Method in my maddness

Writer Zohair AlliBhoy

Dedication

To

Zahra
My lady of the light.

All rights reserved: Next Level The Interior Mall Schon Circle Karachi.

Not everyone who clashes with Darkness is Light, rather perhaps he was Darkness too. But everyone who clashes with the Light is Darkness, therefore we must search for and know the Light and by it we shall know the Darkness.

Imam Ahmad Al Hassan (a.s)

Truth
The sweet smell of your perfume Sometimes.. graces my spoken word This whisper, The whisper is much crisper An illegitimate shout, often unheard.

TRUTH
As the title suggests, this particular piece is my tribute to the rarest and most precious commodity on Earth, the truth. Those people that speak the truth or make a conscious effort to do so have a very special place in my heart. The unique thing about the truth is that it is instantly recognizable, no matter whose mouth it emanates from. It is like a beautiful scent which instantly makes its presence felt and announces its arrival into a conversation to all who are present listening. It is unmistakable, and has a universal appeal to all the people of this earth. The speaker of truth does not need to shout to be heard nor does he need bells and whistles to signify or grab the attention of his listeners. Armed with truth, even a whisper is enough to get ones point across. Lying, however, needs a lot of promotion. It is based on such flimsy foundations which will crumble under investigation. To ward of this unwanted intrusion, the speaker has little option but to distract the listeners from the questioning which will undoubtedly expose him. He may have to shout it, to artificially enhance its appeal and effect. What history has shown us is that no matter how one tries to make black into white, falsehood into truth, the imposter will get exposed. A lie is unsustainable, for an indefinite period of time, and it requires a lot of effort to keep it going. Truth on the other hand, is ever living and everlasting.

Dense Silence

Spiral staircase, the ceiling beckons On turquoise tiles, feet patter Fleeting swipe, jewel in mouth Digestion not an option

Heavy boredom, weak mind, lethal! Retracting jaws at gravities mercy Foundations shook from unfamiliar shatter The dense silence.. no more

Unhappy union of crystal and tile The former divided and dispersed Labourious task, this collecting fragments Embedded splinters overlooked, unnoticed.

Dense Silence

Inadequate foresight is a huge liability to have. It is what leads to defeat and is a sign of a hasty and immature mind. In the case of foreign policy, it is even more dangerous. The troubles of the last century carried forward to present day can be attributed to world powers not having adequate foresight to anticipate social economic and demographic changes. The consequences of which has cost millions of lives and continues to chew away at the prosperity of nations subjected to external pressures from their former colonial masters and other powers eager to fill the vacuum left behind. The Spiral staircase represents the upward ambitions of a particular nation, trying to lift itself out of poverty, evolve and develop into a significant player on the world stage. The feet patter represents an external entity trying to safe guard its own influence in the region. The jewel is the industry, population and natural resources the country has been blessed with which is a tempting morsel for any invading power. This power has no intention to digest it, since they only have their own interests at heart and thus only want control, to act as leverage in order to secure better deals for themselves. It is only natural that the victimized country in question will try to defend itself and protect what little it has and so, it is inevitable that the super power will face resistance on this front. If the onslaught is sustained, they may have to let go of the jewel but obviously, not without inflicting serious damage. The infrastructure, will not be returned in the form that it was before, its nature will be changed during the course of the conflict and will lose its present form. The unhappy union of crystal and tile represents the destruction of the jewel The super power can be made to leave but it will cause so many divisions among the people of the victimized country that splinter groups will form. For example, when the United States left Afghanistan, after the Soviets were defeated, they left the Taliban. The Taliban is infact a splinter group testament to failed US policy in

the region. It is the people who live in these lands that have had to suffer this torment for many decades. Since the opportunity was lost to proverbially nip them in the bud, it became increasingly harder as the days turned to months and the months into years. Ultimately, they became so ingrained into the everyday life of the Afghan, and infiltrated into the political, and social fields alike. Now it is close to impossible to weed them out completely and just like the pieces of the jewel they have shattered into millions of little fragments which are sometimes so small they tend to get overlooked To conclude I address those countries that exert their dominance on weaker states, to see the consequences of their actions, and refrain from adopting such policies. Not only does it damage the said country, but its neighbors also are affected adversely.

The Puppeteer

Merciful entity, the sovereign saint A little food, A little dance Strings you say, more of a noose The rope taut, never loose

Tears streaming from syrup smeared faces Protests muted by grapes in mouth Fruits of investment, now appear His intentions now, seem so clear

Striking nails against limestone A lone rogue spark, unleashed Blackened leverage, squandered spoil Hold on, I smell oil.

The Puppetier
When we find people who are poor and hungry, it is the duty of the common man to help alleviate the troubles of those in need. This is not done to make a profit or to expect any compensation or remuneration. It is done simply because of human nature. When we are blessed with certain things, it is our responsibility to help others who have not been so fortunate. However, in the case of states, somehow the rules have changed. International aid has almost always had strings attached, and riddled with demands. How can one make demands on someone in this position? They havent asked for help willingly, they have been compelled to do so because of their lack of resources. It isnt fair to profit from the troubles of others. If this is done, it very quickly changes from being aid to exploitation and thus all the goodwill generated from giving aid, is all but lost. The purpose of helping someone is not for financial gain, it isnt a business. It should be done out of humanity. Any gain actual or perceived, nullifies the entire effort. The first stanza, deals with a so called saint who provides food for the needy or destitute in return for amusements and benefits. Like the IMF, which gives loans to so many needy countries, but always asks them to make changes, which are not only painful, but very hard to implement. It defeats the entire purpose of asking for the loan in the first place. That is why now we see, many countries shunning the IMF, for their demands on them, and refusing assistance. The politicians and people in power are showered with gifts and benefits to keep them full. The banks know full well, that it will be the common man who will have to satisfy these outrageous and often impractical demands. The politicians are almost always exempt and insulated from these hardships. Countries with vast natural resources but poor infrastructure and rampant corruption are the best targets for these international bankers. If they become

dependent on the aid or loans, these same bankers will have power over them, through which they can secure for themselves and their countries the best conditions and terms for trading. Oil is more of a curse than a blessing if the people in power can be bought and sold easily. This is the plight facing many African and Asian countries today and is also why I believe, their economic well being is stagnated. It is the international bankers and corrupt leadership which has formed an unholy alliance to keep these countries and their people in poverty and destitution.

Paradox Iraq

Prostrating men, to the east and west Thunder in the skies and on land Speeches made by those demigods Looking for grass in the sand

Green horned youths take to battle Bodies pile, count the dead Water scarce in the desert no matter Bath in the streets running red

A serpants decent into a burrow From its fangs, poison does ooze The opening collapses. Buried alive How can you win but still lose?

Paradox Iraq

The American invasion of Iraq, How many countless words have been used to describe explain and understand this unfortunate situation? Let us begin by understanding the first part of this verbal illustration. The first stanza introduces the reader to the environment in Iraq, where the majority of the population is Muslim and so prayers are being performed in the east and west of the country. Nato air forces are continuing their aerial assault, against insurgents, while the local scholars are gaining influence among the people as they look to them for a solution in these hard and confusing times. It is the youth, which has been awakened, by this attack, and despite their relative inexperience, they are the most eager for battle and glory. Perhaps they are unable to truly comprehend the gravity of the situation and the suffering that accompanies it. As in every war, there are a lot of casualties, and the death count is constantly growing. In dry lands, such as these, water has always been a scare commodity, but another type of liquid is abundant, the blood of the innocent. To conclude, I have liked the aggressors to a snake. They have superior intelligence, weapons, financial resources and highly skilled personnel. All this is in stark contrast to the prey which is compared to a mouse whose only realistic chance of survival is to hide when faced with such a foe. The snake in its supreme confidence would invade the home of his prey(burrow) without much fuss. However what it does not understand is there is always a chance of getting buried alive if he goes too deep or stays too long. In my opinion, this is a very real threat facing the armies conducting operations in Iraq.

L For Death

The stumps of uprooted trees The smell of blood on the breeze Homes destroyed, throw the keys A little justice if you please

A planned invasion I seem to think Burned children, their flesh pink Cant even get water to drink Rotting corpses begin to stink

Heads of state turn their heads Completely justified their papers said HURRAY!! Profits made in trading lead Shoot the terrorist bastards dead

Finally ended in a month and a bit Unfortunately, the targets they failed to hit Scrambled to find a theory to fit Time for diplomacy! Let us sit.

L for Death

This was written during the time of Israels invasion of Lebanon. The L in the title is reference to Lebanon. I was greatly affected by this scenario, not to mention all the millions of images and stories continuously pouring out of this tragedy. Diplomacy is a tool put into action when the other alternatives are unthinkable, because of the huge loss of property and life involved. If diplomatic efforts are used after all the carnage is done, then I feel it cannot be called diplomacy. It is a truce as none of the parties that come out of the conflict escape completely unscathed.

Without A Map

Rumaging with boney twigs In a sea of dirt Using a jute bag As a makeshift shirt

An intruder in the realm Of the black resin gods Their constant humming , a relief To its beat he nods

In a concrete shell On a porcelain platter In a silk suit Which aims to flatter.

The almighty eye, provides nourishment What he hears he obeys Ignorance punishable, but truth obscure Without a map, in a maze

Without a Map
Have you ever asked yourself how different your world would be if you were born in some other family? If you didnt have access to all the material comforts that you are accustomed to? Would you still be you? Also, how would you view somebody who has these things? Your worlds would be different, even though you may be living in the same vicinity. Which is better? In the first part of the piece, the readers are introduced to the poor self This person is malnourished, and appears to be wearing a discarded jute bag as clothing. This fact highlights his extreme poverty. He is not welcome there by the flies black resin gods as they view him as competition over their food source, the garbage. He makes the best of it, as he uses their buzzing as a source of music, serenading himself. Next we are introduced, to another individual. This gentleman is extremely well off, he lives in the pent house of a tall building overlooking the slums. He wears the best clothes money can buy and has access to the choicest of foods which is available to him. It may seem that he has everything and is in a far better position than the man looking through the garbage for something to eat, below in the slums. However, the truth is that the well off man, is the slave, because he has to take instructions from his superiors and do what they command him to. He does this because he fears poverty and losing all the things he has worked hard to get. The poor man, does not face these same problems, because he is free, doesnt owe anybody anything and is not afraid because he has nothing to lose. Ignorance is punishable, especially for a man, who can think for himself and see the full picture, but the truth itself is not clear to everyone. It becomes a question of balance.

Unless this balance is discovered and understood it would be like being stuck in a maze, without directions showing how to get out. All energies would be spent and no real progress would be made. Life is all about balance.

The Wall
Solid black wall of stone The cloaked figure does approach Through the darkness, a hand extends His nails against it he tests

From the shadowey mists a bull! Fiery eyes, the seeds of hell Into the obstacle it crashes Again and again, and once more

Then the mighty clouds disperse The sun now naked and exposed A nightingale descends with opened beak Attempting to serenade the lifeless beast

YET To the claws of deceit it is immune To the force of man, unmoved To the temptress, deaf and defiant And to its roots sincere.

The Wall

Have you ever seen an individual, who values their principles above all else? It is the principled man who is always heckled. The Wall symbolizes this man and all the types of adversities he faces because of his inflexibility on his values. In the first stanza, we are introduced to The Wall. It is made of solid stone signifying the strength of the person in question. The cloaked figure is a reference to the mischief of those people who are close to the individual but have evil intentions. These people are the most dangerous as they are two faced and so they are the enemy from within. In the second stanza, we are introduced to another adversary. The Bull refers to the open and evident threat the man faces. A bull is renowned for strength and with this strength, be it in the form of capital or sheer man power attempts to flatten all obstacles. Another adversary makes an appearance in the form of a Nightingale This is reference to a woman, who would use all her charms in order to seduce a principled man thus leading onto the path of ruin. The last stanza is a testament to the man, who despite facing the deceit of the cloaked figure, the force of the bull and the wiles of the temptress maintains his stance, keeps his dignity and remains firmly grounded in his beliefs.

The Well

Fistfulls of sawdust and grime he flings The deeply devouted scramble to shield Their master, their lord, their dead Succumbing to the onslaught, they slowly yield

An untarnished reputation in life, his legacy With lifeless eyes and limp arms he begs Rare opportunity, too tempting to miss Undefended, exposed, like throwing rocks on eggs

Approaching with a sadistic smile, his pleasure Blade glinting in the settings suns glow The wind slapping his cheeks in disapproval For prodding the deceased with his toe

In days passed he had quenched his thirst Watched how his empty belly did swell Even the once thirsty, have been known To turn their backs on the well.

The Well

Whenever the head of the family passes away, it causes much grief to his former dependents. Not only was he a type of shade for them from all the difficulties but now that he is gone, they must fend for themselves. As if this wasnt enough, hypocrites, have now emerged, amongst them. They have shared in the delights and abundance during the lifetime of the protector but now that he has gone, they scramble for the scraps of whatever is left. The well represents a benefactor or provider who during his life time was greatly loved and depended upon. He was the sole provider who never discriminated against anyone. He gave all he had and helped all who appeared in need. This person is now no more, and the hypocrites from among the flock have begun to taunt the former dependents, making life very difficult for them. When a person dies, he becomes an easy target for smear campaigns as he is unable to defend himself nor confront the accusers. It is as easy for them as throwing rocks on eggs Not only, was his reputation attacked but they stooped as low as to desecrate his earthly remains. In the last stanza, the reader is given a glimpse into the past where these same hypocrites were needy and the patron had quenched their thirst and filled their bellies. However it is not the first time in history where people once full have turned their back on the same person who came to their aid in their time of need.

Butterfly

Feet sinking on a clayey bottom Overhead through fluid, clouds obscure Message passed via a bubble Obliterates before it matures

And on a hill, horizon behold Damp surface but balance maintained Burning butterflies desperately approach Turn to ash, flame sustained

Ash falls like snow in summer In their remains children play A message carried on those wings If they succeeded, what would it say?

Butterfly

What would have happened if. Russia won the cold war? Hitler defeated the allies? Spain remained in Muslim hands? Pakistan never developed the nuclear bomb?

There are certain crucial stages in history where if one decisive battle was won, the World as we know it, would be very different than it is today. History is written and recorded by those parties that have defeated their adversaries and thus gained the right to project their view on the world. This over time becomes official fact and shapes the world order to suit the ones in power. I was always fascinated by alternative history and its implications on the World system as a whole. In the first stanza, I refer to two armies doing battle to get supremacy over each other. For one of the armies in question, things are not going well and they are sinking. Without the proper reinforcements, they will surely fall. The message in the bubble represents these very reinforcements. Unfortunately these reinforcements were intercepted and destroyed, which led to the inevitable defeat of the army. In the second stanza, a similar instance is being referenced. In this case, both armies are evenly matched and the victor will be the one who can endure longer than his rival.

Similarly, the reinforcements were intercepted and destroyed, resulting in one of the armies tasting defeat. The last stanza highlights the repercussions and impact of the victory of one side over the other. Snow in summer, is a freak phenomena, signifying that the battle has at last been won and the children represents the nave populations of the victors country who rejoice at the triumph and the end of the war. What they cannot comprehend is the effects of this victory and what consequences it will have on their lives and future generations. In hindsight, they will inevitably ask themselves, what would have happened if their side had lost and if they were truly supporting the right side at the time?

Visage

Stubborn stain on fine linen Presence on flesh of unwanted hair Gulps of sea water for parched throats Broken legs of a prize winning mare

Promise of fidelity on adulterous lips Respect induced by fear alone Once great artists in decline Absence of marrow in a bone

Forgiveness sought from the dead And closure in a mirage Insincere tongue spewing praise A crease on a flawless visage.

Visage

It is funny how some of the most perfect things, can have that one fatal flaw that would diminish its beauty to such an extent that it becomes a mere shadow of its former self. It just goes to show that apart from the Divine, nothing is completely immune from the inevitable blemish, scar or tragedy which would render it tainted or polluted.

Pink Lady

Resting on my face, his boot Hardened soul, used as leather And his lamenated tongue A bobbing pink lady singing On his left breast a medallion Its shine, substituting a heart beat In my eyes it shone A distraction from snake like slits Prescribed truth into my gullet poured A black and white illusion too simplistic Sorry my dreams are in colour.

Pink Lady

The pink lady is a reference to the tongue. The tongue is a remarkable muscle that has the power to enlighten or misguide. It is for this reason, a person has to have complete control over it, otherwise the effects and implications can be devastating. Propaganda is truly a devilish instrument. It can turn relatively peace loving people into an angry unruly mob, unwilling to listen to reason. What is even more dangerous is when the state employs such tactics on their unwitting populations. When something is confirmed by official sources, it becomes fact. Governments can and do manipulate this power and anyone denying the official version is a heretic, madman or conspiracy theorist. The medallion on the left breast symbolizes authority of the State. Telling people the official story, drilling it into their brains and discrediting anyone who opposes it. When a person works for the State, he becomes bigger than himself. What this means, is that he is part of an institution and so all emotions are considered a weakness. I end the poem, by addressing the official and official story. I am not one of the sheep that can be led blindly in which ever direction the power brokers wish. I consider myself illuminated. They force me to view the world as black and white, when in fact I see colour, even if only in my dreams.

Endless Procession

Through murky black, squinting I sit Blinding fragments of light provide clarity Splinters from my wooden throne do pierce Consider this blood my charity

Out of the darkness, a handsome face Young, free and flawless it is I In Return to my perplexed smile An exaggerated grin, but his eyes lie

His body convulsed into ecstatic dance Fascinated I must draw near From His neck gold did sag All the things I hold dear.

But when he speaks so crude The flowing language, rehearsed, sincere My mirror image in a well The water polluted it does appear

A stare like shackles.. binding His tongue caressing my quivering cheek Powerless the endless procession I follow Regurgitated flesh from an eagles beak.

Endless Procession

This is particular piece is one of my favourites. It is the battle against the beast. Every human being has had to engage in this battle of that fact I am certain. However, very few people realize the gravity of the conflict and what losing this conflict would entail. The reason why most people fall prey to the beast and finish on the losing end is really simple and I feel I have successfully identified this very crucial point. The beast approaches and whispers, in the form of something very pleasing to its victim or prey. He comes in the form of the victim or prey himself. In the first stanza, the person is sitting all alone in the dark. Only true knowledge can illuminate ones sight, but because of everyday struggles, and minor temptations that are yielded to, the individual is in darkness. This person is reasonably well off and is a person of wealth and power. The throne which he sits on symbolizes this and the splinters that pierce his mortal flesh are constant reminders that he is in reality, nothing but a frail and feeble human being. Through his ignorance and darkness, comes to him a face. A handsome face, a pleasing face, his face. This face is free from all the troubles of the world, is young and flawless. It smiles at him, beckoning him to draw near, it is smiling and seems pleased. With all the perfection surrounding it, there is something amiss. The eyes, they seem to be concealing something. In the third stanza, the beast, starts to dance, a provocative dance, the dance designed to put the victim into a trance and get his attention. On drawing nearer, the victim sees, gold hanging from the neck of the beast, another item that attracts the unwitting and nave. Now, sufficiently confident, the beast proceeds to speak. But unlike before, with the visuals, the prey senses, that the speech is insincere and would go as far as to

say that it seems and rehearsed, meaning not genuine and coming from the heart. But it is too late, the prey has fallen too far and recovery is very difficult at this point. The stare of the beast snares him and he takes full liberty in making him know now who is in charge. The bigger picture is revealed to the victim, where he sees, other people like him who have fallen prey to these same tactics, not only from his time, but times long since past. He is now powerless, to resist, and all he can do now is follow the endless procession. He is nothing more than a piece of meat, chewed digested than spit out.

Patron Saint Of Crows

Baptised in the dust of diamonds My languid tongue dipped in ink Through this verse, you dance and rejoice But facing you, these pupils shrink

Fingertips that balance an elephant From the carcass bloody heads do emerge Old friends, foes, old foes still foes Towards sweet honey, bees do converge

Sweat tricking off my brow slowly In that pool a stone I did throw Embrace me for I am The patron saint of crows

Patron Saint of Crows

The first stanza is the opening of the story. It tells the story of a man who is the life of every party. He is rich, charming , charismatic and is loved by everyone. However, he knows that this is all an act and that he feels like a fraud. He is apparently, able to do the impossible, and for this trait he is admired. Through his efforts, everyone feasts, benefits and rejoices but he knows that he cannot genuinely be friends with everyone, nor can he go back in time and apologize because that is the way he is. He knows that is the price he must pay for his lifestyle. He is wealthy so he is wanted. The people around him are like bees. They all converge on him as they would on honey. As the last stanza suggests, the man is getting tired, of this act. He wants to shatter the norm and do something that people do not expect of him. He wants to break the cycle. He wants them to love him for who he is, and not make him feel as if he is nothing more than the leader of ugly scavengers.

Love

Running around this tall flower By its thorns, flesh ripped skin scarred Eyes now bloodied, sight dimmed Yet its beauty remains unmarred.

On its leaves, dew I suckle With its roots, a noose I tie Rain delayed this past season Feed on my tears as I die

As I swing, limp and numb Rebounding off your hollow stem Outcast, untended this much I knew Undisturbed the wind left my hem

Clouds begin to gather and unload Fill this abyss with a saltless sea Joyous you are, with the necter In truth, this audience is for me.

Love

If you know love, you know heart break. I am a man who counts himself lucky to have experienced love and also lucky to have experienced heart break. This is because I would not be able to appreciate love or even identify it had I not known heart break. In the first stanza, I liken the object of my affection o a flower, which is in full bloom. I am attracted by this flower and I strive to get nearer. The defense mechanism of this flower, thorns etc, reflect the defense mechanism of a slightly cruel woman. This could include taunts, jives, harsh words, condescending starts etc. Like most people in love, this only emboldens them. They are in a trance like state, where nothing can diminish the beauty and splendor of their object of desire and affection. After fighting through the minor obstacles, the lover is rewarded. This is a sign to the flower, that he is determined and that he knows full well what he wants. The dew he suckles, is in reference to the pleasant words, smiles and attention he receives from his beloved (flower) Unfortunately, just like the dew, it is short lived. His beloved wants more. The flower wants more. She tests his love through his wealth, his time, and energies, evaluating each effort. She hasnt experienced a wind fall recently and so she enhances her pleasures, her love for material things through his sincere and back breaking efforts. This ultimately leaves him drained and dry because of her insatiable appetite and his extreme affection for her. Now that he has given everything he had, his lifeless body is beginning to be a burden for her. There is nothing more he can give her in terms of material possessions as his resources have been depleted. She does not display any more

interest in him, in fact, nobody does because he doesnt seem of value to anyone anymore. Even his so called friends have deserted him. Suddenly, as if by some divine intervention he is rejuvenated. His wealth returns to him, his friends return and he is prosperous again. The flower, is happy because this means that her lover will be able to provide her with all the material comforts as he once did. The lover, by now however, has had the veils removed from his eyes and the rose tinted glasses he was wearing have now been broken. He is now able to see what the flower for what it really is. A parasite. He realizes now, that he has been given a second chance by the Almighty not to fall into the trap again, but to learn from the experience and not sully the name of love. He must move away from the flower and equipped with this new knowledge and experience go off in search of greener pastures.

The Whip Exists

Inky water stangnant in a well Cold sunshine on his shoulder Engines reving at full throttle Being sodomised by a bottle.

A warm breeze on his face Worms presence in his last apple Rabbits search for a soul mate Being electrocuted on a crate.

Unproven rifle naively taken into battle Being struck by waxen arrows Those jews toiled and slaved Stripped naked, beard they shaved Lubricating the moon with stinking fat Infected wounds in sea water washed A Hairy coconut on rocks dashed The Whip Exists! His back lashed.

The Whip Exists

External rendition, secret prisons, and torture cells have always disturbed me greatly ever since I first heard about them. My aim was always to connect with people who feel the same way as me on the subject, but was always confused as to how to go about it. Then it came to me, express truth, or my perception of it via poetry. This however, was no mean feat. To convey a message with impact especially on a subject like this is extremely difficult. So, I experimented and the result was The Whip exists. Basically the message of the entire piece can be found on the last line of each stanza. The rest of the lines that make up the stanza are just images. Some of these images are pleasant, some not so pleasant, and some neutral. All in all, its an assault of imagery on the mind of the reader. What is the purpose of such a design? It is done to train the reader to form a picture after each line so that when the last line approaches, the one carrying the message, the picture can be formed easily into the readers mind. Most people when confronted with topics such as this, would turn their heads and look the other way. All sorts of rationales would be employed to justify such an action. Furthermore for the average reader, such instances and practices do not have a direct impact to their individual lives and so it is easier to disregard and over look. Now, it is my sole wish, that the average reader would ponder over it a little longer,and with the aid of the images, be able to label this practice for what it really is. A gross violation of basic human rights.

Orange Mistress
Treading on the skulls of my brothers Is their blood so impure? A plight clear cut, obvious Is my future so secure?

Extending my hand towards the Orange Mistress Her threshold, I wish to explore But her nature, very fickle A fact fatal to ignore.

Betraying the smile, those dead eyes Contempt muffled by an embrace A ticking bomb as a present Wrapped in ribbons of silk and lace.

Orange Mistress

The term orange mistress represents fire. Fire engulfs, it is unable to differentiate between friend and foe, and so cannot be trusted, or expected to show any loyalty. This piece was written at a time, when Pakistan was sending its soldiers into Afghanistan to help the United States, eradicate the threat of the Taliban. During the cold war, these same United States, were supporting these same Taliban against the Soviet Union. Once that objective was achieved, they left, simple as that. It is all situational. What this means is that loyalty and friendship among this country and others are solely based on a policy of self interest. The American foreign policy is like fire. It cannot be expected to show any loyalty, maybe except to the ruling world elite, but that is another matter. In the first stanza, I ask what is really the difference between Pakistani people and Afghans? True, there are terrorists among them, how were they made like this? Who is responsible? Furthermore I ask, if the orange mistress could turn on them what makes Pakistan so safe and secure from their advances? We already see it every day with drone strikes etc. Pakistan may, find it tempting to form an alliance with this super power, and reap all the delights and benefits it brings. Unfortunately, it does not take into account the recent past, which shows what will be the end result. In the last stanza, I attempt to show that underneath all the flowery language, there are a few tell tale signs. These should give an indication of the true nature of the beast, even though the recent past should by itself have been sufficient. Going by face value, and short term objectives, is the greatest of all follies.

Those Reeking Lips

Spotted skin and flowing fur Around bodies, stapled and wrapped Starting fires, moulding stone Yet in mortality still trapped

A million days reveals itself Stories of men, unravel, unfurl Building bridges, making Rome Does the shine escape a pearl?

Raging beasts, fed by the devil Fresh meat, but not his own Dampen their hunger if for a while Then feast on them all alone

An extended life is no exemption A truth too bright to miss The reaper approaches inch by inch Those reeking lips demand a kiss.

Those Reeking Lips

Every living creature on this planet will have to face death. There is no denying this fact. No exceptions. The first stanza highlights the point that there are people who despite their old age, cannot and do not want to admit the fact that their time is coming to an end. They use expensive clothes and plastic surgery in order to delude themselves and everyone around them. Mankind has made a lot od progress but death is an enemy that can never be defeated, no matter how far technology advances. The second stanza states that history is littered with examples and stories of people from days past who used to think the same way, but their efforts were futile and in the end they too had to taste death. However, in the third stanza, I dont attribute all of the blame, to these short term thinking ego maniacs. I think popular culture and the media drives this dream and gives its faithful, false hope. They too know that it is futile but they feed of the furious efforts of the misguided, by selling them products, obviously in the name of profits. Even in death, some are not released, they are frozen cryogenically in the hope of technology being able to bring them to life some day. All at a huge cost ofcourse. In the last stanza, I admonish the victims of this game and illusion, assuring them they will die. Instead of wasting time doing things to camouflage and hide the fact, and its nearness, perhaps they should embrace this certainty and spend their last days and energies in the service of humanity. This in my opinion is the best use of their time.

Parched Lakes

I hear faintly in the distance The perpetual sprint of that liquid snake Originating from the invincible West, it marches Demanded by the many parched lakes

And my flesh I did submerge An illusion of beauty, in truth corrupted Like the sediment lifted and engulfed The flow neither stalled nor disrupted

Meandering beast now tossed and turned Ultimatum to comply or be swept away Cloudy mind illuminated, adrenaline fueled spark Retna burned, as light as day.

In bed with solitude, feet rooted An unadulterated mind is worth the saving As they pass, feet up relaxed Pity in eyes, smiling and waving.

Parched lakes

Water is life, there is no denying this simple fact. It keeps both animals and plants alive. Every living thing on the planet requires it to sustain itself. Now, being a citizen of a less economically developed country, it wasnt difficult to see the importance of western aid to our economic well being and to keep the country fully afloat and solvent. Not only in Pakistan but nearly every third world country is extremely dependent on this revenue source, just as dry lakes need water to maintain the fragile eco systems that are dependent on it. Thus, equating aid and water was a very interesting opportunity, to explore my range as a writer. Following this trend, the first stanza becomes pretty much self explanatory, as I am introducing my concept to the readers. Since this has already been explained in the introduction of the analysis, there is no need to elaborate. In the second stanza, I accept that there was a time that I too, knew of the importance of aid and I too was in favour of getting it from the western countries. If it meant keeping my country afloat, I considered it a minor evil and was solely concentrating on the larger picture as most people do. However, I always had the feeling in the back of my mind that something was amiss, but I wasnt far sighted enough at the time to define it. As we became more dependent on the aid, I noticed that the demands were getting more frequent and taxing. On some occasions even threatening. At that point I had a revelation, and everything became crystal clear to me. In the last stanza, I decided to give up on the advantages of receiving this aid and even decided to shun it. What was the result? Solitude, I found myself feeling increasingly excluded and isolated, by friends and family alike. It was a small price to pay, to be my own master, free and in the position to make my own decisions. In the context of a country, for it to really grow it has to be self

sustaining. We may be out of imperial rule, but aid such as this is subservience just without the label. I also see all the countries,that have not realized this as yet, and are living a life of luxury. Atleast, they think they are, but in reality, they are little more than slaves whose chains are not made of iron but of gold. It doesnt matter, chains are chains and the hand that controls them is the same. Now these people are so deluded, they look on the country that has made an active decision to reject politically motivated aid and adopt a path of self rule minus external influences with pity. Pity what? Pity the nice cars, the infrastructure, the buildings and monuments, the schools, freedom of the media? Who was responsible for paying for all these things, the local population? Ofcourse not! It was paid for by external governments so that they can seduce the decision makers to further their own foreign policy agenda in the country under question. The cars are all imported, the infrastructure designed by companies outside the region to facilitate trade with favourable conditions. The buildings and monuments a testament and tribute to the invading power, not militarily but economically, and a media to project their alien ideals on an unsuspecting and nave population. Draconian politics 101.

Her Haven

Look! Her face doused with acid A foaming cyst for an eye Around limp wrists those fingers coil A blackened banana as it spoils

Yellowing teeth exposed, lips parted smile Release of a euphoric cackle On her feet, bolting towards a haven Following a blue dove, an orange raven.

Her Haven

Based on a Palestinian woman, I saw one day on television. She was standing next to the corpse of her 14 year old son who was gunned down on his way back from school by IDF soldiers who mistook him for a terrorist. Next to him, his school books, were strewn all over the footpath where he fell. I will never forget the look on his mothers face, her eyes were swollen with grief and too much crying and her face looked like someone had thrown acid all over it. Just then the news channel reporting it switched to another story, about some other subject and just like that it was forgotten. I on the other hand was still stunned, I couldnt get the images out of my mind. What happens to the woman now, she will have to live her whole life with this grief. I began to imagine what she was going through. For me, it wasnt as easy as switching the channel. That is when I wrote this piece. I began to imagine what she is doing now that the cameras are not rolling and people have moved on. What about her? What would happen to her? How do you get over something like this? I hoped for the best, but I feared the worst. I saw her face, and I dont think I can ever forget it. She was holding on to the boys lifeless wrist, knowing full well that every second that passed, his body was decaying and there is nothing anybody on earth can do about it. In the first stanza, I implore people to look at her and see what this grief has done to her, she has no soft features anymore, it has been distorted by the immense pain. Her son has been murdered! I imagined her to lose her mind, all the extreme sadness would result in a mental break down. What really is the difference between laughing and crying if you are dead from inside? They mean the same thing, if all you feel is grief. I imagined her to lose her mind, to go insane, her features didnt allow her to cry anymore, but she had to find another way to lament. Everything just turned upside down, she began to laugh, but it wasnt a normal laugh, no, it was the

laugh of someone who has lost everything, it was a cry for help, it was automatic, it was defiance, it was pure primal madness! Then I imagined the visions to start. The first sign of a deeply disturbed mind. I imagined her to run, just get up and go. This reality she was living in was too much. Her mind created creatures which cannot possibly exist in the world. They beckoned her to follow, destination unknown, but then again any place is better than here for now.

The Loaded Brush

An iron spike, I lovingly grip Into my arm, I blindly bore The sweet escape of the crimson wave Its impending departure I do adore

In its contents my brush I furnish Now loaded, I prepare to proceed Dancing colours, clothing the canvas The emerging leaves from a seed.

The Loaded Brush

This piece is about artistic inspiration. When an artist creates something truly unique and beautiful, it drains him. He has removed something that was lying latent in his soul, and endured a painful yet pleasurable procedure to bring it into existence. I personally liken it to sticking a needle into ones arm to draw blood. An unnatural pathway to access this blood is created, which requires sacrifice, endurance and ultimately satisfaction. Just as seeds require water in order to show its true potential (otherwise what differentiates it from a small rock or pebble?) An artist has to reach perfect harmony of mind body and soul to produce something which would reveal to the people his true nature. Like a seed whose true potential is often veiled from casual glances and first impressions.

The Lowering..

The seed of desire will Surely sprout the deviant tree Thinly veiled, the spy of the hearts Through whose loose lips, secrets flee

And you, oh messenger of the intellect What other names do you go by? Is it the lowering you cannot bare? The watching lush leaves, slowly go dry?

Blinded, bedazzled that familiar glint In haste you mount the trodden path Weep you should and weep you will Decay the beauty, beauty the wrath!

The Lowering

Let us begin by showing the various perils uncontrolled and wild desires may cause in a man. It takes away rational thought and replaces it with a type of blood lust. This will lead a man down the path of ruin because he will stop at nothing to satisfy it and fulfill these outrageous desires and thus cause irreversible damage o both himself and the ones he holds dear. In the first part of this poem I address these desires, which I refer to as the deviant tree The spy of the hearts is a thinly veiled reference to the eyes of a person which reveals the innermost thoughts of the individual and makes it known to all look upon him. The eye lids are akin to lips which cannot bear to keep secrets. In the second part of the poem, another quality of the eyes has been made known to the reader. In this case, they are called the messenger of the intellect This is because apart from revealing the innermost thoughts of an individual, they also reveal the persons intellect. They act as doors to the mind a gateway if u will to hidden qualities not made obviously clear, save to those who know how to read it. The eyes are very fertile, meaning if they are not protected from vain desires or unreasonable passions, seeds will begin to germinate in them. This cannot be controlled because a door way lets things out but can also let things in. What this means is that the subconscious mind is very complicated and is not under the direct influence of the owner. Subtle things get absorbed, and before one knows it these seeds become trees and slowly infringe upon the realm of the conscious mind affecting the individual directly. However, it is very hard to look away from something the heart finds interesting, beautiful, foreign or strange. This is where the trap lies, and where most of the problems are caused. However, if the individual reminds himself that all beautiful things will decay eventually. That beauty is fleeting and cannot be preserved

indefinitely. To run after these desires is folly and a more constructive use of time can be found which may yield greater rewards. Unfortunately most people are tricked and they dont take the time out to think on their actions long enough. They are hoodwinked by the glimmer and so mesmerized and hypnotized they follow all the countless souls before them on a well trodden path to destruction. It is well trodden because the majority of the people have fallen for this age old trick, yet very few have learnt and I am sure very few will learn. Eventually once these desires have become an obsession it is too late for the victim. It consumes him and takes over every facet of his earthly life. This causes him to weep at his situation which has left him totally incapable of anything. If only he had realized that the beauty was in the decay of the object of his desire as the truth would have become manifest to him. The beauty was just a trap as mentioned earlier and because he followed it so blindly and made it his sole aim in life, it has roused the anger of his creator who has left him in abject error due to his foolishness and unwillingness to learn from the mistakes of those who have gone before him.

Souls Sold

Throne of knowledge, their thighs Fingers negotiating the next word Broken walls and peeling paint Harbouring terrorists.. ABSURD!

Eighty stories left unfinished Eighty corpses cold Responsibility claimed, arms raised Reciepts in hand, SOULS SOLD!

Souls Sold

A straight forward piece, simple to understand once the context is made clear. It was inspired by a news report I saw a few years back, in which a religious school was bombed by unmanned US drones, instantly killing all eighty occupants. What makes the story even more tragic is the fact that all occupants were between the ages of five and twelve. In the first stanza, the throne of knowledge, their thighs is a reference to the holy books these students placed on their laps, while reading them. With their fingers they used to turn the pages, increasing their knowledge as they progressed through the writings in order to illuminate themselves further. The building where they were studying was in severe disrepair because of the lack of funds provided. This however did not deter them from continuing their studies. These little boys were nothing more than innocent children, not the terrorists they were made out to be when the decision to bomb them to dust was made. This truly tragic event cut short their lives and all the potential in them was lost forever. What is really disturbing was the reaction of the Pakistani government after this fact became known to the media and permeated into main stream Pakistani society. Not only were innocent children murdered in cold blood but they were killed by a foreign power in their own land. The government whose function it is to protect the citizens of the land failed these young boys. Although they had little choice but to accept responsibility, it was put down to inaccurate information and pilot error. Frankly it doesnt matter what the excuse was as the damage was already done. I know of no power that allows a foreign entity to encroach upon their sovereignty and kill its own countrymen, be they innocent or guilty. There is only one explanation that comes to mind, for such behavior. The government officials have sold themselves, they have been seduced by money and power and are too afraid to stand up to these aggressors. These are the same elected officials who have

been voted into power by these same people who they have sworn to protect. Instead of protecting them, they lead them like lambs to slaughter, all in the name of self interest and fuller pockets.

Empty walls, Empty Minds

Mocking me from a distance With its daffodil tongue Stirring the air clockwise Sits diagonally the ivory snake

Exuding an arctic chill Its blue eyes do pierce Like two dusty sapphires Peeking through the slit

The same sand which perhaps? Is the haze around my flawed mind Clouding judgement, distorting reality Through cupped hands, sipping insanity

Such hate as I approach Under each step, a resounding crunch Insignificant snails that I crush And each bush I set a blaze

In the heat of passion Through the crumbling leaves By the sound of charring I release you I swear

And what of the bone serpent Should I grab it by the throat? Wrap it around my thigh? Squeeze its jewels into my already full pockets.

Or.. Bath it in the blood of doves Stain its lips crimson same as hers. Gash it open with my blade Throw it into the furnace to stew?

But maybe? No I couldnt! Perhaps I should? Forgive the pathetic creature.

Empty Walls, Empty Minds

Although this poem may be hard to comprehend in the first reading, it is in fact, quite simple. It may seem to be about revenge but it deals with the road that leads to forgiveness. The journey a wronged individual takes in his mind to reach a peaceful place. His hate and anger melting away, to reveal serenity and acceptance. The realization that revenge will only ruin his quality of life and that only with true forgiveness, can a person transcend the petty squabbles of this world. In the first stanza, he sees the person who has wronged him. He likens him to a snake taunting him with its tongue. The negative energy emanating from him is unsettling to the victim, and is well aware of the ill intent this transgressor bears towards him by the look in his eyes. This constant negative energy, is affecting his mind, and is making him uncomfortable. His quality of life is also suffering as he is constantly looking over his shoulder. Whenever he sees this individual his blood boils and the anger is clouding his judgment, making him act as a fool. His anger is slowly taking over his everyday life. Since he cannot confront his enemy, he takes it out on all the people who are close to him, meaning his family and friends. Before he reaches tipping point, he begins to realize what this anger is doing to him. He now knows he must dispel it from his presence before he makes a serious mistake and is deserted by those who love him and are close to him. He asks himself, if he forgives and lets go all the wrong done to him by his enemy, what will happen to him? Should he plan one final assault to finish him? Should he take from him all that he has? He considers to do it out of spite, even though he doesnt need it, he is well off himself without having to stoop to this level.

Or should he expose him, by making his true nature apparent to the people? He recalls a time in his past when a woman did him wrong, he finds similarities between that affront and this current one. He is aware his mind is wandering so he quickly pulls himself back to the problem at hand. Other thoughts of torture and payback surface, but by now he realizes what he has to do, and these thoughts are little more than empty suggestions his ego is throwing at him, with little chance of success or actual implementation. In the last stanza, he comes to terms with the fact that anger and revenge are useless, and he would be better off, just forgiving his enemy and moving on with his life. He doesnt want to risk what he already has on a foolish vendetta, which would make him no better than his enemy in his own eyes and the eyes of the world.

Now Immortal

Spin your web of death and destruction Leave me marooned in this shallow sea Spin your web of death and destruction For the best of planners is HE.

Spin your web of death and destruction Gorge my eyes with this burning branch Spin your web of death and destruction Dont need eyes to maintain my stance

In this vast web you spin for me Alone and blind you relish my pain But with head held high in whatever direction The blood of the truthful flows through these veins

What is it you strive for? To see me reduced to ash and dust Pillage rape and ruin me Just to satisfy your undying lust.

If this is what it takes to be a martyr Look at my open embracing arms Clinging to you, tears of joy will flow For I am now, immortal.

Now Immortal

The righteous man is almost always outnumbered. Numbers however are of little importance for him because he has the truth with him. Even one soldier of truth is enough against an army of falsehood. This is Gods law, which can never be changed. Truth will triumph over falsehood just as light pierces the darkness. This is my tribute to Imam Hussain(a.s) the King of martyrs, who like in many things, was my inspiration for this piece. This is the story of a man, who finds himself outnumbered by the hypocrites, who want to destroy him, because he disagrees with what they stand for and wants to stop them. He stands in front of them, telling them to do their worst, rob him of everything and leave him isolated. He will not stop doing what he thinks is right, he has faith that God is the best of planners, and they are bound to fail. Once he sees that they are not satisfied by his isolation and his ruined reputation which they unjustly inflicted on him, he invites them to take his eyes. He warns them that the light of truth is so bright he doesnt need his eyes to perceive it and his stance on the matter will not shift one iota. Even though he is mortally wounded, he has kept his composure and dignity. This is because the blood of the truthful runs through his veins. He is totally as ease with the situation, because he knows he is right, and this is the price of not compromising on the truth. He asks them what they are planning to achieve by subjecting him to all these tortures? Do they want to burn his earthly remains, desecrate his corpse then burn it? Why? It is their ego, which is making them do all these detestable things. However, they are too blind to perceive it.

He realizes his time has now nearing the end. Since his earlier efforts to communicate with his enemies have come to naught, he begins to speak to himself. He prepares his body and mind for martyrdom. He is at peace with himself and is even joyous while awaiting the final curtain call. He would embrace his aggressors, if he had the strength, because like the fountain of youth, they have made him immortal. An epic that would be retold to countless generations to come, all singing praises to his name, the martyr of truth.

Vultures Descend

In the tight warm embrace Of the cold grey city Perched on those shoulders of power A misguided creature, a parrot I pity

A mascot for the enlightened A glowing ember in the dark A perfect mate for the bald eagle A magnificent, mighty lark

And your offering dipped in venom A publicity stunt do not pretend Sip your wine, write your lines For soon, the vultures descend.

Vultures Descend

The enemy within, is something all regimes and establishments fear most of all. They are very hard to detect and have been known to cause the most damage. They hide behind a faade of respectability and patriotism as they look talk and act like one of the team. However, their innermost thoughts are often very different from the words they speak. If ever, you wish to weed out the imposters, know them from their actions, not what they say. Vultures descend, is my effort to highlight the truth about these so called patriots, free thinkers and revolutionaries. I would like the reader to know and recognize the difference, so that they may stay well clear of them, and if the opportunity arises, to expose them for what they really are. In the first stanza, I begin by introducing a particular individual who has willingly exiled himself from the country and land of his birth, from his culture and heritage, from his religion and morals and taken safe haven in the arms of his colonial masters. He has adopted another country as his own and in order to secure their favour has been mimicking their call just as a parrot would do to his masters call. For this act, he is considered enlightened, because he seems to be one of those that have shed the the backwardness of his people and has evolved to such an extent, to convince his hosts and masters that he is a worthy partner in their struggle against all they deem contrary to their culture and civilization. It would seem that such an individual would be an inspiration because if his former countrymen hear these words coming out of his mouth, they are more likely to listen and follow him. What he doesnt realize is that his efforts are obvious to the majority, and they refuse to ingest his poison. He is nothing more

than a propaganda tool to them, something they know his imperial masters will tire of as soon as his effectiveness declines. Although to him, he is living a dream life, enjoying all the luxuries that this world has to offer, death will put an end to it as it does to all living things. The vultures circling overhead, represents death approaching with each passing day. Soon it will be upon him, and all his efforts would have come to nothing.

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