Month: June 2006

A week in one way I look back was all uneventful, in anotherway when I look, there were so many things that happened I just wish all thoseimages were erased from my mind. I am a poet, I don’t write directly, I try todepict what I feel through images indirectly to people, those people whounderstands my writings understands me well. The same applies in my day to daylife. I speak and behave in the same way. Everything I do have a meaning beyondwhat it seems and everything I speak also means more than mere words. Theproblem is it is just not common for people to be that way. To say it in thebest way directly… things are lost in translation, or is it possible that thosewho understands don’t respond at all. There are a lot of both in my life. Iwrote about it. One of those writing is what you can find below.
        This weekendis far from over.

Looking BeyondStars.

The orange illusion of the mid June morn erased,
By the red sun who rolled up with blazing heat.

Oh’ to the sunlight he spoke,
“Why you hide all my lucky stars?
Those little twinkling wonders far,
Why blind every loving eye from mine?
And leave me in eternal torment day after day.
Oh’ wrong I am in telling about every eye,
As only a couple I really wanted to see you shine,
But upon her face you mean nothing more than vibgyor
Oh’ when you shatter upon that face and merge in her love,
Will you leave in her heart the echo of the cry of my love?
Which she never hear or understand.”

He walked through the day with glimmers of hope,
Sweating, gathering sunburn and tired,
The sun painted back the orange illusion,
As out of horizon he bowed,
The scattered clouds stayed still watching,
The magnificence of the sun burning out,
And as a red ball disappeared from every eye.

Venus, Jupiter and Saturn in fierce competition showed,
Those far away planets, astrologers in math see day and night,
About planets, stars and galaxies he cares not,
Still at them he looked as all earthly knowledge he knows worked not,
In conveying his liking for the girl he loved,
He knows there is no life in those heavenly objects he see,
In all probability he is looking far beyond those stars in prayers,
As she is the only blessing from heaven he seeks.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM

If I say I don’t know why I wrote this poem it is a lie. Well…Tuesday night I was standing outside the hotel smoking and talking withJennifer. After she left I still stood there looking at Jupiter in all its brightness.Then I looked back at the door through which I saw the beautiful Jenniferlooking through the door. That’s all. Mmm. That may raise a lot of questions. Thereality is there are no questions and there are no answers.

A Glow By The Door.

The air around her by the rain wrapped,
By the door she squeezed her back and stood,
Watching the summer rain cooling the land,
Trees, birds and other lives around.

What in her mind she think a wonder remains,
With a smile, her lips and face blossomed,
Lucky are you the drops upon her hands fell,
Uncaring she stood smiling more,
Still raindrops in competition cling on to her.

The dark clouds in silence darkened the air,
Beating the might of the summer sun with a cool breeze,
Thunders stayed back and watched the beauty from far,
Lightings know they are no match for the glow of her youth,
Still she by the light from within glowed.

Is this a passing shot that I see? So close yet so far I feel,
Do I have to scream, beating the tune of the rain?
Will it all take away the smile from her face in sway?
Of her heart in any confusion, I may bring.
Oh’ the confusions in me, does anyone know?

In the thoughts and puzzles, mind and body paused,
There is life here that can bless me with changes unknown,
The liked ones with love for her I will adore,
The disliked ones with love from her in sacrifice I will enjoy.
Sometime life need more than rain and warmth to blossom,
If this seed’s fate is forever to be buried,
Then there are roads to every corner of the world,
For me to walk far, far away continuing,
This vagabond life forever,
With the glow by the door in my mind.

© RIAZAHAMMED.COM

Life many a time feels like a bed of thorns. Whichever wayone falls it hurts. So it is always better to walk a thin line making sure notto fall. As for me I am alone so I got to be more careful not to fall, as thereisn’t a hand to stretch to get me back up. A fall means it is all over.

Just some blabbering that’s all.

Well… it was and is a tough day. Deep inside it really hurtsafter I blocked someone out of my Xanga. I remember a dialogue from “Tess OfThe D’Urbervilles” “All is wrong with the world….”

I finished the following poem yesterday. I wrote part of itlast week, but never thought it will come out this way. I asked some peoplehere in the hotel to join me for the weekend and promised that I will take careof all drinks and anything else they need. By Friday I know one of them isgoing on a camping trip and I met her on the weekend and requested her to stayback as the weather is windy and cloudy.

She told me “I thought you were telling it just for fun, Inever took it seriously” She left.

Another guy, the boyfriend of her colleague did not showedup at all. I was left alone and I went out for “The Omen”. Early Sunday morningI started writing this poem using the notes I wrote earlier last week. Eventhough she said, she will join me on another weekend… I felt bad, really badand thought mmm may be I should have just planned to be alone than invitingthese folks to join me. May be it is always good to be alone and be at my owncommand than depending on other people’s mockery. May be, I should justdisappear and relax away from it all forever.

Self doubt mmm that’s the result of the weekend and I amjust living it, even though I hate myself being in this situation.

Sorrow Of TheSolitaire Player.

The digital illusion with zeroes and ones made,
Through the depths of networks, virtual and real,
Boundaries of all kinds vanish,
When zeroes and ones in gazillions fly.

Oh’ minds spoke free through the virtual life,
Images, videos and sound at light speed move,
And minds in wonder thrive and some in peril lost.
From the best knowledge to the worst criminal,
All through the virtual world roam.

Oh’ he in front of the boxed magnificence sat,
Learning more of the world through the digital magic,
Wrote everything in his mind conceived,
Though upon the virtual world about the real feelings he wrote,
All into the digital oblivion lost.

Oh’ in his real life for all he wished a hypocrite he is not,
And not a manipulative mind he got,
Many thoughts of his no mind understood,
And between fantasy and reality he fought,
For the survival of his own mind from being lost.

When real minds took his words as fancy thoughts,
Oh’ sorrow upon him tightened her grip,
What more he can wish he know not,
And buried his words meant to convey,
The feelings for her, deep in his mind he felt.

Oh’ the digital magnificence in the box does,
What exactly it is told to do,
And disconnected from his own mind,
He just felt pity for his own romantic demise,
And the game of solitaire once more opened,
To play from a deck of cards and a game he know not,
Still played, to keep the light upon the soul he felt,
Far deeper than imaginations ever can conceive.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM

Written out of a note written during a flight from Kansas City to Albany when I visited my brother early this year.

  I don’t know how many noticed, one cannot comment on my poems in Xanga anymore. All these poems are in LonelyPoet.Com. That’s where I truly belongs. Now anyone who needs a comment in their site from me must comment in LonelyPoet.Com. I think I told a while back “If you want me come and get me. If you don’t want me, I don’t want you either”.  There are no exceptions in this. If you are commenting in LonelyPoet.Com please remember to post with your Xanga ID so that I will know where to comment.

A Wintry MorningFlight.

Through wilderness of winter sky flying,
So wonderful to see the ever covering clouds beneath,
But the blazing sun moving back fast,
As if in fear of the aging plane.
People of all kinds sitting beside,
Some sleep, some acting asleep,
Most lost in the digital wilderness of computer lost.

Far below, unending towns and fields I see,
They all mean something to many,
But from a handful of miles above, none I see.
Where are the science gurus who challenge?
Everything their blinded senses don’t understand.
Where are those who discriminate?
On color, culture and beliefs.
Where are those who scream in the power of money?
Where are those who terrorize in name of God?
Where are those who live in the passions of lust?
Where are those who roll up their hands in politics?
They are all down there mastering their crafts,
Dividing people and caging in boundaries imaginary,
Upon man made maps drawn, from up here I don’t see,
And in the manipulations of men and passions of lusty women,
The world I live, down there smaller and smaller degenerate.

No longer I could look down,
I looked up and in my mind said,
“Oh God I could feel your creations down there,
I am flying in the construction of your best creation,
Oh’ I feel your hands around me in protection,
And the presence of the ever forgiving,
And all knowing you the merciful,
In the mind of all who believe and live,
And all who are confused in disbelief,
Of the short span of time given,
Time defined and redefined by many as life,
Upon you may laugh as we perish and our souls you cherish.”

My eyes I opened and down through the window I looked,
The great mother Earth up comes fast,
But when the illusion is gone I know the plane touched down,
Oh’ I wish I were flying always at times,
But when thinking of the lovely eyes,
And loving heart of that girl, waiting,
Thanked God once more for getting me safe to her,
And rushed to her hands with heart filled with joy.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM

 A while back I told in Xanga that I am writing a poem called“Nympho Maniac”. I only wrote the first draft at that time and stopped goingahead with it. I don’t know why, I just did not felt like writing the finalversion. Today, during break time at work I thought of this poem and took acopy of it and re-wrote the poem.
  I am also working oncouple of other poems. I probably will post them before I go on vacation onJune 30^th. It is that time of the year when I get back to my hometown. Milwaukee, WI. Five days of parties and fun. Last yearI planned to go but job, money and all sorts of trouble came together. Thisyear everything seems okay on the surface and I am getting better and better inwalking over the water.

Nympho Maniac.

<>Craved for attention of the masses,
She looked at her own looks and admired,
The kindness nature shown with prettiness.

Even from the teenage years when everyone praised,
Beauty with words unheard to that little mind,
Then the spoiler came from inside joining the masses,
Killed the innocence with lusty men,
First, it was a fun that passed through every vein,
Then it became a passion she thrived for,
Then an addiction she could never get rid off.

Nights and days passed unnoticed,
To every man she was a passion,
Every man for her, a necessity.

For every roll of smoke she blown,
And every peg of alcohol she drank,
For every man who adored her,
There was a reason for her, to forget.

Oh’ she will never forget that face,
A face from the crowd came,
Little he spoke about him,
But in curiosity adored her every move,
In those early teenage years spell bound her,
Her beauty with words he praised,
Her mind with her words he learned,
But her every bit with the hunger of a wolf he craved,
And thrown her into the addiction of sex.

No love she dreamt came from him,
Lured her into every acts unspeakable,
Sex, drugs and alcohol cursed them everyday,
A curse she never in her lifetime understood,
Then he opened her to every man he knew,
Still she in the depth of heart kept love she wished,
None came from him and left he one night, unnoticed.

Tears and pain took turns to adore her,
Then nothing but vengeance she felt,
Upon her own beauty that killed her innocence,
That which she adored and let others adore,
That which she used, to enjoy every man in every act.

Time and age through her life rolled,
Then behind wrinkles and grey hair faded away,
The beauty that kept every eye and hand upon her.

No man will touch her but she craved,
No drug or alcohol will keep her high,
But as much as she can she consumed,
Her past she never remembered,
As her own acts as a dark cloud covered,
Except the little glow she kept in her heart,
That gave her eyes a little glow,
And gave her a little warmth one last time,
Before her last breath she took, unknown,
To her own heart that left her astray,
In dreams that slowly faded, leaving,
Eternal darkness in her impure material life.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM

 In1990, I met a guy called Patrick who was a friend of my older brother.A very lean man, he taught me something which I don’t often use thesedays. Palmistry. He is a good story teller also. His stories most ofthe time have bit of sex humor, which made it very interesting for meand my brothers and cousins to talk to this man. Anyway, yesterdaywhile sitting in the office waiting for a project plan I remembered astory told by him. As I am not at all good in writing prose (which youcan see in Sajuashan.Net.Ru) I decided I will give it a good shot atwriting a poem with that story as the subject.

 Hereis the poem. I kept the name of the place and characters as told byPatrick so it will be a bit difficult for you all to read those namesand places. Please excuse me for that.

  

 

The Sex Maniacs Of Cheppad Village.

 

From the life and world he know he ran,

Into the wild, wild world North and East,

Fighting war in the Indo-China border land,

Killing and fighting with his tooth and nail.

Motherland lost the war so did his right arm he lost,

And with pain and lost mind back to his village came,

With many unfulfilled fantasies of his past.

 

The village of Cheppad with ponds, streams,

And greenery filled and to flower them all,

Pretty, pretty country maidens wandered free.

 

The village and all the people in admiration looked,

At the man who for his motherland sacrificed his arm,

Some seen a hero, some with pity, but all viewed,

The man as a model for the uneventful village,

But none saw the maniac sitting deep inside.

 

Ittan spared no maiden to walk free anymore,

His left arm grew stronger and stronger as days passed,

And a one handed war hero with a gun none dared to question.

Dawn or dusk, day or night Ittan fulfilled his fantasies,

Some with fear of life, some for the power of money,

In the years passed the womanhood of Cheppad,

Fell pray to his brutal play.

 

Then on a midsummer morning to the village came,

Upon a bullock-cart the fairest of the fairest,

But big and strong both with hands and words,

In the mid thirties Gouri Akkan literally the terror of men,

She conquered the east of the village,

With money and her will to rule,

Leased land and made men work for free,

She used men to fulfill her fantasy,

And roamed around the country upon her white bullock-cart.

Men hide away from her eyesight,

And woman walked free in her side of the village.

 

Months passed and second harvest was done,

The southeastern monsoon thundered,

Upon this small village of sex terror,

The ponds filled and the streams swelled,

But not even the worst of Nature bothered,

The sex maniacs of the village of Cheppad.

 

On a fateful evening Ittan was on his way to hunt,

And Gouri Akkan on her way back from Temple,

Both faced each other around the narrow way,

By the side of the knee high flowing stream,

Both had to give way to the other, for them to pass,

Gouri thought what a one handed man could do.

Ittan knows this is only chance he will ever get,

Ittan grabbed and pulled her close to his chest,

And she struggled and shouted with all her might,

The balancing and counter balancing struggle,

And into the knee-high stream they both fell,

All the men ran away hearing the shouts of her,

All the women ran away hearing the shouts of him,

Still Ittan held on his grip around Gouri,

As he knows loosening the grip will end his life.

Then the eight corners of the village shivered,

In this shout from Ittan’s mouth,

“Is there a son of bitch out there who can unbuckle my pants?”

 

What all happened afterwards, no one knows,

But the shouts went on for some more time,

And darkness crept in with the evening rain,

And Cheppad heard only the thunders of Nature’s fury.

 

The whole village woke up next morning to see,

Gouri Akkan with her head bowed, leaving,

Upon her white bullock-cart to the south.

Far away from village the rest of his life,

Ittan stayed home seldom seen outside,

And the men and women of Cheppad lived,

The rest of their lives with peace of mind.

 

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM

Yeah, it is raining here in Albany, NY. I don’t even have a movie towatch and all the new poem ideas are stalled for the moment, as I amgoing to make a change. It is a quick turnaround. mmmmm that’s all Iwill say and you all will know haha.

Understanding…. deep understanding…. it is saintly…. no talent can master that….
Misunderstanding…. no talent necessary… only ignorance will do… and most are real masters of that….
Those who understands and act as if they are ignorant of it or did notunderstood…. no matter who they are and what they’ve got will end upbeing losers.

The above said is 100% pure truth learned from nearly 9 years of nomadiclife. If you think I am stupid then you know what group you trulybelong. haha

This is a poem I wrote couple of weeks back. I did not posted this inLonelyPoet.Com, I only printed this out and gave it to a favorite girlof mine, Jennifer. She is this wonderful person and a poet who works inthe hotel I live. We’ve have had party on Monday here in the hotel witha couple and couple of others, Jennifer and Amanda another girl whoworks here. Amanda made some great steaks and got a lot of beer. Ijoined the party later with my Sobe Nirvana drink ( I don’t drinkalcoholic drinks) and bought cigarettes. It was a lot of fun with theparty going late into the night. I don’t know why,  at that time Iremembered this poem and realized that I did not posted this poem inany of my sites. It took couple of days for me to find it as it wasdeleted from my computer at work but was copied into a USB drive. Sohere we are folks though written way earlier, my poem for this day, awarm and humid day that ended with thunderstorms. 
 <>

My Hatred And FearOf Silence.

The further side of the town to the west,
Arabian sea roared with all her fury,
The hospital was small but well equipped,
A mother to be, in pain listened,
To the crashing of the waves upon the rocky sea walls.

The labor was long and hard, still the baby never came,
He held on, in the end doctors with a vacuum pulled him out,
The vacuum broke and safe he was and the mother,
Still the stubborn new born kept his silence,
The doctors and nurses all in surprise but cared,
Minutes went by and after listening to the roaring sea,
For twenty long minutes all around he listened,
From just the heart beat of a mom to the wilderness of the world,
Then he screamed and screamed and screamed all night.
 
Now I know why silence around me I hate,
As silence of mine is not what my mother first wished,
And even through my childhood, adolescent and youthful days,
When I screamed, shouted aloud and in high volume music I played,
The ever patient mother never said a word,
And I know she still don’t wish a bit of silence from me.