and inhumane confusion

she knows not her power
wrapped up in history
silent in the corner
quietly waging beauty
in homely wartime
imagine her simple voice
deafening beholders to war cries

Girl of East
knows what she shouldn't
fear all too closely
penned in secret calligraphy
in the depths of each eye
bearing witness to chaos
in melancholic beauty
made all the more tragic
knowing she could be so many

Your Sleeves and Mine

The poem to the left 

Roll up my sleeves again
so our palms cross paths
as they did
and when its far enough
take my hand
and walk me into time memorial
far enough;
til my hand grows smaller than yours.

walk me past innocence
and please stay a while,
remember to make me forget
painful reason that we left behind

towards moon river
just round the bend
show me, all my friends
before I knew the differences

before skin knew deformity
born of pain
make it yesterday once more
yeah, those old songs
written before I knew
weighted words, and wrongs
so intimately well

and take me just there
past calculation
that smelt of insanity,
and cold seclusion.
before bold delusion
I hold confusion
in contempt,
leave it in the bushes
of my old back garden
amongst the leaves
and forgotten tennis balls
we couldn't find,
some sunny day.

where and when
we'd watch the races together
I'd support whoever you did.
and don't forget a meal
on our travels
in a time where
I can't even consider paying
and i might be shy,
to tell you all I want through timid lips
though you can share my chips.

blissful, wouldn't you concur?
khala* roll up my sleeves
and take me to where we were





*Khala, the urdu word for maternal aunt

Moments

Moments lost
fleeting fascination
cherished droplets of time
vanished from everywhere
but memory.
Our source too
that great well
of joy, sorrow
ink and courage.
Where lie forsaken tales,
forlorn walks but compassion too
warfare and love made
vultures and dove tails
sculptures and weathering
firmness eroded
by acid tears further
sour ones who tower
and sweet nothings so down to earth
building and destroying
we choose where we come from
even as we come from both.

Here's to Hoping You Catch Some Heaven

I apologise
on behalf of them.
Those who chose
to throw hell
into hands they forcibly
thrust together.
who broke in
like a thief in the night
and took more
than just your innocence
as if it wasn't enough.

Who broke bones
let alone your delicate hearts
who left you in the dark, the rain
attach
any connotation you wish
it'll fit;
they were so terribly broad
with their strikes.

I apologise
on their behalf
nonsensically
but let me
for each tear they wrenched out
and never cared to wipe away
in a sweet caress,
for each infliction of horror
each hand they left dangling
each time they eroded your trust
with the world
hacked away in rage or lust

I apologise
on their behalf
whoever made you
question life itself,
I dare not call them men.
I can't tend to every hurt
every bruise
though my own hands
are here to be lent
joined together, at least
hoping you catch some heaven
after all,
its destined beneath your feet

Untitled

The consequence

of my self consciousness

may cause your smile

but it has made me cry

what you see

is not what I get.

Kindness;

I act well.

Poured from cups

of fear of guilt

or both

is kindness still the same?

will kindness kill the lame?

It's been said of me

I'd hand a dagger

to he who wants

to do the deed

complicit in my own demise

as I endeavour to show

a warm disguise

to those whom I say I love.

I think I do.

Now there's a surprise

I wish you

one whose warmth

comes not from friction inside

who's not so knowing

of his reasons

whose left hand sees not

the right's pennies drop

maybe someone not so

forceful in the lending of his palm

someone far more clueless really

with a quiet delightful charm

so after this arrogant show

of modesty

perhaps you may think i'm lesser

Beloved don't keep me too dear

You deserve so much better.

On Friends and Others (The Gift)

On each ear to ear gesture

that exhibited truth and delight

and unheard uttered words

that met the grapevine

to pleasant surprise

On each knowing look, smirk

unsaid explanation; a deferred laugh;

the banishment of worry

On each solemn exchange

to reach a crux

of matters that matter to both

mutual melancholy

shared shards to the heart

On firm handshakes

and greetings 

that told stories of old

and yearn for perpetuity 

through this fluidity 

of time's path

To each one who spoke an acceptance

unexpectedly filling a soul whole or

advice from years

they held in leverage

concern kept, shown time and again

thrice over 'til the night was over 

On the hilarity 

and the laughs rarely let out

repeated over

the morphing of frivolous to sublime

do you remember the time,

Michael Jackson played?

Dear every one

who belittled a broken heart

those who remind us of forgetfulness

who cure blindness

to a bounty of blessings

intentional or otherwise,

friend or other,

This, is for you.

 Homes reside in friends, 

 and sometimes in others too.

Bloke On The Train

www.carrentals.co.uk

Heaven forbid that we might
Meet eyes not strangely
That the bloke on the train,
Might just be okay.
That we may strike up conversation
With superior motives
That we may learn
Or feed a smile to famished souls
Or make the day of one
Who awoke from nightmares.
But no, its not the norm
Confinement is convention
Its what they use in prisons no?
The harshest of punishment
To sulk in solitariness,
Why imprison ourselves out here?!