I am a bit crazy here, my work is ending in couple of days. Tomorrow I am going to New York for an interview. Uncertainty  is
a monster I hate big time. But that is one monster that is haunting me
for sometime now. Oh now I wonder how much I loved that monster in my
younger days.

 There are a lot of things to
write but I am hitting zyphyr (a word I use for nothingness) where are
all these events leading me to. I usually feel a pattern in it all now
I just don’t understand. May be my senses are shutting down to zyphyr.

May be there is another time I realize, I am a phoenix.

This is a poem I wrote when someone I
was chatting with asked me what sort of husband I may become. Now I
wonder, Why the hell did I wrote this poem. May be because this is the
true me.

 

To My Bride.

I loved to see her as my bride,
And there she is standing,
With pride as my bride.
On this wedding day I promise you dear,
That the rest of my life remains just for you.
By the planets, stars and galaxies, I swear,
To carry you in my hands,
In the difficult paths of our life.
By the light of the day, I swear,
To make you the guiding ray of our life.
Until water dries away from oceans,
And the blue sky becomes dark and remain dark forever,
We know love will remain,
By the generations to come, I swear,
My love for you will fill the vacuum,
After all perishes away.
By the love you gave, I swear,
To preserve the sanctity of the individual in you.
Even if the unimaginable happens and takes you away,
I swear, rest of my life, I will live alone,
Until my soul meets yours.
By this wedding day, I swear,
To preserve the happiness of yours.
And by the happiness of this day,
We remember forever, I swear,
To perish away than change my words.

 ©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. This poem was released in LonelyPoet.Com early spring 1999.

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I feel lazy and crazy and dizzy. I am totally
disconnected from reality. Well that is good for me as reality is stuck
some where I don’t even know. I don’t care or I just can’t care. As we
little souls care about me I don’t need to worry about explaining to
them what my life is like. This is a stale period. From my experience
with my life the stale scenario will end with me going down, down and
down. But I will get up and get back at least a step ahead of where I
am right now. To put it in another way I hate status-quo I always look
forward to change. I don’t even dream about the same lady everyday
these days. Mmm I don’t even dream about any lady at all. Love can
freeze one or throw one into a frozen plateau. Or Love can throw you up
into a never ending flight.

Enough sarcasm for today. There are a
lot of good things happening to a lot of people like me I am happy for
them. From my pervious post I heard some people saying that don’t pray
to God. Well that’s all I do regularly. I am a believer but don’t
misunderstand me as if I am forcing this on anyone. I just said what I
believe. If you don’t I still consider you as my friend. That’s the way
I lived all my life with friends from every belief, cast, color, class
and culture.

 First Words.

When around me I looked,
What I found was darkness.
When in the bright light I looked,
What I saw was emptiness.
When into my own heart I look,,
What I see, hear and find is,
The slow merger of senses,
And into the darkness and emptiness,
Filled in the love of mine to you,
Everything I found meaningless,
Became precious with life,
As everything is filled with you,
Somewhere in you remains the glory of my passions,
And to that passions I say,
Live another day for my love to murmur,
A word or two about her love for me.
And to the lost days I say,
The meanings of you all will be found,
In those first words of her love for me.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. This poem was released in LonelyPoet.Com in the fall of 1999.

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Life will suck
people deep in when one don’t think right and act well. That is what I
can say about these days. But my long experience with life had shown me
a lot of these things. From hearing about the cancer of a 4 year old to
not hearing about my next job my days tried to suck me in deep. But the
obesity of experience let me crawl out to day light.

But it is freaking hot here. Second day in a row in the 90s. God I hate summer. I need the powdery white monster. A lot of it.

I don’t watch
T.V. news. All the news channels are filled with one name Dennis. I can
understand the people who are running away from it. But what is the fun
of these weather reporters running into it. They struggle in rain, high
winds without good food and shelter. All this for what? A reality show?
Boy people around me are obsessed with reality shows.

I watched the
movie The Forgotten, it was not a super hit movie. I loved the theme.
And Julian Moore the one woman who is pretty even if you throw dirt on
her face. My hats of to her for the wonderful performance.

In the state I am from in India
there is a legendary belief of a bird they all call “Vezhambal”. That
bird is believed to have a hole in the beak. So the bird cannot drink
water or eat other food. The bird survives only with rain water as when
it rains the bird keeps the beaks open upwards and drink water.

Well that bird
at least knows what it is the bird is waiting for. For me I really
don’t know what I am waiting for. There are so much confusion in my
life. I am sterile now. I don’t feel it or just don’t want to feel it.
So I am comfortable, happy and cheerful, except when I think about
love. Then with all my spirituality I pray and pray and pray to God to
make me a better lover. But every time I pray I always forget to pray
to God to give me a lover.

Here is a poem I wrote a while back and posted in LonelyPoet.Com.

MyPrayers.

You the one I love and care,
You the one that gives me hope and dreams,
God might have created thousands of flowers,
When your face was created,
God might have created hundreds of singing birds,
At the time of your birth,
It might be their prayers,
That gave me your love,
You hold me with your love,
Like a shell keeps the pearl.
Thank you ‘Oh you the beneficent king’,
Who filled her heart with love for me,
Who filled my heart with love for her,
Thank you ‘Oh you the beneficent king’,
Who made her heart so precious for me,
Who made my heart so precious for her,
Hey you, the one I owe my life,
Let me take your hands and pray,
For being with you in the life after death.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. This poem was released in LonelyPoet.Com in the spring of 1999.

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   Today
not much happening other than couple of interviewers calling me at work
and me running out of office to take those calls. Just hanging in here.
I can’t speak a lot as my throat is really sore. I don’t know why my
throat went bad all of a sudden.
     It is
really really sad and horrific what happened in London. My heartfelt
prayers goes to all those who died in the explosions and those injured.
I hope there will be no more death among  the injured. This once
again tells us that there are a lot of evil people in the world who
don’t understand the values of humanity. It is peace and prosperity
that they hate. The spread of peace and prosperity all around the world
can be used as one of the means to defeat them. But there are times
when eye for an eye is the only option. I fear we are nearing to that
only option.

 Here is an old poem.

 This is a poem I wrote some day in June 1998.  It was originally named ‘About My Megan’ I named it like that just to piss off Megan’s boyfriend.  Now Megan is a poet I met in an unusual place. She was a stripper working in a Milwaukee
downtown strip club. After talking to her couple of times I found out
she is just not bluffing with me she is a wonderful writer. She had a
lot of personal problems some of the stuff she told me. It was just a
friendly relationship and her boyfriend had a lot of other suspicions
about the whole friendship. I wrote this poem and gave it to Megan
during a lunch I’ve given to before I left
Milwaukee.
The original I know is destroyed by her boyfriend after seeing the
title. I only laughed as I know she meant nothing to me and I meant
nothing to her.  One thing is sure; she is one of best writers I’ve seen in my life.

 About Megan.

Buried deep in the heart,
The feeling of anguish to life,
From the mother’s womb thrown out,
Into a life she tried to end,
At an age when everyone else,
Thought about nothing but the future.

Life is never harsh,
But attitudes make life harsh.
So many near, but all selfish minds,
Buried herself within her,
From those haunting past days.

Opened her everything to everyone,
But not that pure soul,
It lives somewhere deep, still pure,
Even when life took the deep plunge,
Dragging her to the wrong place,
Dissolving in her own wrong,
Earns her living from sex scavengers.

Don’t know who am I?
May be the onlooker who is
So helpless, so sad,
When watching a good soul dance,
As a good scavenger.

 ©RIAZAHAMMED.COM.

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Today, independence
day, I am coming to an end of the so called “me” time. I am fine well
relaxed, may be over relaxed. I did not wrote a lot. I made a pdf
document with all my poems in it. 81 poems, filled in 88 pages, mmm I
need a lot more a good start and good end. The conflict is already
there. If you all get time visit LonelyPoet.Com and read all my poems
then you will understand what I am talking about. But I know you all
are busy people who don’t even get time to read your own email, yada
yada yada. That’s alright.

I’ve seen a lot of great
writers in xanga, I hope they all hold themselves up and publish their
works it will be a great contribution to literature. Just never give
up.

This is a good day, a lot
of celebrations going on around. I am not going out anywhere I want to
talk to my mom, last time I talked to her who is in India she said she
have stomach pain and docs are going to scan her for kidney stones or
gallbladder stones. I am going to sit and watch Monk all evening in USA
network. I love that show. But that doesn’t mean I am going to leave
you all just read a boring post from me. Here is a little poem I wrote
in the spring on 1999.

This is a note I left on top of the post I made in my site when I first released it in LonelyPoet.Com in the spring of 1999.

A
poem written with a lot of thoughts about the moment I am going to hear
the words of love of my sweet heart. Those first words of love from her
sure will inspire another hundred poems.”

The
one I loved or I thought who is going to love me the rest of her life
did not said anything to me. So I stopped after about 26 poems. You
know now what is the conflict I was talking about earlier in this post.
There are a lot of unspoken things about that conflict. I will speak in
my verse, but I will never say anything about the identity of that
person. I still have a lot of respect for her.

Here is the poem.


My Love And Life.

In this world we live and die,
A world that’s beautiful to every eye,
A world in which great men and women were born,
A world that bares the ugliest cruelty,
A world that had seen great wars,
A world that had seen great famines,
A world that had seen heroes triumph,
A world that had seen great romances prevail and fail,
To that great and beautiful world,
When you held my hands and told,
I am the only one in your life,
When you closed your eyes and told,
You love me with your heart and soul,
I felt the whole universe dissolve in me,
The whole nature bowed before me,
I heard the birds sing for me,
I saw oceans becoming calm to hear me.
Oh My Dear,
With the faith that made a saint,
With the skill and knowledge that made a genius,
With the opportunity that made a man great,
I return my love and life to you.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM.

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p.s. I changed the song.

These are dull
days; most of the people are waiting for weekend. I am also waiting to
shut myself up somewhere. The busy days at work are almost over. The
project I am working on will start to wind down starting next month.
Stability is a myth in my life. But in another way I enjoy uncertainty.

 The
following is a poem I wrote in 1999 and was posted in LonelyPoet.Com.
Even at that time I know it is not a complete poem as a part which I
said and wrote by my ex-girlfriend in a pad was missing.  Yesterday when I was unpacking one of my old boxes I found that pad.  I
was thrilled to find those lines I spoke and later written by my then
girlfriend, Jessica. I modified the original poem and added those
lines.

Thanks
everyone who supports me through those wonderful comments. Before
ending I have to do this. My hearty condolences to the family of Capt.
Brad D. Squires who died in a road side bomb attack in
Iraq. I never knew him personally but through the tearful words of Kelly Miller now I know he is the man of the moment.

Here is the poem.

Real Love.

From the moment I understood the first words of care,
From that great loving mother of mine,
I thrust my faith on knowledge,
So lucky I was, getting it all, from all,
The true stories, the fictions and the life around.
I read, I wrote and I thought I felt,
Love from many, around me, some far away,
All left me without glimpsing the loving heart,
The ever loving mother still prays for me.

Pen never stopped scribbling,
When life extended to the other side of world,
I extended that life into verse,
But none of my verse shown light,
To the lover in me, who left me in dark,
But the looks and words of that strange girl,
Shown light to the lover in me, back to me.

 Into her ear I whispered my verse
“There is light everywhere filling the day,
Though not so bright still showing the night,
Day will fade into the dark of the night,
And night into the brightness of the day,
But the light you filled in my heart,
Will brighten my soul night and day,
And will show the path for our love to eternity.”

From her sleep my voice woke her,
And she beat my verse with these lines.
”Read all your poems again and again,
Loved them all, but found them as reflections of you,
I love the real poem god had written,
The poem I love most, which is you.”

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM.

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The following is a
poem I wrote in January. I did posted this poem in couple of poetry
forums that was before I made my site into a forum format using
Invision Power Board software. The responses I got there were very
encouraging. As this poem was written about a real person I really kept
it away and tried to delete it from most of the places. I really don’t
know why? But now I think you all may like it.

 This was written about someone whom I’ve seen going in the wrong path.

 Jennifer.

With every stroke of pen panning over the white sheet,
I started the construction of your image in my verse,
You delighted the passion of a generation,
Little the world know about the passion in your heart,
They all crumbled into lust,
Some only wished to touch your hand;
Some went away with just a kiss.

Your beauty is like a never ending summer evening,
I always looked from far,
Love never passed through my heart,
None of the lusty passions either,
But observed the human who tirelessly made,
Everyone happy who never cared about the happiness,
Of a heart that enjoyed the happiness it poured.

Now walking away from the graveyard,
Where none came to your funeral but me,
And the near frozen drops of rain,
Where no priest uttered you name in full,
No tombstone, no epitaph,
The look in the face of the priest told,
The sins  your life adorned.

In my walk nothing I remembered,
No questions in my mind,
But a feeling as a voice
echoed,
In the pouring rain that danced in the joy,
Of your life filled with the joy of giving,
And sang about my admiration,
About a girl and then a woman named Jennifer.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM.

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I am hitting blanks here. Iam not blocked, I wrote things but I myself didn’t liked them or I just did notfinished them. Like many of you said I need some “me” time. And the bully timeruns away after goring me from back. I am not going anywhere during the July 4thlong weekend. Probably that will be the time I will date myself (LOL).

Here is something I wrote along time back to put in my lonelypoet.org website. Some of you who visitedthat site might’ve read this already. This is my view and way of writing.

Enjoy.

 Writing Free Verse.

 I write my expressions infree verse. That is the best way I can describe my writing. As it was a journeyalone, most of what I learned was self taught, with guidance from books andmany times the works of other writers. I won’t advice anyone to take that pathas I know very well how gruesome that path was for me and how much of struggleI needed to go through. It is always nice to find the nearest poetry group andattend their weekly or monthly poetry workshops. The rewards are far betterthan thinking about a line, a phrase or just an image that you’ve got andtrying to elaborate on that all by yourself. Most of the time it helps to sharethe idea with someone thinking in the same way or someone engaged in doing whatyou are doing.

Now what is free verse? Well if anyone can define it in a paragraph or a bookthen it will lose the “free” part of it. That raises another question. Can itbe called poetry if someone writes with no specific rhythm or rhyme? In myopinion, first of all, an understanding of what is poetry, what kind of toolsare used to compose poetry is very important before starting to attempt toexpress what you see, hear and feel as poetry. In my case all my attempts towrite better led me to be a better reader than I was when I started to read.Poets read poem differently than non-poets. It is true as most of the poets gothrough the poem and first take out the essence of the poem and then try tograsp the structure, rhythm, and then possibly if it is there the actual rhymepattern of the poem. These tools are not often used in free verse. But even infree verse there is rhythm, and to understand the rhythm it is always nice totry to write a parody of the poem of interest. I always try that even though Ilaughed at myself after reading those parodies, it helps to understand thetools the poet used to express what the poet actually felt in the form ofverse.

In my view poetry or the stuff needed to write poetry exists in almost everywhere, it is better to go to an old book shop and buy some poetry anthologies.Anthologies are always better as it will be having poems written by differentwriters and the person who compiled the anthology might have compiled itaccording to subject. If you look at the different subjects you can find thatpoems are written in subject you might not have even imagined. Reading a poemfrom each subject will sets of hundreds of triggers in your brain to write somelike the poems you just read.

Now coming to the preparation, I am not going to tell what you should do. Manypeople have a lot of bad habits, like buying new writing pads, pens, cleaningup the whole place before you sit, keeping some food, coffee, or alcoholaround. I think these are all distractions, but if you are comfortable withsomething just go ahead and get it around. I just don’t do anything, I sit andtake anything I can write and start writing, as I consider that is the mostimportant part of the whole process.

Never shy before others if you feel like writing something, because you maylose the idea in your forgetful mind if you procrastinate. For doing that firstof all most importantly you need accept one fact, that is, you can write.Anyone can write, but everyone doesn’t accept that. Most of the time people mayeven laugh at what you are doing, but it is you who wanted to write and theyare all out there to drag you down from the wall you are climbing. After a fewencounters with those shut out minds you will see a change in their attitude.Even the garbage you write will be hailed as “good work” by those who laughedat you first.

I am not going to quote bits of hundreds of poems here for you. Browse aroundthere are hundreds of poetry sites from published poets to new aspiring ones.Just browse and find out the kind of poem you like. The style, rhythm,structure, rhyme and anything or everything you wanted to add are all as Isaid, additions. The main thing you should be concerned about is the subjectyou are writing and the images you are using in that subject. It is importantto stay within the subject and write with clarity. What I told is veryimportant as real poets are a minority in this world and most of the time youwork is going to be read by people who just want to grab it all in a singlereading. Abstraction is good, but if you leave the reader confused at the endof the poem, that reader is not going to read another work of yours. So keepthese two things in mind when you start to write.

In my way and view I will just write whatever that comes in my mind. Contraryto what I said, to stay in the subject I ask you to write it as much aspossible. If it is a new person you just met you are writing about, then writeabout the appearance, the color of the skin, hair, eyes, the smell of theperfume or cologne, the type and color of the dress, shoes and every singlemove you can remember that person made. This is very important as when youelaborate you can find those small observations helping you to get a biggerimage. It is in your second draft where you eliminate all the unnecessarythings you wrote in the first draft. What I do after that may interest you, Iwill just leave the poem to either rot there in my pad or ripe into something Ican love everlastingly. This is just my way, it helped me a lot in finding outif I did the right thing by writing about something. I will take what I wrotemay be a week later and read it aloud, and try to get the same feeling andpassion when I first wrote the poem. If it does nothing I will just leave it ina folder. You may end up with hundreds of folders before you take one and holdit to your chest patting your own cheek about the wonderful piece of work youdid.

There are no hurries in doing what you wanted to do as poems come from theminds of every age.

Hi All,
   These are the few pictures taken during my Delhi trip. Idid not had a good camera so I used an autofocus camera of my friend.So the pictures are not of good quality.
If you have any questions about the places please feel free to ask.

Kuthub Minar. Built In The Early 12th Century By Kuthubuddin Aibak.This was the tallest monument in India until Taj Mahal was built.

Me on the right with Dr.Ranjit a friend of my brother in Delhi at the bottom of Kuthub Minar.

This is me around the ruins of a mosque near Kuthub Minar.

The Shrine of Sufi saint Kwajah Moinuddin Chisti the founder of theChisti sufi order. I visited this place after a long drive of about 8hours. Driving in India is an art, I did not drove I rented a car witha driver.

From left Geeripai another of my brother’s friend Kmal Pasha Chisti oneof the caretaker at the Chisti shrine and me in from of sweet riceprepared at the mosque.

Ranjit, Kamal Pasha Chisti and me

I bought flowers to be laid on top of the grave of Kwajah Moinuddin Chisti and was waiting for the caretaker.

The we visted the Bahai Lotus temple in Delhi. Dr.Ranjit wanted to visitthis place as he was a bit interested in the Bahai religion. This is aplace worth visiting just for seeing the beautiful temple.

This is a tomb structure around the tomb of Humayun the Mugal emperorand father of Akbar one of the greatest emperors who ruled India.

I am in front of the garden at the Humayun’s Tomb it was too hot and I could bearly stand at this point because of the heat.

Me right in front of the Grave site of Humayun. Humayun’s tomb was theprettiest structure built before Shajahan built Taj Mahal.

I took a breather on the steps to the entrance of Humayun’s tomb.

Its me before India Gate a monument built in memory of all the Indian soldiers died in the second world war.

This is me standing right before the flames at the India gate. By thistime my face started to feel the burns of the heat and my stomach startedto feel the pain of dehydration. I immediatly went back to the hoteland stayed inside the air conditioned room the rest of the time I needed to spent in Delhi. Ifelt sad as the next day I couldn’t go to Agra to see Taj Mahal.Probably I will go to see Taj the next time I visit India.

I am crazy doing things at work and personally. Things I like and dislike. To put it in another way I am too busy doing useless things. Work is tightening its grip around my neck as I was away for more than two weeks. There are a lot of things to do; my analysis output goes as the input for the developers. I can’t make them wait.


Are these excuses for my inner blocks?


Or just the murmur of busy and lazy poet? mmm I don’t know. But still here is what I wrote in India. I did not have a lot of time to change it and make it likeable for at least myself.


I will revise it. But I think you all still will enjoy it.


The little hands of mine that learned to scribble,
Words that paints images,
Images that spoke about my life
And the life that carried me this far.

There are a million more I’ve had in my heart,
Some just popped out through my words,
Filling minds of loved ones,
And those who knows me through my words.

Where are all the others gone?
When I hold this empty sheet in front,
And wonder about the gone by days,
And wonder about the day walking by.

Is past a lucky monster that escaped my attention?
I still feel it all imprisoned in my soul,
I feel the warm breeze once more piercing,
The unclosed eyes of mine in amazement.

Oh, I remember where those images are,
The ones that never filled in the soul of mine,
They were all buried with the tears of mine,
Tears I shed with the loses of my loving heart.

In this bay I float away the images remaining,
For life to start mixing new colors,
In the far away new found land
Where my soul may rest in love.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. This poem was written in Cochin, Kerala, India. On an evening looking at the marine drive from my mother’s apartment on May 28th 2005

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