Month: January 2006

I don’t know how many know what kind of programming I do. I don’t think
anyone ever will be interested in the kind of programming I do also. I
am a Mainframe programmer. The old Big Irons from IBM. Right now in the
project I am doing I don’t deal with Mainframes. I write programs for
Unix based systems. These guys brought me here for my experience in
COBOL programming. The advantage of COBOL is, it is kinda
self-documenting because of the near close to English verbs and
style.  I am borrowing words of my former manager Monty Hull at
Metavante,  Milwaukee. “I dream in COBOL “ hahaha.

Now why I said it, mmmm here is a poem I wrote today. I was trying to
take note of a program piece from one program and modify it and stick
it into another. That program was huge more than 82,000 lines of code.
Whew, I said it is an ocean of COBOL code. Said that… I waited a moment
where my colleagues sitting behind were watching and I slowly changed
my hands from right to left ( when I write poems I mainly write with my
left hand, even though it is very difficult for myself to read it
afterwards, that way I am slow and steady and words just pour into my
mind ). My colleague said “Yeah, there it comes”. Yeah it came, here it
is….

Ocean Of Love.

Those blue eyes, blue like an ocean seen,
In the past journeys made,
Beneath lay treasures of values unknown,
And in depths healing unknown to mankind,
A blessing many touches everyday,
The coral reefs and magnificent currents,
All carry a message of unconditional care,
The wilderness is there as usual,
But without that-nature incomplete you will be,
As the charm of naughtiness, I enjoy a lot,
Then there is the depth where none ever ventured,
Where darkness consumes every imagination,
None knows the treasure there deep inside,
As everyone in the fear of unknown,
Went away unknowing the depths of the ocean.

Oh’ I have a ray of hope inside,
Though far away from those un-ventured depths,
Where with the light of my love I wish to swim,
Oh’ can I search for the treasure unknown,
To everyone ever known you and yourself?
And may I with the ray of love show,
You the truth lying unknown to yourself?

An ocean of love.

Strange weekend and Sunday, I thought of doing a lot but I am was and
is too calm. I was way too busy, talking with family, last night I
voice chatted online like 6 hours with my brothers in India. I think
what kept me calm was the support offered by you xangans. I love you
all. I will be back commenting. There is one reason for me not to. But
there are multiple reasons for me to comment. The main one I love
reading other peoples works especially poetic works of some of the
amazing writers I’ve met here on xanga.

I am a very sensitive person, with the memory of an Elephant. If
someone touches me deep that remain forever. Here are three people from
my past.

Unni Krishnan. He was my friend when I was in kindergarten and first
grade. We used to run around the school elusive from most of the
others. An admirer of all the stories I make up he was a wonderful
friend. I still remember when I was moving from the school after first
grade he wept holding my hands. That was last I’ve seen him even though
we lived in the same town for the next 10 years. Never got any chance
to meet him at all, after that he and his family moved out of town and
I have no idea where he is. But I remember him at least once in a week,
Thursdays, because for some reason unknown we both loved Thursdays. It
is nearly 30 years now.

Jeena. Name sounds girlish isn’t it? No a boy. I met him during the
marriage of my cousin in 1978. He is a distant relative. A wonderful
talker he told some great stories of movies at that time. For two weeks
we were together playing and talking to each other a lot. Another
person who loved my stories, he wanted to hear my stories again and
again. After the marriage function, I have never seen him. Heard about
him after years, like he getting married, having his first child and
all. There were times when I could’ve met him. But I told myself, I
don’t want to see a man who may not recognize me at all. I am still the
friend of that little boy.

Jayakumari. Two names joined together. Well that’s the way she liked
her name to be. Met her in college in 1985, here 11th and 12th grade
are in school. In my state in India till 1995 it was in college a course they
called Pre-Degree. I remember she came late the first day all wet in the
tropical monsoon rain. I’ve had two guys shadowing me in the college,
Davis son of a very wealthy man but a good cricket player. Second one
Rizwan, he knows no one touches me because of my violent habits at
school and my political connections. Everyday after lunch we won’t get
into the class, we go to a movie theater to watch English movies, that
theatre only played English movies not Indian movies. So we watch a
movie at least five times. Understanding English was the main problem
in watching the movies again and again. So as we leave in the afternoon
we told Jayakumari and another girl that we will borrow their lecture
notes every two weeks to keep up with others. The first time I asked
for the notes, Jayakumari gave me a book and said keep it. I said I
will return the book Monday, she said sure but that’s yours to keep as
I have another. She wrote a separate lecture notes for me. She did this
for the next two years. We were never romantically involved, talked
little but always smiled at each other. After Pre-Degree I moved out of
state to do the university degree and have never seen Jayakumari again.
But still thankfully remember her and that beautiful smile almost
everyday.

Now why I said these here now, because once a person touches me deep, I
will never forget that person. I said this once before, Once A Darling,
Always A Darling.

Here is a poem I wrote while watching the playoffs earlier today. I
just wrote it because I felt a bit sad; when I am really sad I try
writing about happy times. This is one attempt. Go ahead criticize it
if there is something wrong in it. I just did not give a revision or
thought into it.

Give me couple of days at least before I start commenting back. All of you don’t get pissed off and block me out. Okay.

Have a great week ahead of you. My brothers, My Sisters, My Family, My Friends And My Darling.

For
The Love Of Happiness.

The flight of Humming bird with wing beats in thousands,
To give extra life to the pretty flower,
The wind dance through the trees,
The never ending fields ready to harvest,
The crashing of the waves of ocean at sunset,
The cherry blossoms in the middle of the spring,
Brightening every eye in the ecstasy of beauty.

Oh’ they all open the soul into spontaneous laughter,
Wonderful world we live in, in my thoughts I said.
The sanctity of life ever blooming,
The sweetness of the fruits rolling in the mouth,
Cooling and filling mind and body,
The touch of beak of the pigeons,
With innocence filled eyes pecks,
From hand the little grains offered,
The marvels and wonders generations constructed,
They all stand as the monument of their happiness,
Leaving us wondered in the bit of joy the builders felt,
There are many wonderful moments we can fabricate,
The moments pleasure like the sip of honey,
Of the relentless working Humming bird.

I am no Humming bird to move on to the next flower,
I enjoy the flight of the bird and the beauty of the flower,
Played again and again in my minds eye,
Each moment in freshness enjoyed forever,
All for the happiness of love,
To keep me in cheer forever,
For the love of happiness of my love.

Hello Sam,
   The following message and a post is meant for you. I am so sorry
for the confusion if any that happened at all. Miranda, day before yesterday
called me a stalker who puts in hidden messages in my poems. Though she didn’t say
your name she told me “stop trying to talk to her” there is only one
other person involved here that’s you. I was also chatting with another person
online and she told me she was thinking that there is something going on between
you and me. Which is not true. I know that, you know that and of course your
mother know that.

Therefore as I really don’t want this to bring any problems for you and for me,
I posted a message like that in my xanga. If any of my poems or posts or
comments on your site created any suspicions in you or anyone else who know
you. Then I am at fault here. I am truly sorry and I apologize for that.

 It is sad and unfortunate for what happened. I always asked
your permission for anything I did in your site to make sure that it is clear to
you. But I might’ve crossed the line with excessive commenting on your site and
I am sorry for that too. I am not going to say good bye to you because I just
can’t.

 Riaz Ahammed.

Hello all,
    I need to do this here because of some nerdy, nutty
girl calling me a stalker who puts in hidden messages in my poems
targeting a regular visitor of my xanga. It is sad and unfortunate if
my poems and posts came out that way and I apologize to anyone who felt
so. The truth is it was not targeted at anyone in xanga or targeting
anyone at all. It was all written after a failed relationship with a
girl. If I just say “relationship” and “girl” that will confuse you big
time I know that. I did not had any contact with her for nearly three
months and she just emailed me saying that to avoid a scandal if
necessary I can reveal her name. Her name is Nevina O’Brian, I met her
in Sterling, VA. It was a good relationship to start with but even when
I was in Virginia itself it started going bad. After I moved to upstate New York, we broke up. I don’t want to give too much
of details. The one thing that I say about it is the big age difference
between me and Nevina. She is only 19 years old and even though we
thought age won’t become and issue in the beginning it eventually got
us in different roads.
 
Now the problem here is, I did comment on a specific site regularly for
almost all the post this girl made in the last four to five months.
This plus my poems kinda talking about the impossibilities and
inappropriateness of a relationship will sure create suspicion in any
mind. I am not going to tell her name here. I really wish this did not
happened at all. It did and I am really sorry for that. I love
commenting on others site, but I don’t want anyone to believe or even
think that I am crossing the line here.

So what is going to happen now? Mmmm interesting… in my nine years
online this is the first time someone called me a stalker. That is not
simple to take. So until I feel comfortable I don’t think I will
comment on any site. I know it is too harsh to everyone of the 109
subscribers I have in my site. I will be posting poems here, whether
anyone is going to comment on those poems must be for the love for it
not just for the heck of it. I may reply to your comments though I am
not sure I will do that or not for sometime.

As for the girl, I know you don’t see me in a way one of your friend
see me.  I am sorry and I truly regret if this created any
inconvenience to you in anyway. I apologize if any of my messages felt
suggestive to you or anyone you know. I really didn’t mean it.

For the time being. Good Bye.
Riaz Ahammed.



Poem Update.

I went to Best Buy to see whether my computer is fixed or not. I
saw the computer there but they only fixed the processor to fix the
heating problem. They did not fixed two of the USB ports that are
broken. Now I have to wait another 10 days to get it back.
BestBuy  is in Crossgates Mall here. So I took a walk around the
mall. I saw this place where they sell Bonsai plants. Interesting, I
was amazed to see 20 year old trees in pots. I wrote the following poem
on my PDA standing in that store.

The
Tree.

 The tree from the seed grown,
Wild in every eye,
But perfect in its own way,
The flowers and seeds and a lot of leaves,
From season to season came and gone,
But the tree still remained in all its glory.

The leaf danced to the push from the wind,
Where it dried out in the caressing sun,
Upon the tree the leaf grown,
Watered by the rain in the night,
Held on close by the tree.

The leaf lived through its course,
The freezing drops made it drowsy,
The cold air got heavier day by day,
And the tree cannot hold on to the dying child.

One more gone and in the cold the tree stood,
One more winter thrust upon by nature,
The wonderful tree under which I sit,
And wonder, am I a tree or a leaf.

Okay
weekend is knocking at my door now. I love to sit idle after a hectic
couple of days. It took five days (evenings and nights) to write the
following poem. I posted some of the so called “throw away lines” as a
poem in the previous post. You may wonder what’s up with the dates. I
will make it clear here now, the poem starts in the recent past and the
rest is a look back from the future and the poem end in the future
itself. Don’t get confused.

 

The
last poem made out of the throw away lines confused some people. Don’t
take any of my poems as messages with hidden meanings. Someone accused me of doing so. They are poems, in one way I can say, works derived out of my thoughts and perspectives.
I tried to give vagueness to give the poem a universal appeal. It will
help the reader to paint the imagery in his/her own way in mind. There
are events I make up, some from real events of my life or real events
I’ve heard from others to write a poem. Most of the time it is a
mixture of reality and fantasy that were used to write a poem. Don’t
think they are specific messages to specific people. I am going to give
a serious look at most of these latest poems and posts before I do
anything about these accusations.

 

Reason For A Walk In The Freezing Rain.

 

December 21, 2005.

 

There was fog everywhere I thought,

As every image ahead, I have seen,

Into fragile colorless vapor blurred,

Oh’ late I realized,

All those images were unreal,

Abstract painting of a dream,

A dream with imaginary threads weaved,

A dream that should not have seen,

When knowing about the impossibilities,

Of the realization of my love,

Upwards my head I raised,

When from the depth of my soul I tried to erase,

A face that filled every bit of life cherished.

 

December 31 2029.

    In the cold morning winter rain I walked,

Where every corner of the concrete jungle surprised,

In the cold freezing rain, to see a human on foot.

 

A day in its own chaos born,

Dragging a lazy old sun into the life of sinful humans,

Some days I wondered when and where will end,

My murmuring soliloquy from the depths of my soul,

They will never end I know,

Even from my grave one will hear,

The whisper of my verses,

Prayers, for the love of men and women to remain,

Everlasting, even after time demise into eternity.

 

There were days when I wondered,

When will the subject of my verse change!

It will never change I know,

As every line is the celebration of my love for her.

 

On every day of cold rain I look back,

In a path, in all its inappropriateness should have walked,

But the innocence in those eyes, into my eyes brought tears.

 

She lived in me all the time,

She for every new day made me thrive,

The games of life gathered,

For yet another round of gamble,

And into my eyes she thrown,

Hundreds of kaleidoscopic images,

In each turn my soul danced in joy.

Never seen her through the eyes of lust,

As she is the fairness of every bit of love in me,

The gathering of every moment of my future,

Me, the one through the narrow key hole always looked,

And she opened the door to love and life, wide open.

 

She who polished the poet in me,

In the ever elusive nature of her,

And with the vague talks of her.

Every word of her an image,

Every image a dream of mine.

 

With every thought about her, gladness re-birthed,

Deep inside and like a winter storm spread,

Freezing every bit of sadness that danced,

Upon every vein of mine unopposed,

She, from my life erased,

Every complexity with the charm of being the blessing.

She, the one who made every dream of mine,

A prediction of a future so bright,

The light of that future kindled,

Thousands of candles in the present of mine.

 

Oh’ those candle lights through my mind spread,

And weaved the thread of that unrealistic dream,

Oh’ years passed by those predictions,

But left I all those predictions knowing,

The love so undeserving for me and unattainable,

But that light she left in my mind will remain eternally.

 

Now when wiping away the freezing rain,

From the wrinkled up forehead,

A head I always kept high,

In the middle of this crowded world,

Also wipes away unknowing to the world around,

The essence of my precious love from my eyes flowing,

To hide away those tears from the ones,

That loves me from their heart unconditionally,

The only reason through the rain I walk.

Song Update.
Here
is a song by A.R. Rahman, performed by S.P.Balasubramaniam. This is
from a movie in the language Tamil. I know this langauge a very old
Dravidian language one of the best poetic language I’ve ever heard.
A
bit of information about A.R.Rahman. He was born to a father who was a
music composer. Music was his life. His name was Dileep and even as a
kid shown amazing talent in playing Keyboards. His life changed when he
visited a Sufi shrine in Chennai, India. He converted to Islam and
accepted the name Allah Rakha Rahman, later he did music for a movie
called Roja. One song from that movie shot him to hyper fame. Now
A.R.Rahman is the most popular music director in India. His  name
is not just part of  India anymore, A.R.Rahman is the one who is
doing music for the Lord Of The Rings Musical Play.  Here is the
Wikipedia results of A.R.Rahman
This
song in the link is from his 1994 Movie ‘Duet’ I love this song for the
wonderful Saxaphone arrangement. Enjoy the music and have a wonderful
weekend. En Kadhalae

 

What wonderful things I can think about I thought. Yeah… thoughts,
they are crazy things that come to my mind. I don’t know what is going
on in my mind now-a-days. As I don’t have a computer I think a lot,
write on paper a lot psst I don’t even know what all I write.

Well… work kinda slowed down a bit as there are not much issues
popping up around. Yesterday I talked to my mom on MSN, she is still
with her sister, I got her when she briefly came home. They are all
still in a gloomy mood after the death of my uncle. Other than that
nothing much going on with my life. I don’t think this is a calm. I
hate calm times, because my life pattern clearly taught me what will
come next. Life will squeeze me into a drum and roll me down a hill.
Hehehe… now I am so used to that sort of downfall. I usually shut
myself out during the calm itself. In my best calculation, it will
start sometime in the third week of this month. What is it? …. mmmm…
I don’t know. Even if I know what it is coming… I won’t try to stop it.
Because I love my life that much.

Last week I told that you all may not see a short poem from me for
sometime. But here is one poem I wrote.  This one came out of
throw away lines. What that means is when I write a poem I usually
overwrite to break any kinda blocks. This was written while I was
writing my latest poem. That is one long poem and I am only close to
finishing the final version. Typing that in itself may take some
time.  I read this before I cut off these lines from that poem
then it came to my mind that someone may find this interesting. I don’t
think I can use this to anyone as the “love in me” is dead and I am
looking for a proper place to bury it all and take a good long walk.

Message Of Love.

 

When the sky bears the tears of earth,

With dark clouds and flashes roars,

In my sadness, your face I remember,

The face that took away every color from my eyes,

As focused on you is all my love.

 

When upon the rock walls the ocean pounds,

And all over me, the cold bubbles splashes,

Cold deep into my marrow touches,

I remember the only time your hand I held.

 

There exists no other face in my mind,

Every breath, every beat of my heart,

Every drop of my blood, every footstep I take,

Every star I see, Every song I hear,

Bear witness to my love for you,

And I will bear witness,

To the innocence and sanctity you bring,

To every corner of this globe.

 

May the touch of your soul be the measure,

Of peace of every kind in this world,

May every action of yours be,

The symbol of love cherished by every lover.

 

I love you.

 

Better late than never, haha, Happy New Year everyone. Whew… no NewYear celebrations for me because of work and death in the family that occurred a week back (there are 40 days of mourning after a death inboth Islamic and Indian local traditions).
Said that… I also did not had access to a full computer. I was using my PDA for Instant Messages and E-Mails. Thanks to the office administrator Jennifer in the hotel I am staying, I now have unrestricted access to a computer in the executive center in the hotel.  I probably won’t abuse this privilege. Though I used it to chat to a wonderful mother of a wonderful person this morning for about couple of hours. I hope everyone had a good new year celebration. I first thought I will wait till I get my laptop back before I post any poems. But as I’ve had nothing much to do other than watching the Monk marathon yesterday, I thought I will post a poem.

I have talked about this poem when I posted a poem called “The Lady Of The Woods”. This is a look into a road I myself passed. Then, when I was in the middle of it all, I was angry, frustrated and sad for many,many things. Now I look back and laugh at many things. The last year that went away was a bad one a real bad one. There were turning points when I took wrong turns. Well… may be 20 years down I will laugh at those wrong turns.

Enjoy the poem. I don’t know when I will be able to sit and read many poems and comment on your sites. Work is really tightening its grip on my neck now. I will try my best my friends, family and my darling.

The Story Teller’s Wish.

The little heart in innocence always dreams,
Imaginations in a fancy world, always feeds,
The colors to paint the perfect images,
Each one a frame in a never ending movie.

Recess in school during rainy days imprisoned,
And left kids in school room in boredom,
The chubby little fighter, who for attention craved,
From his observations and imaginations spoke,
Stories none else ever dreamt about,
The other young ones gathered around in curiosity,
Away from wet corridors and boredom,
Some into the storyteller’s imaginations fell deep,
Some where just curious onlookers,
Many just to avoid the fighter’s beatings.

One day he was Gulliver in Lilliput,
His magic challenged Mandrake in Xanadu,
Killed many pirates as the next Phantom,
Flown around in heights and speed of Superman,
So the story teller upon everyone kept his tight grip.

Years passed, the fighter got kicked out,
From school after school for his violence,
But even the worst enemies stopped and listened,
Some even encouraged the story teller in him.

School days were over and then came the college days,
Filled with girls and friends the storyteller thrived,
Hi punch on the nose and ears became legend,
Though after eighth grade he punched none.

From superheroes the storyteller evolved,
From real life events he weaved stories,
About life he lived and about life he heard,
Through the stories he learned the craft of lying,
In the best ways in which he convinced,
For every pleasure of youth, from love to lust,
From games to money and from laughs to tears.

The college days passed and the storyteller moved,
World apart from his listeners, who in their own way went,
His stories changed from lies to realities,
From his own success and failures he weaved,
Stories about the life seen, heard and felt,
Most of them only his soliloquy heard.

The essence of many he versified,
Depressing many but for escape of his conscience,
From realities that burned every inch of his unloved soul,
Where alone he wandered through lands unknown,
When in the middle of the crowd he screamed but unheard,
Where the storyteller became the story.

In his mid-life he looked back,
And wanted to write one more story,
Not with quill and ink or type into any machines,
But into the heart of the one that loves,
About the love of him that came from his soul,
No lines were ever written as his love was lost,
Somewhere in the dark shadows of his own past,
Now one last time he prepares to punch the nose and ears,
Of the shadows of his past that lingered,
And move on with the never ending search for that loving heart,
To write those unwritten lines of his own love,
Taking every bit of his own essence,
Giving every bit of his life and love, unconditionally,
A passion, a dream and a wish of that chubby little storyteller.