The Man Who Lived the Hundredth Cut by Tahir Mehmood(JR116TM01)

The Man Who Lived the Hundredth Cut by Tahir Mehmood(JR116TM01)

The girl was twittering, the old man was brooding, the night was spreading, life was nowgiving way to the engulfing slumber, and the dark was thickening. So far, there were no signs of the train that were to take them to the remote town of their destination.

…………………

They had just begun a river-side night errand. It had become their routine for the last few years since they had met. She used to work at a local radio station when he had first met her on a cold December night. He was charmed by her spontaneity and vivacity, and she by his sombre manners. She was never to forget the night of December 16, once they met on an isolated and almost empty platform of the otherwise busy city railway station. It was a quiet night and she triggered the conversation as most of the time later she had to do it. He was a quiet companion and hardly spoke. However, his calm manners did exude anunusual deadly peace that strangely she had fallen in love with in coming years. To begin the conversation, she just pointed towards the big watch at the platform that was showing both date and time but somehow the date was not properly visible from her position. He replied, it was December16, and she could not ignore the sheer pain in his low voice, once he uttered, December16. His face darkened too for a while, and then he appeared normal. The conversation transitioned from cursoriness to curiosity, and gradually turned soul-absorbing. She became a pupil, and he the lost Master. That one night led to many nights full of conversation.

…………………………….

“So when will we find justice and peace?”

“Look, nomads travel from mountains to valleys, from oceans to deserts, and from known to unknown.In this motion lies the life. The rivers mostly flow from high mountains, and this flow is the power that gives life to many species but yet tramples, too.”

“The one who gets what he wishes, never questions the injustice.A deprived soul shall always seek easy compensation through justice; usually the goal is pursuit of self-desire. Nature is manifested through the expressions of power, and power is rarely seen bent towards a just-order.”

“Should this mean abandoning the effort?”

“In effort lies the essence. If power cannot be contained, it can be constrained.”

“There is a need to transform the desires: both individual and collective. In old times, priests and preachers taught to master‘abstinence’. In present times, the abundance can somewhat reduce the deprivation.”

“Dominance and greed?”

“For that, the man shall have to wait for the change in its genes and codes.”

“The animals survive; the man is busy in continuous struggle to preserve.”

“The flow can be channelized, power can be regulated, wild can be tamed, diffusion reduces the intensity. Despite all, you will need the hot sun of power to harvest your food and fruit. The Nature adores power.”

“And, the life goes on?”

“Where is my freedom?”

“My question, too.”

The approaching train blew the whistle, and they hurried to embark on the new journey.

…………………………………………………..

It wasn’t long before she fell in love with him.

………………………………………………

“Must not stay separated for long?”

“When love is explained in terms of gender impulses and instincts, its longevity is in question.”

“I need…?”

“I do not like…?”

“That is enough….”

“We know our desiresonly. Self-love is a good reason to live but it is gullible, too. It ignores our narrow streams, and works on self-fulfilment.”

“Where do I go?”

“My way.”

………………………………

“We are the soul mates; we do not seek union.” They met again and again!

………………………………………….

It was yet another December 16 night. The man had gone out and had not returned so far. Time and curiosity led her to read his unfinished piece of writing. This was a letter to one of his old comrades. The man’s words were full of pain and sorrow: “Dear one, you know, I can never forget the pain and the loss. I had gone to the East Wing with a hope and pride. I wanted to heal the wounds and to nourish the old bonds. I knew the time was less and work was more. The East and West were one, but now too much self-love was causing complaints and quarrels. The enemy was adding salt in a way that palate and palatial hid the poison.There was so much fog that the path carved years ago dwindled in tears and cries. I can never forget the mutilated bodies of men and women who had gone from the West Wing to serve the East Wing. Their body-parts cut, burnt and thrown on the streets where they used to live joyfully, is an unbearable burden on my soul. I still remember the small infant of a fellow West Wing poet whose dead body cut into pieces was placed on a heap of dead bodies of the father, mother, brothers and sisters. The natives suffered too, but why and for whom? I wish to go back to tell them that love could still be revived.

“A well-intended disagreement should never be pushed to the valleys of bitterness. In disorder and discord lie the seeds of anarchy and conflict. We must never forget that one of the attributes of conflict is destruction.”

………………………………………………………………..

On that December night, the conversation mostly remained one-sided. The man kept out pouring his heart filled with love and pain. The white snowflakes thickened as the words turned intense and black. There was a painful melody of love and remorse, separation and desire for reunion. The ambers were getting dim and cold, but the two hearts were warmed by the magic of love. The night grew dark but dawn was not out of sight. In those magical moments, she fell asleep. She slept unusually long on that long December night.

…………………………………………………..

In that nostalgic beautiful morning, she opened her eyes, and found two beautiful red roses beside her pillow. Next to her laid a piece of paper that had a line scribbled on it, which read: We are soul mates; we do not seek union.

She looked around, but found no trace of the man.

……………………………………………………..

The writer is a traveller and student of human history. He can be reached at tmabbasi@yahoo.com and tweetsat#tmabbasi1

PARTING GIFT by ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE JR103MH08

PARTING GIFT by ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE  JR103MH08

Mark was born in London during the post war period, in the east end of London, which has been largely rebuilt since World War II when it suffered much damage from bombing. London at that time was crippled because of the depression which was an after math of the war. The birth of Mark brought relief to his parents – relief from a devastated world. You had to struggle to survive, as London was economically shattered also. It was hard to make ends meet. Even in those days Mark’s house was full of guests. Their family was known for its hospitality. One instance Mark remembered of his childhood was of his Mom’s spending the last of her saving’s to feed a less fortunate family. ‘Give and you receive’, she used to say. This image of his mother remained with Mark in his adult years.

She worked in a garments factory, which was a part of the textile industry that was established by France, an ally from the war. She brought home samples of dresses that fitted Mark’s sister, Elizabeth. ‘She’s such a Doll’, remarked a friend of Mom’s and she’d go pink in the cheek.

His father accepted building contracts, which were part of a rebuild London project. This is how they slowly became rich. He, as a building contractor, before putting up a building, used to first look at the site, choose the people who were going to work for him and plan a schedule of work so that he knew which people should be on the site at the right time. The bricklayers and the plasterer’s would often get in each other’s way. I’ll finish with the bricks in another couple of hours. ‘Oh! So you will, the last time you said a couple, you took eight’. He went off, leaving the bricklayer to finish, who was envious of his long break. He complained, ‘Boss, we both should get equal pay for the hours of work we put in. Mark’s father would tackle the situation, and he planned shifts, so that nobody would have any objection.

Then there was the time when Elizabeth contracted an infection after swimming in the pool. They gave her a Penicillin shot (which she was allergic to), but it was too late before they found out that she was allergic. She developed a rash, as if the infection were not enough. But they were a close knit family and that saw them out of such situations. Mark held her hand and teased, ‘your face looks like its full of Polka Dots’. ‘You’d know what it feels like if you had them’. Elizabeth, on the verge of tears, told him. Susan was born – in a communist setting. Later, she would question Mark about the gap between the haves and the have-nots. ‘Because, they deserve to be so’. He’d reply. Many other questions came to her mind, especially about religion, but her differences were not confirmed. Originally she remained a Christian. A product of the west, although she cherished faint memories of the large farms set up as collective units which were usually worked by 100 to 500 families, who reaped what they sowed. She was impressed and affected by the equal opportunity. And this would reflect, in her life, later on as would the prosperity of Hampstead heath, which is a large tract of countryside of London. (The latter as told by Mark to her). Her childhood memories would reflect in her adult life.

Once during a shortage of wheat (in London – where they were to stay after marriage), she observed that those collective farmers never went hungry whereas England imported wheat every year – and it was expensive. Mark would tease her, ‘the average income of a Londoner affords him the necessities as well as the luxuries’. ‘Capitalist thinking, that’, she retorted. With her there would remain a distinction between a necessity and luxury. ‘If it’s not necessary, why do it’, was an opinion of hers on many matters.

During his school days Mark enjoyed playing Cricket, and kept himself up to date with the score board of County Cricket. ‘The night watchman just might level the score’. ‘Not if the weather does not permit’. His friends enjoyed the game too. In 1882 Australia beat England at the Oval in London and after the match the ‘Sporting Times’ invented the term ‘The Ashes’. The paper told its readers of the ‘Death of English Cricket.’ The Ashes (from a stump burnt during the England tour of Australia in 1883) are kept in an urn at the Museum at Lord’s. Mark took pride in showing his guests this urn.

A fortune teller once told Mark that after his marriage he would be blissfully happy, but then he somehow did not want to reveal something to Mark – something terribly sad. He further added that Mark would have to part from someone he deeply loved. He said that an evil spirit would be the cause of his parting from someone he deeply loved. He further asked Mark to practice religion. Mark was not religious.

Who could tell that after so many years, life would be different.

They were madly in love. Happiness glowed on their cheeks when they faced the colourful world. Mark and Susan were the children of prosperous parents. Life had been kind to them but God’s blessings were only bestowed on a few as would be proved later on. Kind as in material posse  

Mark was born in London during the post war period, in the east end of London, which has been largely rebuilt since World War II when it suffered much damage from bombing. London at that time was crippled because of the depression which was an after math of the war. The birth of Mark brought relief to his parents – relief from a devastated world. You had to struggle to survive, as London was economically shattered also. It was hard to make ends meet. Even in those days Mark’s house was full of guests. Their family was known for its hospitality. One instance Mark remembered of his childhood was of his Mom’s spending the last of her saving’s to feed a less fortunate family. ‘Give and you receive’, she used to say. This image of his mother remained with Mark in his adult years.

She worked in a garments factory, which was a part of the textile industry that was established by France, an ally from the war. She brought home samples of dresses that fitted Mark’s sister, Elizabeth. ‘She’s such a Doll’, remarked a friend of Mom’s and she’d go pink in the cheek.

His father accepted building contracts, which were part of a rebuild London project. This is how they slowly became rich. He, as a building contractor, before putting up a building, used to first look at the site, choose the people who were going to work for him and plan a schedule of work so that he knew which people should be on the site at the right time. The bricklayers and the plasterer’s would often get in each other’s way. I’ll finish with the bricks in another couple of hours. ‘Oh! So you will, the last time you said a couple, you took eight’. He went off, leaving the bricklayer to finish, who was envious of his long break. He complained, ‘Boss, we both should get equal pay for the hours of work we put in. Mark’s father would tackle the situation, and he planned shifts, so that no body would have any objection.

Then there was the time when Elizabeth contracted an infection after swimming in the pool. They gave her a Penicillin shot (which she was allergic to), but it was too late before they found out that she was allergic. She developed a rash, as if the infection were not enough. But they were a close knit family and that saw them out of such situations. Mark held her hand and teased, ‘your face looks like its full of Polka Dots’. ‘You’d know what it feels like if you had them’. Elizabeth, on the verge of tears, told him.

About the same time, in Stalin’s Russia, Susan was born – in a communist setting. Later, she would question Mark about the gap between the haves and the have-nots. ‘Because they deserve to be so’. He’d reply. Many other questions came to her mind, especially about religion, but her differences were not confirmed. Originally she remained a Christian. A product of the west, although she cherished faint memories of the large farms set up as collective units which were usually worked by 100 to 500 families, who reaped what they sowed. She was impressed and affected by the equal opportunity. And this would reflect, in her life, later on as would the prosperity of Hampstead heath, which is a large tract of countryside of London. (The latter as told by Mark to her). Her childhood memories would reflect in her adult life.

Once during a shortage of wheat (in London – where they were to stay after marriage), she observed that those collective farmers never went hungry whereas England imported wheat every year – and it was expensive. Mark would tease her, ‘the average income of a Londoner affords him the necessities as well as the luxuries’. ‘Capitalist thinking, that’, she retorted. With her there would remain a distinction between a necessity and luxury. ‘If it’s not necessary, why do it’, was an opinion of hers on many matters.

During his school days Mark enjoyed playing Cricket, and kept himself up to date with the score board of County Cricket. ‘The night watchman just might level the score’. ‘Not if the weather does not permit’. His friends enjoyed the game too. In 1882 Australia beat England at the Oval in London and after the match the ‘Sporting Times’ invented the term ‘The Ashes’. The paper told its readers of the ‘Death of English Cricket.’ The Ashes (from a stump burnt during the England tour of Australia in 1883) are kept in an urn at the Museum at Lord’s. Mark took pride in showing his guests this urn.

A fortune teller once told Mark that after his marriage he would be blissfully happy, but then he somehow did not want to reveal something to Mark – something terribly sad. He further added that Mark would have to part from someone he deeply loved. He said that an evil spirit would be the cause of his parting from someone he deeply loved. He further asked Mark to practice religion. Mark was not religious.

Who could tell that after so many years, life would be different.

They were madly in love. Happiness glowed on their cheeks when they faced the colourful world. Mark and Susan were the children of prosperous parents. Life had been kind to them but God’s blessings were only bestowed on a few as would be proved later on. Kind as in material possessions. Mark’s house was full of guests. It was there that in fact he met Susan. The first meeting was followed by a series of them. They decided to seal their relationship and with the consent of their parents they got engaged. Mark was a handsome boy. Girls did vie with each other for his attention. One such girl was his parents’ choice for his partner. Obviously she was his mother’s friend’s daughter. Very compatible, because she was in and out of their house very often and was almost a family member. Mark liked her – but the liking was never to turn into love.

Mark was a businessman; and his commitments kept him busy for the day. ‘The stocks of the company are experiencing a low’. He told a colleague. ‘The clients are not satisfied and are not ready to invest’. ‘We’ll have to work the nights’. But he spared some time every day for his beloved. Sometimes with flowers, sometimes over a meal, sometimes just to remind her that he loved the colour of her eyes, he always had time for such sentiments.

After a brief engagement they married. They went off on their honeymoon to Switzerland. Switzerland was an ideal place. A place without an army. A peaceful setting, detached from the morbid states engaged in war. Amongst so many people, from all around the world, the two of them saw only each other. Walking in the shadows of the Alps, hand in hand, they made a commitment never to let this end. ‘Wear your skis. I’ll race you’. ‘I’m too scared’. ‘Take the plunge’. ‘oo---oop---oops’. She was out of sight. Discovered in a pile of snow. ‘I thought I told you to watch it at the curve’. Seeing her red nose poke through the snow he stifled a giggle. Having made a special trip to separate them, guess who else was there. The same girl. She had not accepted defeat. She tried to blackmail him, by using his mother. Her befitting attitude towards his mother was a result of her long association with him. She was a good cook, unlike his mother and as they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She once cooked a meal that was so tasty that they licked their fingers clean. Susan’s ego was offended.

But there was always Mark’s shoulder to lean on. He assured and reassured her. There was no need to worry. The ‘uninvited guest’ would never change his love for her. Other couples saw them as ideals for a perfect married life. His mother would tell him that marriage was not a bed of roses and not to be disappointed if anything went against his wishes. She went on, saying that Mark’s father had been short tempered at the start of their marriage and many times she kept quiet when he had an anger fit. Mark’s retort, ‘I know mom, I think I can handle it. You make it sound so difficult, when it is actually not’. ‘The situation would get out of control, otherwise’. She advised him, as any mother would her son.

Susan conceived a child in their first year of marriage. Their first child was not going to be planned. The gynaecologist examined her every month. A girl was a great help for the mother and they desired a girl as their first born. Frills, bows all in pink with linen to match, Susan visualised her daughter’s frocks and her room. Susan’s mother had good taste, which showed in Susan’s attire. She was nominated for the best dressed person at a party once.

It was the eight month of pregnancy. An ultra sound showed that it was a girl. Yet their elders were reluctant to make any baby clothes or other things for the baby before hand. They felt that others would be envious, and that was not a good sign.

‘I can’t wait to see her’. As he felt the baby turn in Susan’s belly. ‘Then you’ll say you’re pressed for time, because she is a handful’. ‘That will never happen’. ‘We’ll see’. She got the last word.

The name, what should the name be. Natasha was selected. Natasha was a Russian name. Susan’s parents had spent some years in Russia. Her father had held a good post in the Pakistan Embassy there. Her mother liked the name and had wanted to name her grandchild Natasha.

The delivery time was near. She experienced contractions. The doctor and nurses were by her side. But God’s blessing escaped them. Susan’s life was in danger. On their knees they prayed – the parents. ‘Oh! God, save her – if they are our sins you hold against us, do not make her pay, please God, please’. Some complications developed. Could it be that the evil spirit had entered Susan’s body? The evil spirit that the fortune teller had warned Mark against. Could it be that the profound effort of giving birth and the effort of fighting the evil spirit broke down a weary and tired Susan and finally killed her? Mark awoke to religion as he had been advised by the fortune teller – better late than never. The doctor tried his utmost best to save both mother and child. It was touch and go. They all huddled together outside the operation theatre, looking at each other for strength. The doctor arrived, his face sullen. The message he was about to convey to them was obvious.

Susan breathed her last on a shocked Mark’s lap. The parting gift, Natasha, lay in the nurse’s hands. Caught between sorrow and happiness, he had to decide, to get over his sorrow for Natasha, Susan’s and his Natasha.

Even to this day holding Natasha’s finger he visits the grave, talks to her and gets her response. It seems like she tells him, do not give up, for Natasha. And little Natasha clasps her hands in prayer, taught to her by her father. In a whisper, she recites ----- in the name of the father, the son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. He walks away with the child, a smile on his face, ready to take on the world. And still in the race is the girl, who however much she tries will not change matters or should she try through Natasha. She would not give up. Mark was worth it. They do not make them quite like him nowadays.

 

 . Mark’s house was full of guests. It was there that in fact he met Susan. The first meeting was followed by a series of them. They decided to seal their relationship and with the consent of their parents they got engaged. Mark was a handsome boy. Girls did vie with each other for his attention. One such girl was his parents’ choice for his partner. Obviously she was his mother’s friend’s daughter. Very compatible, because she was in and out of their house very often and was almost a family member. Mark liked her – but the liking was never to turn into love.

Mark was a businessman; and his commitments kept him busy for the day. ‘The stocks of the company are experiencing a low’. He told a colleague. ‘The clients are not satisfied and are not ready to invest’. ‘We’ll have to work the nights’. But he spared some time every day for his beloved. Sometimes with flowers, sometimes over a meal, sometimes just to remind her that he loved the colour of her eyes, he always had time for such sentiments.

After a brief engagement they married. They went off on their honeymoon to Switzerland. Switzerland was an ideal place. A place without an army. A peaceful setting, detached from the morbid states engaged in war. Amongst so many people, from all around the world, the two of them saw only each other. Walking in the shadows of the Alps, hand in hand, they made a commitment never to let this end. ‘Wear your skis. I’ll race you’. ‘I’m too scared’. ‘Take the plunge’. ‘oo---oop---oops’. She was out of sight. Discovered in a pile of snow. ‘I thought I told you to watch it at the curve’. Seeing her red nose poke through the snow he stifled a giggle. Having made a special trip to separate them, guess who else was there. The same girl. She had not accepted defeat. She tried to blackmail him, by using his mother. Her befitting attitude towards his mother was a result of her long association with him. She was a good cook, unlike his mother and as they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She once cooked a meal that was so tasty that they licked their fingers clean. Susan’s ego was offended.

But there was always Mark’s shoulder to lean on. He assured and reassured her. There was no need to worry. The ‘uninvited guest’ would never change his love for her. Other couples saw them as ideals for a perfect married life. His mother would tell him that marriage was not a bed of roses and not to be disappointed if anything went against his wishes. She went on, saying that Mark’s father had been short tempered at the start of their marriage and many times she kept quiet when he had an anger fit. Mark’s retort, ‘I know mom, I think I can handle it. You make it sound so difficult, when it is actually not’. ‘The situation would get out of control, otherwise’. She advised him, as any mother would her son.

Susan conceived a child in their first year of marriage. Their first child was not going to be planned. The gynaecologist examined her every month. A girl was a great help for the mother and they desired a girl as their first born. Frills, bows all in pink with linen to match, Susan visualised her daughter’s frocks and her room. Susan’s mother had good taste, which showed in Susan’s attire. She was nominated for the best dressed person at a party once.

It was the eight month of pregnancy. An ultra sound showed that it was a girl. Yet their elders were reluctant to make any baby clothes or other things for the baby before hand. They felt that others would be envious, and that was not a good sign.

‘I can’t wait to see her’. As he felt the baby turn in Susan’s belly. ‘Then you’ll say you’re pressed for time, because she is a handful’. ‘That will never happen’. ‘We’ll see’. She got the last word.

The name, what should the name be. Natasha was selected. Natasha was a Russian name. Susan’s parents had spent some years in Russia. Her father had held a good post in the Pakistan Embassy there. Her mother liked the name and had wanted to name her grandchild Natasha.

The delivery time was near. She experienced contractions. The doctor and nurses were by her side. But God’s blessing escaped them. Susan’s life was in danger. On their knees they prayed – the parents. ‘Oh! God, save her – if they are our sins you hold against us, do not make her pay, please God, please’. Some complications developed. Could it be that the evil spirit had entered Susan’s body? The evil spirit that the fortune teller had warned Mark against. Could it be that the profound effort of giving birth and the effort of fighting the evil spirit broke down a weary and tired Susan and finally killed her? Mark awoke to religion as he had been advised by the fortune teller – better late than never. The doctor tried his utmost best to save both mother and child. It was touch and go. They all huddled together outside the operation theatre, looking at each other for strength. The doctor arrived, his face sullen. The message he was about to convey to them was obvious.

Susan breathed her last on a shocked Mark’s lap. The parting gift, Natasha, lay in the nurse’s hands. Caught between sorrow and happiness, he had to decide, to get over his sorrow for Natasha, Susan’s and his Natasha.

Even to this day holding Natasha’s finger he visits the grave, talks to her and gets her response. It seems like she tells him, do not give up, for Natasha. And little Natasha clasps her hands in prayer, taught to her by her father. In a whisper, she recites ----- in the name of the father, the son and the Holy Ghost. Amen. He walks away with the child, a smile on his face, ready to take on the world. And still in the race is the girl, who however much she tries will not change matters or should she try through Natasha. She would not give up. Mark was worth it. They do not make them quite like him nowadays. 

Harmony: POEMS BY ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE (JR89MH02)

 Harmony: POEMS BY ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE (JR89MH02)

PREFACE

            I was in perfect harmony with nature when I wrote these poems. Autumn a season with falling leaves and bare trees is considered by most as gloomy, but oddly enough it inspired me to put pen to paper to make this humble effort of writing these poems.

            This is my first attempt at writing poetry and probably leaves a lot to be desired but encouragement is what is required.

            I sincerely hope that you would enjoy reading these poems as I have writing them.

ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE

GARDEN OF EDEN

My spirit soars up to the sky,

As I on the lush green carpet lie.

Ecstasy envelopes my always

…melancholy heart,

As, sudden wind blown ripples,

In the pond start.

As the winter suns, warm rays,

Caress my being I do sway

Frolicking and frisking, from here to there,

Like a lamb, the desire, I wish to bear.

May you bloom forever, my Garden of Eden,

Make my thoughts soar upto, The Seventh Heaven.

NO MORE TEARS

As you leave for greener pastures,

Tears flown down the cheeks at your departure.

The migrating bird flutters its wings,

Over for it, is the season to sing.

The Bentley turns round the corner

Disappears from sight, now and forever.

I shall miss your nudge and touch,

For our friendship others could vouch.

But since the ‘Sea of Gold’ is at a distance,

Leave for it right now, this instance.

WHEATHER GENUINE CAUSE OF ANGER?

Enraged I stroll towards

The counter,

To involve myself in

A brutal encounter;

The salesman gave me rupees

Five less,

A gruesome mistake that

He should confess,

Was the well aware

Of it,

Or did the mistakingly

Di it,

Remains to be seen

Or is it

My frustration built in.

POSSESSION

I own you, your every movement is mine

To do as I please

Why did you do this why did you do that

Raise your voice, or your eyelid bat

Its our of the question I won’t let you out of my sight

You belong to me only to me, you are my birth right

Just the other day your momentary absence felt like multitude

Was it the toilet or were you astray,

I am suspicious, you I possess.

Do not leave me, I shall feel the betray,

Your look and smile elsewhere, your touch

Are all for me, me only,

From others, to be kept at bay

Do not ever make a start with darling, for another,

It will make the other want to come hither

I feel bold and beautiful in your presence

But am at a loss in your absence

I own, you, you I possess,

THE BANANA

So I am meant to be fed to the monkey,

Wail till you have an encounter with my peel,

Without the night, stars you shall see,

For still life I join hands with friend apple,

Different shapes of me decorate a cocktail

I lie on the table as the knife slices me open,

An incision in my centre, split into pieces,

My seed in you sprout a plant

The likes of which you have to see to believe,

They should call you sprout a plant

I make ‘shakes’ about the reference

What you treasure to eat,

Out of which you should not make mincemeat

LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES

While jogging I tripped over lace,

Next time tied my shoes with grace,

I sang out of tune at the dinner,

Practice, well almost made me a crooner,

I fell when somebody pulled the chair away

Brushed my right hand, to my Utter dismay,

It was my turn, I said

Tit for tat,

And hurt to my content,

The guilty brat,

In the run with,

Trail and error

I have grown to be

A lot wiser.

SACRIFICE

It seemed like my paradise was there to stay,

Everything I always wanted I possessed,

To hold to cherish till, I was dead

The envy of the crowd, I swayed to the rhythm

My heart heat and my breath hummed,

We were five in all, two boys and a girl,

The mild summer and a picnic by the beach

Snowflakes on the mountains not our of reach

On holiday or at work

Happiness and contentment always at my doorstep,

Suddenly fate started changing for worse,

The truth came home, not an act to rehearse,

He had to leave my side for greener pastures,

The children went along, all for one, one for all,

I was left all alone, to wipe my tears,

One my one they left me for a motionless floor,

I was all alone, all alone.

COMPANIONSHIP

Hold my hand, take me to he land,

Where name nor brand,

Will come in between true friends,

Shall go to their house,

Feeling like a louse,

Smiles, warmth, mirth and cheer,

Encompass me from all sides…

Take me away from my swing of mood,

Feel I well and good.

True friendship is hard to find,

With materialism in mind.

Wherever you are, come and touch me,

For mi am abound with sincerity,

A friend I receive…

To avoid the mire….

Always be there.

Give meaning to my blank stare.

ROMANCE

I love you, my dearest, my cherub,

The sunset and sunrise are for me a spectacle & to behold

Because of your warmth I do not feel the cold

Of the cloudy, dark winter nights,

Logs to burn I need not, nor do indeed the light.

Tomorrow is always a day to look forward to.

In your company life is a bundle of joy.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and shines and sparkles

It beautifies my skin and gives it a certain glow

In your adulation it had to flow.

I captured to kitten through your eyes,

And whispered a lullaby by your sound

Togetherness should last and last.

I am in love, I am in love.

GUILT COMPLEX

Enclosed in a shell like a tortoise,

Keeping away from the lively movements & noise,

My own I fail to recognize,

Do not shake hands with me please

I am no more, no more at ease,

I suffer from a guilt complex,

Was I the one to destroy a friendship

Or lose my temper in a relationship.

The other day I threw some litter on the road,

Turned a deaf ear to the call for prayer,

I suffer from a guilt complex

I am amazed at my faults.

Have I them or have I not?

Is it just the state of my mind

Or has somebody without cause have me to remind

Of a non-existent situation,

Will I ever surface, 1 suffer from a Guilt Complex.

TILL DEATH DO US IN

Last night I woke up from a dream,

To realise, that it was not what it seemed,

My companion for my relaxed hours,

Was wet through and through...

No I had not done it...

It was the thunderstorm that possessed it:

I totalled the time,

That flew past the chime,

That rung from my alarm,

To raise me with charm

Out indeed I shall pay no heed

The mattress and I look alike

Bulging from the sides-out, vital statistics 40,40,40

ENCOUNTER

On my travels such was my plight,

Did Gulliver or Passepartout with all their might,

Slip in a puddle in broad daylight

Were they bait, to such a trait,

In their Sunday best waiting for a suitor

Who would pronounce romance truer

The mishap with the hair

That turned bald and bare...

Thinking of the worlds miseries...

Had there been no fisheries

No salmon and no trout

To bring about a prick in the mouth;

With the writing to bleed

Promising a bond in a deed.

HEAVEN IS AT HER FEET

From the moment a child opens its eyes.

To the world and its ties:

She nurtures it like a steadfast rock,

Right from pant to frock.

“And I shall guide you,

On the path that I walked on,

Before you came along.

In sickness and in health,

In poverty and in wealth,

Whenever I needed company,

You gave the note to the harmony.

Sit tight little one...”

INNOCENCE

As the child looked with his eyes wide open,

I thought, on innocence I would write a poem;

Unaware of the sins committed by society.

Oblivious of death and calamity:

Playing with a toy gun in the hand,

As if the real one has not harmed the land;

Exist, does a lie, denied,

The solemn truth will always preside;

Early in the morning shall I arise...

To greet with a surprise;

The coin planted in my garden

Shall hurst into a tree?

With the money, chocolates I shall buy

And build a house, Hansel Gretel style

RESORT TO QUILT

The dark cold winter night,

Bring a shudder and a chill to the might

The star at a distance so high.

Part oblivious, because of the cloud in the sky,

The severe, pouring December rain,

From which even the umbrella covered, refrain.

I love to stay indoors,

And protect myself from the downpour.

I snuggle up warm and cozy in my eider-down quilt,

Watching television, sipping coffee,

Plunged on my bed, with my pillow at a slight tilt

LIFE IS SACRED

In the Garden, the blooming rose.

Tucked in the vase, in a pose.

The sweet fragrance, spread in the air,

Lending grace to an otherwise, room bizarre.

The rich red velvet of the petals.

The crowning glory of the green sepals.

The beauty of this natural piece,

Has at last now, withered and died;

Reminds one all the time,

Life should be lived to the brim,

In case this virtue is denied.

MY WEAKNESS IS MY STRENGTH

If there can be appeal

In the scar on that face,

I will take my weakness

With a lot of grace,

If every tumble gives you a chance

To rise erect with a new stance,

When the going gets tough

The tough get going

Yesterday, I fell to-

Get up again and start moving.

In the classroom the young boy

From his neighbour snatched the toy.

The truck rammed into the car

With all its might,

Killed the occupants and threw

Them out a sight,

The sky roared with thunder

Scared stiff as they went down under.

My weakness shall he my strength,

May I never misuse it

Even for one moment.

The meek shall inherit the earth.

CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD

Walking about in torn and tattered clothes, Looking messy with a running nose.

Crippled, unable to walk properly,

The arrogant man, looks at him disdainfully.

The other day the car almost ran her down,

As she leaped forward, begging For an aim,

Hand outstretched, unable to see,

In the sun, wearing dark glasses,

Makes him look shady.

For a cheap rate, They are bought,

Are they, Children of a Lesser God?

ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD

The morning sun shines through the window,

Making the face beam and glow.

I suddenly feel the urge, to rise and shine.

My feelings take a turn, towards

The lofty and divine,

As I escape the barricade of my bed,

The wasted, whiled hours I now dread.

The sun has injected into me a Potion,

Which makes me want to drive into motion.

The golden globe warms the earth,

Returns the gaiety and the mirth.

BEYOND THE GRASP

Take your outstretched hand,

See dreams of the promised land.

Butterflies in different colours.

Dive and leap and soar,

Honey and nectar on the doorstep,

Would one find such a place on the map.

Where no misery, no bitterness, no sorrow

Looking forward always to a better morrow.

This is what Utopia is all about,

Neither begged, borrowed nor bought

DEATH UNKNOWN

After death the era seems

Bleak and dreary,

Woven around it an aura of mystery.

Will I have to repent for my sins,

Or will I be classed divine.

All questions answered at the

mercy of time-

Will I be in Gods domain.

Or will me be, Satan slain,

If I knew distinctly I would

Have an upper hand.

God rules supremely over the

Law of the land.

I am afraid of the outcome of death

Will it or will it not be as I suggest

LIFES UPS AND DOWNS

As the mountaineer up the mountain ascends,

Traversing the path that he will have to descend.

At the sight, an ordinary man

Would have shuddered.

Up hills and pitfalls, All a part of life.

Whether it is easy going or only strife.

Sometimes an obstacle comes in the way,

Sometimes it is smooth going all the way,

Lifes ups and downs add to its totality,

Lending to it an air of immortality.

LIVE AND LET LIVE

You took her out to the

Cosy restaurant for dinner,

I was vociferous in-my appeal,

For you as sinner.

Social taboos should never erect

A wall between us,

Otherwise our relationship

Will take a turn for the disastrous,

My catty instincts

Were aroused by your-

Blast of voice

If only I could have told myself

Never mind, it’s his choice.

The norm of the day is

Follow a strict diet

A pound here or there will not

A tremendous impact

Make on the weight

Live and let live,

Take and learn to give.

BUZZ OFF TELEPHONE

Be hold and me apprise

Of the current inflation and rise

In atta prices and the general

And of course dowries too

Acquaint you I shall with the

So called water and loo

Escapism with my telephone

From the hullabaloo

Hi, Hullo, how do you do?

Hadn't we just met

Before an hour or two

Serves me right

If it was hate at first sight,

Out a sight, sorry upright, my telephone

Bill read

Not in units, tens but in hundreds

INNOCENCE

Huddled close by, yet far from the fire blazing.

Watching the cinders creating in the light, the night,

Hush, hush in subdued tones they sat whispering,

The vegetation surrounding them swaying, to and fro in the door,

The draft humming and wheezing through the cracks,

In the corner, the phone as silent as a graveyard,

The settee and settlers comfortable in its warn embrace,

Victorian paintings in the background, depicting grace,

The image of romance portrayed,

Tring, tring, the bell of the telephone sounds,

The wife speaks to her husband’s company,

Suspicions aroused, seething with rage and jealously,

She bangs the phone and envisages the courts,

Breaking the bond of trust that friendship is all about,

Between man and woman so clean and so pure,

Yet so distant and aloof to the short sighted.

TO EACH HIS OWN

May I have enough tolerance,

Not to take offence;

At whatever character trait

The other may portray:

If he does not possess....

....A sense of humour

Or enjoys spreading

Every once in a while....

A rumour.

Enjoys coming late,

Or does not felicitate.

Why does that foul my mood?

When I sometimes am up to no good.

Do I not see reason,

In the coming season;

What harm can

A living, loving soul,

Do to my whole?

If God has pronounced

The Day of Judgement,

To account for every one's temperament,

Who am I to be displeased,

When somehodv does that or this.

CONFESSIONS OF A TERRORIST

Possessed by the devil,

I strode out to do evil.

With enmity written large on my face,

Somebody has to be dad in deaths embrace.

Just yesterday a child became an orphan,

And a couple were worried by the ransoms burden.

The fetters of depression behold the city,

Where everyday criminals like me enter captivity.

Karachi, Karachi of yore

Shall hot surface will not surface

Whilst I trigger my double barrel bore.

JOY AND SORROW

The begum dashes by in -

- Her flashing car,

To meet a companion at -

- A destination afar.

At a meeting point

In a parlour,

Five boys voraciously

In a corner ice Cream devour,

The silk saris and golden bangles

Glittering in the light,

The high heels and the leather purses

Presenting a sight;

The beggar in his torn

and tattered assemblage,

Spreads out his palm

And asks for patronage.

MOMENTS OF BLISS

The mild rays filtering

Through the tree;

The winter sun beaming

In glee,

The lush green grass

Beneath me,

Forming a carpet softly;

The birds chirping in the trees,

The insects frolicking from here to there

The morning dew drops thinning in the warm air;

An apple in my hand

I keep the doctor away;

What more can one ask for

I to myself say.

I FELT CHEATED

She was single and lonely,

All of her belonged to me;

At the corner of the building

Looking like a bride,

I spotted her needing

Help at her side

Chivalrously I opted

To do the needful,

She seemed thoroughly pleased

And blissful:

Then suddenly a car stopped by her,

With door flung open.

A man sat inside.

With wide open arms which did her beckon.

Alas; To my dismay, i was left alone,

Near me no more now, but an illusion.

WHAT’S COOKING

la Ra Rum go the prancing, dancing,

Flames of the stove,

Amused by this scenario, is the meat

Being cooked above.

The groin softens to the warmth of the fire,

With the cabbage and potato.

It forms an empire.

The unveiling of the platter,

Reveals, fit for a king, matter.

Copied from television this recipe

Is a treat, When near and dear ones,

Altogether do meet.

COURTSHIP BETWEEN

THE CAT AND THE CROW

My backyard is livened up

By the cat and the crow.

From a distance they for each other

A liking show.

Caw Caw, Meow Meow they hark & howl.

A din enough, to disturb the neighbouring fowl

Both of them perched on the dustbin.

Turn by turn.

Waiting for a morsel, from the kitchen to return.

Up goes the left over meat, in the air,

What ensues would ashame 'The battle for the chair

BE PUSHY, FRIEND. WHEN REQUIRED

In the line of bill payers at the bank,

As the fairer sex,

If sick don't just be blank

"Ladies first", "excuse me, "before you please"

For deals with unpaid bills,

Ask for goods back, threat if you will,

Repeat the request for a job.

You may make it from the mob,

Instead of standing, share the seat on the bus

Isn1t it much better than making a fuss,

Whatever you do during tug-o-war, do not push the rope

Or you'll be the laughing stock amidst cries of,

"What a dope",

Sometimes an obstacle comes in the way,

Sometimes it is smooth going all the way,

Life’s ups and downs add to its totality,

Lending to it an air of immortality.