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Rangzeb Hussain Jan 2012
“It’s a surprise…
Come here my sweet angel.”

She shyly steps over to him
And in his palms places her gentle hands,

“Come my doll,
Let me place this blindfold upon you.”

He ties a blindfold across her downcast eyes
and tapes her surprised lips.

“Now, sweet angel of the Lord,
Hold out your right hand to receive your gift.”

She does…

There is a sharp swish!
His knife slices through her first finger of trust.

“Want an education, eh?”
Her forefinger will never again index another book.

“Want a career, eh?”
Her signature finger is cut to the bone,

“Want to improve yourself, eh?”
He hacks off her trembling little finger.

“Want to discover yourself, eh?”
He peels off the identity from her thumb.

Her trust, her love, her dreams,
They lie there scrawled in the ink of her blood.

But in time there is a vow made,
She promises to learn to write again.

Her left hand will right the attack upon her rights,
She will resurrect and join the cracks in her dreams.
This is based on a real incident.
Rangzeb Hussain Jan 2012
She’s a go-getter,
A real achiever,
Ambition burns her,
Dreams filled with fever.

Lipstick, red and slick,
Ears, gold spins and spirals,
Hair, long and beautifully curled,
Skin, supple and smoothly pearled.

Neck, exposed and proud,
Shoulders, open and marbled,
Chest, creamed and perfumed,
Hips, mini-skirted and revealed.

Posterior, raised and inviting,
Interior, poised and excited,
Exterior, rosy and aroused,
Inferior,  ***** and discarded.

Money showers her at the town table,
Attention applauds her in the tabloid papers,
Men wine and dine her up and down the land,
Silken beds caress her shapely legs and soft hands.

Flaunted,
Used,
Abused,
Dreams sold.
Rangzeb Hussain Dec 2011
Courage?  

It does not lie at the end of a rifle
Nor does it explode with a grenade or a pistol,

It does not march with platoons
Nor does it rise with the wrath of nations,

It does not spit or rage
Nor does it whip in hate,

It does not attack the old
Nor does it cage the young or infirm,

It does not torture
Nor does it trap the breath of dissent,

  
Courage?  *

It sings upon the lips of children
Who fear no uniformed evil,

It beats at the heart of truth’s valley
Where a beleaguered generation waits for hope,

It is the flower bursting forth in the fertile earth of the homeless
Whose schools are bulldozed into dry desert dust,

It fights and floats from the fists of Freedom’s orphaned children,
In their wide open palms they free the heart of courage,

Courage cannot be caught nor in any barrack taught,
Courage is the food that fuels Liberty’s true fire.
Rangzeb Hussain Nov 2011
This poem is dedicated to the fallen of the First World War, and also, to all those we have lost in the years since.

- Somme Harvest -

In the early morning
Dawn of the fiery horizon,
The sea of green caresses the land
And gave it gentle kisses
Of tender sadness.

On this day many an unlived life would find
Life in Death, but first must come Death in Life,
Indeed, a bouquet of barbs grace the
Dark, dank, *****
Halls of Morningstar,
Servants go to and fro preparing the sordid feast
Of unsung heroes.

Babes in arms are they, who shall
Ever sleep till the break of the final day.

Fields of Flanders infertile,
But for the harvest to ripen
The fertilizer of life is
Scattered, battered, tattered,
Sown,
Human manure, nutrient of vitality,
It seeps into earthly soil.

In the year of our Lord,
One thousand, nine hundred and sixteen
Did the farmers collect their greatest bounty,
Not all farmers reaped massive yields,
Farmers Kultur, Sickle and Hammer
Fed their maniacal hunger with rotting corpses,
While famers Lion, Bulldog and Bald Eagle
Wept their hunger with mechanical eyes,
Farmer Scythe, steward of Morningstar,
Laughed dry, dead tears of hungry joy
And sang the golden harvest song
As his blade swam through the harvest thirstily,
For indeed, the harvest was an endless
Smoky sea of blood green
And thousands were sailing.

Twilight gleaming through the sky,
The raging war god *****’s dry thunderous wrath
And wreaks barbaric, savage, ferocious, ****** carnage below,
As sleeping
Babes in arms fly through the red twilight.

Vultures dressed in human feathers
Gather and crowd around their congealing cold feast,
With hatred sewn on their
Lifeless, lidless
Blind eyes,
They shriek their throaty, ******
Thankless prayers to idle gods.

A multitude of thousands upon thousands
Of souls sour to the heights of Mount Olympus,
Unshed tears,
My child, I saw you in that dusky evening half-light,
Flying, soaring and rising higher with your
Brothers-in-arms.

As I looked up at the darkening sky
My heart wept warm tears of ebbing love,
While my eyes forever dimmed the light,
And my baby,
My body became the Earth,

The phoenix has nested.
Rangzeb Hussain Nov 2011
This poem was inspired by a photograph taken by Kevin Carter. The photo can be viewed at the following link:

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3533/3889588190e6c52b9358o.jpg


A Prayer for the Forgotten

I weep O Lord, I weep,
I weep for those who have no more tears to weep,
In this world overflowing with wealth
a child should not be left for the birds of carrion,

Look to it now before the hour grows cold,*

Remember well the flapping of the Reaper’s wings,
For on the tolling of the day,
One day now, one day soon,
You too will be snatched away before the break of day.
Rangzeb Hussain Nov 2011
In the room there is a heart beating fast and fresh,
A child newly dressed from heaven’s kingdom blessed,

Touch and feel the softness of unpainted beauty,
No pressure yet, no career, no worries, nor any duties,

Breathe in and taste the fragrance of sweet paradise,
This perfume is innocence; it can never be bought or priced,

What lovely eyes, full of vitality and life’s bright energy,
The world has not yet cast its shadows on this miracle of biology,

Mother and child glow in a world drunk on darkness,
This gift to mankind, this birth makes Death hopeless.
This poem is for Sal on the birth of her nephew.
Rangzeb Hussain Oct 2011
What have I done, my master, that angers you so?

I crept into this world on an icy cold dark night,
But once you showed me warmth and light,
My father I did not see,
Father you did for a time become to me,
I still treasure those spring days happily,
It was an age when the fresh earth laughed madly
(And you men smiled with it).

Once days of light darkened
Murky red and it was my blood I saw hardened
On your hands, my father,
My master, my friend, are
You mine enemy?

In your greatest hour I did stand by you,
Mine fatal hour was at hand and I cried out for the truth,
In my beggar’s voice I pleaded to you
To guard, today, my children and their generations too
As I once did yours.

I never sold or bargained my love
But you traded yours for scrap paper doves,
My eyes always glistened,
These days I weep salt tears and ask you to listen,
My idiot smile always seemed foolish but now I wear
Pagliacci’s lipstick.

While you desecrate my humble gravestone
I never once did the same in spite, hate or even while digging for a bone,
I shall always play the fool
Who is used as a tool
And nothing more by you.

Where are you now? Were not you and I fashioned out from blood
Of the same mud,
By the one God?
I never changed my tune which was composed by a bard
But I hear you dance to a different hymn,
They say Satan was Keeper of the Music Inn
Before he was sent down
To a place where he found a sound
That forever changed his jig.

I did have two eyes,
You used your blind eyes for lies,
My nose I gave up for your nightly protection
While you always smelt for election,
You have two deaf ears,
Mine always heard the sound of fears,
You once did have a heart, mine bled,
I hang my head and go to my earthen bed,
Compassion is a word that spells dread
For Humankind.

The rags that you men worship daily
Drove you to haunt me gaily,
If careful you are not
Those same rags will one day sink their needle teeth into your soft rot,
The needle that put me to into Death’s sleep
Will bury into you deep indeed
And bite softly it will, like lice,
Will you howl like I did *(out of pain, not cowardice),

Or are you going to offer the other cheek?

I was crucified for your guilt
Which upon my shoulders you day by day built,
Mine life was extinguished under the burning weight,
Even in rigid death you hound me mate
And thousands like me are detained,
But loyal we will remain,
In the fiery jaws of hellish Death
I never spat out my love but I bet
You never wept,
My master who once did return my love.

*What have I done, my master, that angers you so?
The tabloid press in Great Britain orchestrated a rabid campaign to outlaw the American Bulldog breed after a handful of reports filtered in about how some of these dogs had attacked people. The sensationalist reports were so sustained, on a systematic daily basis, that the government eventually capitulated and passed a law which not only forbade people from importing the breed but also for all American Bulldogs to be detained and destroyed. Instead of reprimanding irresponsible owners who may have abused and conditioned their dogs to be aggressive, the government issued a blanket ban on the entire breed. Thus, within weeks, an entire breed of dog was wiped clean from the shores of Great Britain. Police raided homes and snatched away family pets and exterminated them with lethal injection. For the crimes of a few the entire breed paid the penalty with their lives.
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