The Curse Of The LonelyPoet.

Long time back when I was in India, I met a girl and was very friendly
with her. We did not had any romance at all. At least that’s what I
thought. But when it came that I should go and spent sometime learning
more about writing and poetry. I told her she should find a good nice
husband after she told me that she likes me a lot. She told me that I
will live the rest of my life as the ‘LonelyPoet’.

  Said that…. Later in my life about four years later I met the
perfect girl I was looking for all my life. I called her “the blessing
of my life”. We have had a great time together. But there were a lot of
people jealous of us being together and I started hearing a lot of
stories connecting her and other guys. I wrote a poem at that time
which I shown to her and she said,” you should’ve never written a poem
like that”. In another three months things changed dramatically with me
finding her sitting behind another guys motor bike. Lot of arguments
and questioning went on and I was proven wrong that the guy in fact was
her cousin taking her to the doctor. She left me without saying much.
She is now married with four children.

  The poem I wrote is one of the poems that survived from my
writings in India. I burned everything I wrote till that time except a
diary kept during that time. It was an act to leave all memories
behind. I made some modifications to the original version which after
coming to United States I rewrote when I was in Indianapolis. Today as
I was sitting alone in the quietness of my hotel room I thought about
those events and I also thought everyone whom I like either don’t like
me or were already taken. I took the poem out of my old CD and did some
changes and added the last paragraph.
 
The Curse Of The LonelyPoet.


From the day I remember things in life,
Hazy but comforting a face in mind I saw,
For a glimpse of the real I waited,
But without a sight I outlived time.

When in life the smile of love I may see?
Don’t know the fate don’t know the secrets of the feeling,
All guesses and unfulfilled wishes,

Oh’ the winds changed its course,
Like bunches of fresh blossomed Jasmine,
In front of me you stood as the fulfillment,
Of fortunes, of blessings of heart,
You are the face of all blessings of mine, I said,
No darkness can fade your face from my mind,
The whole mankind may doubt and try
To change the course of my righteous love,
Otherwise mankind can’t be called likewise,
If they cast a doubt in my mind, I cursed,
The curse of loneliness will melt me,
In the flames of your conscience.

The course of time and crooked minds outplayed,
With my love for her in doubts of her sanctity,
And forever I lost her, the blessing of my life,
And forever I’ll live in my own curse.

To My Mo Cushle

Sam Nolte, I am sorry… this is like the fourth time I am saying this
including the comments I posted in her site. I think I accidentally
deleted a comment she left for my last post. I think I saw it today
morning but now I couldn’t find that comment. The only one who can
delete any comment is me, unless someone hacked in and deleted it.
Well… why would someone hack in and delete just that comment. Hehehe.
In all probability that was a bad accident to start with. That is what last apology is for.
  That was a wonderful comment she
left last night, though it questioned my wisdom, that comment indeed
was an eye opener. Thanks again. What it was all about was her response
to this.
“For the first time I think I am commenting on someone’s
site who is too young to read. I know my boundaries here very well I
will not cross that.”
    Sam now I know you are
not too young for anything. You are the perfect girl/lady/woman. And
above all you are my Mo Cushle. Nothing will change that, nothing can
change that. Please be sure to say at least a word for every post I
leave here it will be a wise one and if ever you are sad for any
reason, count on me I will be there for you to talk to or to lean on. I normally don’t promise anything,
when I do, I only do one kind, the good ones.
 
Now to all others, my virtual family.
 
I’d love to post another poem here but nothing looks good in another
panic Friday. Everything went south. But may be once I reach home and
stretch a bit I will be able to kiss my muse and give you all a poem.

This is a poem from my old CD. I wrote it in San Francisco, sitting
with Valentina my ex-girlfriend in the Irish Cafe at Union Square. I
saw a homeless couple sitting in front of the Starbucks nearby. I just
named it.

You all have a wonderful Weekend.

Sleeping Innocence.

Oh the little child that sleeps on the street,
Of the homeless couple that lives in the alley,
Not seeing the darkness that covered the globe,
Asleep in peace with the warmth,
Of the bosom of the her loving mom.

Sleep O’ Child; sleep in the warmth of your mom,
The world has little to offer you,
So the fate your parents living through,
But those meager things they offer,
Will let you sleep in the warmth of unconditional love,
And wake up untried,
When the mornings aren’t dark anymore.

Heaven.

Wow wee, what a day. I am getting squeezed from every corner. First of
all I added 8 pounds in the last 4 weeks all across my waist. Second,
my love, my sweet heart I think had gone extinct, haven’t heard from or
seen for a while now. Third, this work I am doing which I am supposed
to finish by January 30th got preponed to December 19th. That is one
heck of a screw up. I have to work like 14 hours a day to finish this
whole thing by that time. I will be burned out by Christmas time.

  The good part is when I really get crushed like this I write
well. So if anyone is thinking that you can see shorter poems you are
way wrong. I am planning to finish the entire Tess poems and another 7
more large poems by the end of this year. Where will I get the time?
Cut my sleep from 4 hours a day to 3. haha.
 
 I’ve heard couple of people saying that I was drunk when I posted
the pictures and called myself genetically mutated pineapple. I still
call myself that. Well it looks much bad than that now, I shaved so now
I call myself rotten bucket of mashed potatoes. But here is the truth…
I don’t drink… never touched alcohol in my life, because I am a Muslim
(a good one not the kind that explodes in markets and buses). It is
haram (illegal) for me to be intoxicated. You may call me crazy… I
won’t agree. But I may quote a line from a song. “I am not crazy… just
a little unwell”.

This poem is for My Darling.

Heaven

I woke up with a shout at myself,
“Hold on to the view in the minds eye,
There is more life in there flourishing,
Than the animation going on around.”

The mockery by time so irresistible,
The cruelty of the lucky few, unbearable,
Oh’ all vanity became insanity,
Logic and reason in another galaxy, vacationing,
Every bit of life gathering rust and mold,
And back to my sleep I fell,
With pain in my heart, piercing

Upon a piece of cloud I lay for a moment of joy,
There was a cupid flying around firing arrows,
But all of them plunged into a mud pond,
And forever buried in love’s sorrow.

Up from the cloud I saw all ways from my heart,
They all look same going on and on winding,
All of them ending back in my heart,
Empty and shallow with no foot steps seen,
Broken chains and wedges scattered around,
Life never seen any of these ways at all.

If it is a thousand times I will be given this life,
I will live again and again and try to win your heart,
And pray through every breath of mine,
To be buried at least once in your heart,
As that is the only heaven I know.

Punk

I usually don’t write at work. When I was terribly busy I took a
breather leaning back to my chair and took the pen and wrote this. To
be honest with you there is no real girl I know with these qualities.
It just came to me. May be the descriptions I’ve given resemble couple
of girls I’ve seen and heard about.

Punk.

Quitting smoking was not an easy task,
But my last cigarette I have thrown away,
To give my best to the next Date of mine.

Weeks passed by with me scatterbrained,
But not a drag of smoke I took,
And held on to the promise I made,
To that girl only my imaginations seen,
The withdrawing nicotine brought cravings,
The chaotic mind in eagerness swayed,
The first one I meet I will ask, I decided,
And with no thought in mind into the street, I walked.

The first lucky one was by the mall wall,
Pierced around the eye and lips,
Golden brown hair pointing up and down,
Low waist shot jeans with embedded metals,
Shows the silver ring in glitter on her bellybutton,  
The tattoo on her upper arm speaks,
About her unbelief in any God,
Pointed nose and ears pointed at every movement of mine
Walking towards her, I met a friend of mine,
After formal queries my friend left with a kiss on the cheek,
Then I went to the punk with a smile that said more than ‘Hi’,  
“Who is she?” asked the punk in a perplexed tone,
“A friend” was my reply in politeness,  
“Who am I?” The punk again asked philosophically,
Through an ironical laugh I said,
“If you were old enough and I was young enough,
I would’ve given a ring that need no piercing to wear”,
“Not young enough and not old enough” with a smile she said,
And crossed the street waving her hand at me.

From the nearby ashtray I picked
A still burning cigarette butt,
And walked away taking a long missed drag.

Unknown Passage.

I am busy… well that is good news but it is 1:30AM here and I am still
working on a program that needs to go out tomorrow. Crazy as hell…

Get the new Enya CD if you like her music. I love it.

 I think the picture circus to scare some kids didn’t work at all.
Thanks to all who feel what I feel in my writings than the way I look…
Believe me… I really get scared everyday morning when look in the
mirror. Well the graying beard will be gone by tomorrow as I need to do
a webcam conference with my mom in India. She hates my unshaven looks.
I will capture some shots and post it here or if you are intelligent
enough you will know how to see my webcam online.

  Enough of that, I was just commenting on another site and one
line stormed into my head, “Life feels like reading a palindrome”. Haha
I am the master of manipulation. Here is what I made of it..

Unknown Passage.

The dream did not passed me by,
But hopes seems to have left,
The soul astray in a never ending road.

Life feels like reading a palindrome,
Again and again I am reading,
Again and again understanding the same.

Waiting for a hand to guide,
Through the loveless road to a bright valley,
But the passage still remain unknown.

To Rediscover A Soul.

When asked about truth this is what I told in a comment in another site.

 “I am the ugliest, most unloved man ever lived, living. Because,
God gave me a deck of cards to play my life, none knows how to play
with those cards. The truth, simple and straight truth.”

I apologized for posting a comment like that in another persons site. But to be honest with you all. That is the truth.


Who want to be around this genetically mutated pineapple


This is what bad love can do for you.


Okay this is the best part. None want to get scared off my big belly. {hellish laughter}
Hate me everyone, for at least I’ll have that.
 
The third installment of the Tess poem is in first draft. My work kinda
pulled every plug out of me. I am really tired. But I wrote this for
those who were angry at my mile long poems. If you all think what
you’ve read or just browsed by was long then just forget my site for
the next one month. The rest of the 6 poems average 200 lines per poem.
Haha

To Rediscover A Soul.

A moment’s wish lingered,
Way past days deep inside,
Tears for the dream trashed,
The soul held unknown to oneself,
And cries away when deep asleep.

Darkness crept away when arrived,
The lazy, gloomy winter sun.
The long held silence, the alarm broke,
Shocking everything around and the weeping soul,
On to the cold dry palm out of the eye spilled a drop,
What remain, the only remains,
Through which to rediscover a soul.

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden No More

On a personal note, I am too sad for multiple reasons. I just couldn’t get my act together. Nothing worked in these last 5 days. I visited so many sites and looks like many are not happy with this holiday. I hope the next one will be far better.

On the funnier side. After playing so many Elton John songs I think my Computer had turned gay. I have to keep it always on my lap, otherwise it will shutdown, you know what it wants…haha.

I know so many of my regular visitors did not comment on the first of the eight poems. I can understand that most of you are all out there shopping and having fun. I am sorry to bring you these huge poems at this point of time. My favorites like Sam Nolte will hate me for writing such long poems. My apologies to you all who like to read short poems.

The second phase of the book “Maiden No More”, the shortest first draft I wrote of all the eight poems. There is a vast description of a field woman’s life in England in this section. I loved reading it. But when I am looking from my view into just the character those descriptions are not necessary at all. So I avoided it altogether. I may later re-write most of these poems. But for that I need completely free time with nothing to bother me. When my love goes freewheeling it is hard to get anything out. The irony is nothing is conclusive yet. What I have is disheartening silence.

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden No More

No true woman can hide,
Beneath the tyranny of manhood,
So did Tess walking miles away,
From the noble who have no soul,
Who could only ask her to open her beauty,
Without opening his heart,
So not a word of matrimony came from those lips,
As everything in the Lead sealed mind of his,
Filled with luxury, lust and inhuman aristocracy.

Oh’ the curse to mankind he can draw,
From that soul so pure,
But men lived then, now and forever are saved,
As hatred to her heart unknown.

The dawns and dusks of Marlott welcomed,
Tess back with strange colors and patterns all around,
Though her childish innocence badly wounded,
In weeks out of her seclusion she came,
To the house of God where she found,
Parishioners looking strangely and whispering,
Sick at heart with disgrace back she went into seclusion,
Under a few yards of thatch,
Winds, snow, rains, dawns, dusks and
Many full moons she watched.

Out she went once in a while after dusk,
When brightness of the day bows away to the dark,
Finding liberty in lonely woods among sleeping birds.
Though made to breach a social law,
She knew the guilt she felt washed away,
In nature’s tranquility that merged in her heart.

Rumors, mockery and disgrace,
Will never bother a woman,
Illicit or not but motherhood always perfects,
Every woman beyond any reasons man can know.
The world around her looked at change,
From virgin girl to a single mom,
And bearing pain of death of Sorrow,
She called her son that name near his death,
May be to bury what sorrow remained,
Of the lost innocence of her childhood as a child,
And to enter the world of youth as a lady,
Though the child’s soul left her astray,
Priests and society can chant,
The mockery of mankind with laws,
But a mother is always a mother,
In her duty to god as the reason,
For that soul to be on earth and back to heaven.

Oh’ Tess, you touched deep me and many,
When you kissed your child in that field,
And baptized him in the dark of night,
And buried him with a prayer in mind.

Though Tess shown the mighty will of her,
To hold life in her own way,
But world always fence life in,
Catapulted to womanhood from childhood,
The role of a field-woman she played well,
The drama of harvest was over,
Back to the house back she went,
But when status and hunger called,
Into the plight in she walked,
The beginning of life for her she thought,
As fate shown a glitter of delight,
Away from disgrace in employment.

(End Of Phase Two).

Here is a link to the second phase of the book. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden No More

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The First–The Maiden

This is a long post.

Persuasion always works with me. I am not stubborn like I used to be.But before anything I say let me thank all of you for the kind words ofencouragement in a ridiculous time. Said that… I really wish nothinghappened. As I have little or no control over it. I no longer worryabout things at all. It was a quick turn around. And it is all of you Ithank once more for the support.

   Once more I am going to specially thank Sam for thewonderful support she gave. I am forever indebted to this young girl.Her words stood out from everyone else’s, and her remarkable boldnessto support someone in dire straits amaze me once more. Thanks againSam.

   Last night I voice chatted with my mom on yahoo and I toldher I am tired. She told me something that helped me to come back here.She told me if you are tired go back to where you truly belong. Thelove of you xangans and words and the special words from Sam saying”Regardless of what you say, I will think of you…I hope that thistime works more than any.” And heartcry24 I agree with you this day ofgood eating cannot be spent on ridiculous thoughts. I thank you toohere.
 
 Ok enough rambling
  I am going to post the first installment of “Tess OfD’Urbervilles”. I called this first draft when I first posted this inLonelyPoet.Org. Now I know I am not going to make any big changes inthis. But unlike I said before it won’t be coming to you in eight days.I haven’t even started writing the last poem. I am stuck with one ofthe letters which is a heart touching one by Tess to Angel Clare. Well it may take sometime to finish the whole thing as my work isdemanding my attention big time. I am working tomorrow. So go figurehow busy I am these days.
    
  Thomas Hardy wrote novels to get money to publish his poetry.Most of his novels first came out as serials in Papers and Magazines atthat time. So his novels are heavily descriptive. I love reading it asit kinda takes one to a flight through Victorian England and thepeasant life there. But when I am taking the sequence of events fromthe novel to speak about the main character in the book, the wholedescriptiveness kinda become a stumbling block than a big help. Inother words the mastery of Thomas Hardy’s style is bound in thisdescriptiveness. Rather than trying to write the whole thing in onemonth I should’ve realistically tried to write it in six months. It isworth the effort for my satisfaction. I am sure some of you may likeit. Others may not even find much time reading it at all. The first twophases or parts I just breezed through as Hardy was just talking aboutthe circumstances than the character here.  So my first poems arecomparatively smaller ones. But from third poem onwards you can seesome of Hardy’s descriptiveness in my poems also. I may change it in myrewrite of those poems.

   So here is the first one on this wonderful “White”Thanksgiving day. I am going to go and dance outside in the snow. It issnowing here.

The world may wonder if ever these verses be found,
How many years this character of fiction swayed?
The mind of an adolescent, a youth and now a man,
How many more have been amazed at the boldness?
Of a girl, lady and a woman filled,
With hope, dreams, passion and love,
Even from the day she had known the first lessons of life.
Tess of the D’Urbervilles lived in many hearts,
Taught the lessons of her painful life,
Kept the hope of her lifetime ever green,
Seventeen years passed in my life with the urge,
To tell the world what I felt from Hardy’s tale,
Here I am breaking my silence I kept for long.

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles. Phase The First–The  Maiden.

Durbeyfield’s empty soul was filled,
By the parson who called him Sir,
And told a truth he never known to himself,
That the noble D’Urbervilles really were his ancestors.

May Day dance of the virgins filled the meadows,
The music and rhythm and the beauty of the ladies,
Every soul so pure, every step the meadow loved,
Spring time was born for this day of the dancers.

Tess Durbeyfield was no lady at that time,
Sweet sixteen upon her was knocking,
But still traces of childhood loomed,
All over her in gestures and this May Daydance,                                                                 
And her beauty to which nature blended in pride,
The evening golden light held on to her,
Like a parasite that will die if parted from the host.

The onlookers watched in amazement,
Of this beauty of nature in rarity seen,
Among them were the tourists on foot,
Who watched the dancers as if in a dream,
The wanderers never thought of the dance,
But sight and monotony of the walk
And the power of youth flushing from heart,
Led Angel Clare to dance,
On the meadow as a partner for each of them.

Tess never thought of any man,
But youth also have a price to pay,
The inevitability of the passion of love,
In that moment’s wish of his hand.

Angel left without a word nor danced with her,
Pride and embarrassment too played their roles,
Her father’s mockery of her family,
Boasting about the dead noble ancestors in Leads,
With a belly filled with fresh brewed ale.

Durbeyfield’s celebration of his nobility,
Went late into the night,
Drunk to the marrow he failed to stand straight,
And poor Tess and young Abby took the goods,
To reach the market by morn,
On a horse cart late at night they started.

The night ride after the tiring day,
Knowing new about the D’Urberville ancestry
The mind of the young lady’s in dream,
For that knight, covered with the night,
Killed the horse she called prince,
For fate to start his role in her life.

Family always made the English  proud,
The same fact that led Tess to the Stokes,
In her thought that they were true D’Urbervilles,
But they were nothing but new rich folks,
With no real noble ancestry.

Alexander the Stoke she met in Trantridge,
Who looked at her as if in love,
Alec knew nothing about love,
In the lavish life style of his,
Money and the power of wealth,
Charm and the feel of lust,
All covered this man from head to toe.

Employment at the age of sixteen,
When she should’ve been singing,
Along with the birds on the meadow,
That was left empty,
As to the caged birds whistled she.

Alec is no guardian of anyone,
And the guardian angels slept,
When the innocence of a virgin was ravaged,
Blown with the fog and left her to unknown ruins,
A simple act of lust of the wealthy,
The total mockery of womanhood,
Oh’ life sometime sure is unjust,
That was a moment in history and fiction,
I always wished never done, written or said.

(End Of Phase One)

You post your comments here or email me your opinions if you cannotpost it here or IM me on yahoo. I’d love to here what some of you thinkabout this.

If you are interested in reading the book  here is a link where you can read it. ‘Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-A Pure Woman’ This is the text I followed.

Happy Thanksgiving again.

A Frustrated Mind

When events go unexplained. I “WILL” not confuse my mind. I usually shut it down until I find an explanation.

Life Is Complicated When One Act Bad And Think About It. Life Is Simple And Easy When One Think Right And Act Upon It.
LonelyPoet.

I am stressed out, depressed or purely insane whatever you may call it
over silence. Don’t think about me. Enjoy this wonderful day to the
fullest. And forgive me for gone from  here with my  verse until I figure out what to do next.

Out Of My Mind.

{Update. I once more put on hold “Tess Of D’Urbervilles”. There is too
much going on. There is a happy part, confusion and a bit of chaos.
Forgive me everyone. I need a breather that’s all. I updated
LonelyPoet.Org blog. For you all I will post some more short poems
shortly”.}

“A poem I wrote when I was sitting alone in my room
watching the nature outside through the window. This poem was written
while I was in Florida, though I personalized it, actually it was about
Milwaukee I wrote that poem.”
 
 That was the original
comment I left for the poem when I first posted it in FortuneCity.Com.
Yes, I remember my roommate  at that time, Cecil Mathew, called me
and told what’s going on in Milwaukee. I told him that I love that
place and Wisconsin. He asked me to write a poem. I wrote a poem and
two years later I changed the whole poem giving it a human touch.
Today, though I sucked big time at work with blowing up deadlines. I
thought about Wisconsin. There is a reason. So I thought this old poem
of mine from LonelyPoet.Com is something my Xangans may love to read.

Listening To Silence.

Here I am sitting near my window,
Listening to the silence around,
But the summer winds brings to me,
The clinging of the leaves around,
And the squeaking of the little birds,
When I close my eyes in stillness,
I could hear the beat of my heart,
It’s steady but unusually fast,
But I feel nothing unusual,
When I opened my eyes and listened,
I feel my heart is steady,
But still I hear the fast beating,
It’s not one beat I heard, but two,
One of mine, another, my sweetheart’s,
Living far away,
But her heart, beating with mine.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM.
This poem was written in Ft-Lauderdale, FL. It was first released on
the web in the Fortune City Home Of The LonelyPoet. It was later moved
to LonelyPoet.Com.

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