Tonight,
As Nelson Mandela fights for his life,
Our TV screens are smeared with Prince Philips' ill health.

Tell me true,
Of the two who has done more for world peace
And for his fellow travellers who journey through this life?

Two men,
One rich and royal and stained with bullet powder
And the other poor yet rich with the jewels of integrity.

And darkness rained down at noon,
On the hill the sun drowned in the darkness,
The shadows of three crosses fluttered on the blood scarred sand,

Guards kept watch with eyes laced with the poison of ignorance,
The anvils of grief hammered in the hearts of the believers,
Their day of deliverance lay shrouded in lamentations for their Savior,

The wind wiped the blood and caressed the foot of the King of Kings,
High on the hills of the valley the noon skies shuddered,
And from the clouds at the gates of heaven a raindrop fell,

Death died on that day,
Life immortal was born on that day,
Love and peace were blessed on that day.

They tried to bury the King who lived amongst beggars,
His was the Kingdom where the throne shimmered with prayers,
He had no need for the bloodstained seat of man-made power,

His crown was studded with the rapturous light of truth,
They came to carve out the heart of mercy at the break of dawn,
Their swords and spears twinkled under the newly born sunlight,

Wood, nails, hammers and spears, daggers  too,
They wished to silence one who walked in the valley of the lepers,
In the court of snakes and vipers they scorned his words of hope,

They could not extinguish the message of the Beloved,
His words were written at the very first light of the first day,
Their eternal beauty has seduced and melted mountains into rivers.

Spring still lies buried in the memory of ice,
The flowers of the season are curled in slumber,
Warmer days seem so distant and fragile,
In her sad heart the seeds of Spring slowly germinate.

The tides of Christmas brought a new song on the air,
The life of freedom was kissed and warmly blessed,
They called her the Mother of the eternal Saviour,
Her pure blood gave colour to the petals of her red rose.

The years hailed sharp and fast and the Lord of wisdom matured,
The soldiers sharpened their infernal spears and spikes,
The sands of time spat hot thorns through men’s minds,
She hugged her Son and crowned him with merciful sleep.

He caressed away the tears from eyes sad before their time,
They came in search of the Healer who washed away fear and pain,
He kissed his Mother’s palms and the scent of the rose was there,
She wrapped his aching pain in her tears and whispered peace in his ears.

Who will write our songs now?
Our children only know the sad chants of death.

Who will weep for our forgotten dead?
Our histories are buried under mountains of war.

Who will rock us to sleep now?
Our pillows are pockmarked with the roar of nightmares.

Who will sing and celebrate our days now?
Our skies are filled with the screams of death’s drones.

Who will feed us now?
Our hunger feeds our minds and sustains our souls.

Who will smile with us now?
Our families have been harvested into early earthen graves.

Who will remember us now?
Our haunted smiles are all that remain.

Will you also take that from us?

Remember,
That first year in uncertain September,
She kissed you goodbye at the weeping gates,
School soon gave birth to new and exciting mates.

Remember,
The perfumed sweat of that summer,
Cool was the shade she so breezily offered,
You screamed and thundered and all her hopes shattered.

Remember,
The stainless snows of December,
Warm were the embers of the kitchen’s delicious fireplace,
Those well wrapped memories stay warm in the mind’s secure space.

Remember,
The lost and lonely nights of November,
Gone was the warmth and safety of her love’s vast stream,
The nightmare days you feared now snuggle and drown your dreams.

There are angels buried in gravestones
And devils carved into human souls,

Under the marble crawls the tail of a serpent
And the death of life is scaled across its back.

There is a signature etched into her bones
And a stale message hums a storm in her veins,

At the dusk of another fast dying day she weeps
And grief scratches through the doors of her heart.

My child…

My sweet red rose,
The thorns of life’s wars have not yet marked their scars,
Snuggle next to me,
There, there,
Be warm and let me tell you about a love deeper than time…

In the perfumed halls of Eternity,
Once, when Time was yet an infant,
The Eternal Beloved of all sprinkled Love,
And the purest glittering particles settled
Upon a Mother and her sleeping newly born Child.

And love there was,
Timeless,
Universal,
Eternal,
True and pure.

My baby, rest easy,
My child, breathe easy,
My son, play easy,
My daughter, sleep easy,
The memory of love will light away any dark dreams.

I have loved life
And I have loved the seasons,
I have loved the scent of beauty
And I have loved God Eternal,
Remember well, my child, my love is always here for you.



©Rangzeb Hussain

The rains that once brought her the warmth of his gentle embrace,
Those rains have returned,
But now there is no more reassuring warmth
nor is there the scent of love,
His freshly splashed aftershave no longer mingles with the raindrops on her cheeks.

Under this lush greenwood avenue would she and he caress and talk,
Their shy miles spoke sweeter than words,
They had no need for long nightly chats,
Their love ran deeper and smoother than the reservoir
Where they used to sit in the days before the rains came.

In the field where he once played under the shade of the old oak tree,
Now there is only a burnt out stump,
Lightening struck there once and tore out the heart of the oak,
Softly falls the rain, deep it runs into the roots and veins,
Her sinking subconscious swims through the fragrance of the falling rain.

On the evening air there is a sigh of another dying day,
The pathway ahead of her shimmers with the wet memory pools of another dead day,
Somewhere along this now lonely road she lost something rare,
After the fall of love she found a way to live under the cold cloak of life,
Without him there by her side under the umbrella there is no reflection of joy.

Behind her, shadows of the past call after her, begging her to turn back,
Ahead of her, the path grows a little lighter,
Above her, the trees and clouds shift apart to shower light and hope,
Around her, the leaves glow green and red and yellow gold,
There was a storm once, and after the rains, came the silence of solitude.

Supple and smooth, silky soft skin,
Sensual, secretive and seductive,
It curves, full of curvaceous curls,

Hips glisten and warm to the touch,
Flawless flesh full of flirtatious discovery,
Horizons hatch with moist mystery,

Lascivious legs luscious and long,
And there nesting was a stark naked message,
It was sculpted in lines shaped with skull bone,

At the source where beautiful Life is birthed,
Right there at the doors of delirious desires,
Death held seat on the throne of Life.

Her life was measured by the shimmering song of life,

Her beauty will live on in the art and memory of mankind,

Her name was Norma Jeane but Marilyn was her star’s sign,

Her eyes now drink in the dreaming valley of the eternal divine.

Remember them...

They were soldiers once upon a time,
They fought so we could live in better times,

Remember them...

Many of them died far from their families and homes,
Many of them came back with scars and broken bones,

Remember them...

They are old, and fast marching time is not on their side,
They are old, please help them live with dignity and pride,

Remember them...

We remember the past with a gold and yellow glow,
But we have forgotten the graves weeping rich red blood,

We remember it was for a good and righteous fight,
But we have forgotten the cause of the real rhyme and reason,

We remember the sacrificed lone Unknown Soldier,
But we have forgotten his fallen and long gone brothers-in-arms,

We remember the passion and glory of our Lord,
But we have forgotten our dreaming days of peace and flying hope,

We remember the War started in the year of 1914,
But we have forgotten that War's rage bleeds right into our day and age,

We remember the deep red poppies in rich European fields,
But we have forgotten the crows who snatched away our salvation and souls.

Remember a November night...

Fireworks tear through the cloudy eyes of the weeping sky,
A bonfire of truth is piled high and somewhere someone cries,
There were sparklers of hope once and joy did jiggle and fly,
But now people die and cry, they scream out "Why? Why? Why?"