you were in my dream last night
and i woke up
and everything we did meant nothing

A pious man had two daughters beautiful set forth ,
Till one day he married then off both,
one wed the farmer and other wed the potter,
the wise man called on them a year after.

To the farmer’s wife he asked how she felt,
"A lot happy father, only there is one thing I want yet
We sowed some seeds and the rains have not made the fields wet",
Do not worry dear I'll pray after I have left.

As he crossed the fields green,
He prayed for the  clouds  to rain.
and went to see the other one of his lineage,
who lived yonder in the next village,.

To the potters wife he asked how she felt,
A lot happy father, only there is one thing I want yet,
We made some pots and the sun is not as hot as it should get,
The wise man sat up and soon he went out and left.

Under the big tree.. he knelt down and prayed
Asked His forgiveness, uttering these words as he raved,
O Lord.. thou are the only one to know what to do,
The wisest of all, thou only  knows what is the best..!"


This is a story narrated to me by my mentor (Moula)..longtime ago and I only gave it a shape of a poem. Before this I had posted  it on my Multiply blog.

(By: Khan, BA..01-1-2017)

If I could love
the limping
ugly
afraid
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns

If I could let
the transparent
clawing
screaming
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement

If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see

Then.
Then, I could be free.

Anxiety
Is drowning me
My thoughts run ten rivers
before I speak
And even then
my voice sounds bleak

After each sentence
immediate remorse
I shouldn't have said that,
not like that, ofcourse

My palms feel sweaty
My heart beats loud
Im probably too quiet,
too modest,
too proud

I think all your thoughts for you, the ones about me,
Theyre always mean phrases
Excruciatingly
Berating

I need to flee

I wont look you in the eye
Not for too long anyway
My soul is something private
Shallow depths i
cannot give away

I dont like you.
Because youre a human.

I dont like me.
Because im me.

I am never free

To be human too,
The same as you
To just be able to breathe
Thats all i need..

But The iron shackles
keep mocking me
I am chained to
Social Anxiety

I've reheated the same
Cup of coffee five times
This evening

Trying to write something
For myself that accurately
Describes how I experience

Often I am flooded in the ordinary
By the emotion and the density
Of life itself, in all its majesty

And sometimes I am left
Devoid of sentiment
In moments deemed worthy

I get lost in thinking of
The way the future will
Tangle with the present

I find myself stopped in
A memory as well,
A reminder, a fragment of past

The present is a fleeting concept
A paradox, I think
A circle of thought

At what point
Does the future become the present?
And the present become the past?

If you want to know
what is happening
to the world,
don't just watch
the news every night;
watch what happens
to yourself
after watching
the news
every night.

This is it.
My ending.
My epitaph.
I am exhausted.
I have explored every idea I wanted to explore.
I have told the stories I have wanted to tell.
My imagination has been stretched to its very limits.
It's time to call it a day.

For now.

Perhaps, someday, I may return.
To write a second chapter.
A new beginning.
Perhaps.

Until then, farewell.

there is always that space there
just before they get to us
that space
that fine relaxer
the breather
while say
flopping on a bed
thinking of nothing
or say
pouring a glass of water from the
spigot
while entranced by
nothing

that
gentle pure
space

it's worth

centuries of
existence

say

just to scratch your neck
while looking out the window at
a bare branch

that space
there
before they get to us
ensures
that
when they do
they won't
get it all

ever.

death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg
there against the glass
there alive in the sun,
spun in white;
and almost like love:
the closing over,
the first hushed spider-*******:
filling its sack
upon this thing that lived;
crouching there upon its back
drawing its certain blood
as the world goes by outside
and my temples scream
and I hurl the broom against them:
the spider dull with spider-anger
still thinking of its prey
and waving an amazed broken leg;
the fly very still,
a ***** speck stranded to straw;
I shake the killer loose
and he walks lame and peeved
towards some dark corner
but I intercept his dawdling
his crawling like some broken hero,
and the straws smash his legs
now waving
above his head
and looking
looking for the enemy
and somewhat valiant,
dying without apparent pain
simply crawling backward
piece by piece
leaving nothing there
until at last the red gut sack
splashes
its secrets,
and I run child-like
with God's anger a step behind,
back to simple sunlight,
wondering
as the world goes by
with curled smile
if anyone else
saw or sensed my crime