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 Jul 2016 DSD
Jana Chehab
A poem was always supposed to heal, or to help; at least in a way or another.
But this time is different, not even Rumi can do the work.
My mind is in a blank state-it has shut down.
With a trembling body and shaking wrists
Stealing glances and guilty kisses
Amongst each panic attack I drive through
I sense your sighs and get charged
Then see your phone screen and drop down
My nerves are threads ablaze
She has bigger eyes, her body is steady and so are her wrists
But she does not admire that surgical scar of yours
I seek refuge in it and that's the problem, I guess
She claims ownership, it is her right after all
She is priority
You write her name on every bill board
And I hold the ladder for you
You are writing my death note, you know
But these matters are small
For your phone screen will still glow
With messages that will make you grin
She demands ownership, it is her right after all
As I fight Gods to get those grains of sand you once stepped on
But she is priority, she is royalty.
This is not a poem, it is a tribute
To the time when I breathed you in and you breathed me out
We could have breathed forever
But my cells are attacking one another
And my mind is in a blank state
I have already mentioned that
But you see, I can not hold that ladder anymore
And I am in no state at all
Not one of priority - obviously.
 Jul 2016 DSD
Jana Chehab
Analgesic
 Jul 2016 DSD
Jana Chehab
I wanted to speak of his powers
As King preached for liberty
The world seems to know of legends and Englishmen behind platforms
of heroes and villains on stages
and maybe of some med students explaining how unprotected *** leads to ***
But tongues have not yet spoken of his rampant ability
to be a beacon and a tempest
how he could raze and raise
abate and abet
I wanted to tell them
Why the soil recall his footsteps
And the leaves hiss as he exhales
But he dresses in polyester and he even walks unmasked
Everyone speaks of anarchism and GMOs
Then fetch a beer and watch the football game on live stream
I wonder if roses are cowards which embrace their raspy thorns
But then I remember how I would grasp you in a heartbeat
And I wanted to tell the world of your powers
 Jul 2016 DSD
Jana Chehab
I have been seeking a moment when
My paean would see the light
A melody when your serrated laugh
Crescendoes and obviates all evils
But what I'm truly wishing for
Is to be a scabbard to your sword
The bell that wakes you up at noon
A hymn that you know by heart
And the rituals that you adhere to
Tell me how I could shield
The furtive rhythm of your chords
To venerate the echoes of your fingertips
And be completely absorbed in your silhouette
I am proclaiming my paean
That seems five months of age
But in fact it has been decades
Trapped amongst verses and rhymes
If Hemingway was exchanging breaths
You could be his martini glass
Or the obsession of Shelley with Keats
Or maybe a beer bottle on Hank's grave
But the golden lotus has been outdated
For you are my fierce flames
To sanctify and to revive
And unlike Plath I'm living to see
When my paean would come to life


Cheers to five months.
 Jul 2016 DSD
Prathipa Nair
Hurtling to make money
Brawling for the seats
Competing for the fame
Shrieking out loud for religious violence
Selfish and greedy humans
Killing brotherhood using
Vengeance and acrimony
Sharper than the weapons
Earth floating like a paper boat
In the pool of human blood
What do they take with them
To the graveyard ?
Bonehead people not knowing
Nothing but a dead body are they
Leaving alone with no money,
No fame, no seats, no religion
Not even their own body !
 Jul 2016 DSD
Prathipa Nair
Lost in his thoughts
With her eyes closed
Waking up from her fancy
By the call of a pigeon
With a message from him
Conveying to meet him
Near the river side
Of the Gulmohar tree
Hearing the trumpet of
The evening conch

With an acceptable smile
Ready in his favourite
Shining peach fruit dress
Wide eyes with black kajal
Long black hair decorated
With magical fragrance
Of buds of jasmine flowers
Colourful bangles filling
Her soft wheatish hands
With musical bands

Sitting under the flame tree
Decorated with beautiful
Orange-red Gulmohar petals
Waiting for her beloved
Lasting the wait till dawn
But never did he come
Flowing kajal with her tears
Turning her to black cheeks
Back to her despondency
Like a broken soul

Comes again the pigeon
With a message on its body
Written by human blood
Dear, move on in your life
I am, no more in this life
Jasmines giving an odour
Bangles becoming colourless
Kajal, blurring her vision
Falling down on the floor
With her eyes closing !
 Jul 2016 DSD
Prathipa Nair
Not at all in my control
Of the gentle wind
Cooling my feverish body
Thoughts about you
Bringing shower of
You nearing me slowly
To and fro,eyes swinging
Goosebumps in my hands
Like green grass tilting
After a monsoon rain
Admiring of my smile
In the mirror with a blush
Seeing you behind me
Turning like a slush
Lost myself in your thoughts !
 Jul 2016 DSD
SE Reimer
~

a mortal can no more free himself
than can from ravenous spider,
the frail and struggling fly;
nor from ferocious wolf,
can flee the helpless lamb.

a mortal sees his frailty,
feels his utter weaknesses,
in mind, in sprit, and in frame,
weighted ’gainst the task at hand
can raise his head no more again.

for to lift, to build, restore, forgive
these no mortal man has ever done.
but ask a man who knows his ilk,
the kin of whom he is,
the stuff with which he’s made
the cloth from which he’s cut...

he is no mortal man
who knows the dust
from which he’s plucked;
who’s hands have molded his;
who’s very chest has heaved,
with breath from giver,
this his gift.

tis his, the bugled call,
on longing ears that falls,
gives answer to the sound;
this the one when wisdom cries,
in streets she gathers round,
calling voice to one to all...

“let your weeping cease
and from the void,
the darkened corners creep.
no more you are
oh man, oh woman,
no mere mortal thee!
you breath the very wind,
with forward vision see,
graced with strength and
robed in immortality!"


immortal one, to him ordained,
to raise his voice above the fray,
beyond the strife, through the pain;
of mortal man the lot, the whole,
none can raise his mortal soul;
but gift him immortality,
a mortal man is he no more,
immortality has set him free!

~

*post script.

in believing himself wise enough to know all,  mankind settles for only shreds of truth and dismisses his immortality as impossible fairied tales and *******; embracing mortality, he dooms himself to an endless spiral of hopelessness, closing his mind to the hopefulness that lies so closely nearby.

believe me when i say, earth’s gravitational pull became no weightier after Newton explained it to us;  DaVinci’s sails filled no more fluidly after we knew how wind was formed.  long before her forces were understood, mankind built towers and harnessed nature’s forces for good; understanding where it came from was not only secondary... it was  unnecessary to its function and its employment.  (any who might suggest i am dismissing knowledge as useless would be missing my point). we can act immortally long before understanding it origins or fullness.  the healing of our nation requires those who can act with immortality; not as mere mortals.

words from C.S. Lewis in his, ’The Weight of Glory’, “you’ve never met a mere mortal… nations, cultures, arts, civilizations are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. …it is immortals whom we… work with, marry, snub, and exploit.”
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