As I entered the subway in the early morning spit and drizzle
My sleep rusted eyes saw bags, black plastic bags,
Bin bags, there were three, huddled at the far end,
Against the biting cold, the trinity of bags rustled,
Flipping, flapping, hugging, seeking warmth in the tunnel.

And yet…

When my shoes slipped across the wet subway floor
And I got nearer to the ******* heap at the far end,
My eyes suddenly froze and my steps slowed,
Those bin bags were acting as a windbreaker,
A windbreaker for a body upon the concrete floor.

A man without a home…

Wind, shrieking a heartless hymn of obscene guilt,
It punched through my carefully guarded sense of humanity,
A man slept there, discarded and forgotten, head near the gutter,
Shoes curled, body curled, a man searching for a mother’s warmth,
The light above harsh, dank, and as lifeless and as merciless as a tomb.

Do not forsake him…

This man, he was the son of the morning, dreaming in lands unknown,
Sleeping in lands known, attacked by politicians, kicked by society,
Demonized by the press and bitten by the rabid media machine,
Knifed by the blade of youth, and eulogized by the church and elders,
Yet, through it all, we all knew, and we silently walked on our way.

Autumn light,
It shines bright,
Look how it delights,
It showers and ignites.

Then...

In the blink of coming night
The bright light
Becomes twilight,
And we fade from life's sight.

He flew to our shores on the back of a black iron bird,
Immigration stamped him through on a student visa,
His mother’s kiss still lingered upon the lips of memory,
To Sheffield he came waving away Sri Lankan tears.

Life was hard, life was sleepless, life was unrelenting,
To eat his daily bread he worked long into the dread night,
By day he studied English knowledge inked in books old,
And by the arrival of twilight he delivered steaming dreams.

Every day, every single day, by the light of day, he spoke,
He spoke to his beloved mother so far away across oceans,
They had a bond true and deep, a mother and her beloved son,
But wings wet with evil were flapping closer and closer…

On the night before the Eve of All Hallows the darkness came,
As he drove through a wet night on the last shift of his job,
As he went to deliver his final aromatic pizza of the evening,
That’s when the demons of ignorance stabbed away his hopes.

They came from an infernal zone and they sliced through him,
The silent angels watched with horror stitched in their sockets,
His liquid life ebbed away at the coffin wheel of his delivery car,
The cold October moon wept milky light upon the warm blood.

The media ravens will label him  ‘this’ and  ‘that’ and the  ‘other’,
And soon, all too soon, his name will melt into memory’s mist,
His name was Thavisha Lakindu Peiris and his life sings no more,
Under Halloween’s one eyed moon a soul kneels for justice.

So…

You see me,
You judge me,
You pity me,
You forsake me.

You burgled me,
You marked me,
You left me,
You forgot me.

*I stand alone no more…

I stand tall,
I stand high,
I stand silent,
I stand still.

I walk with friends,
I walk with truth,
I walk past the lies,
I walk to freedom.

We are the weeping children of far distant desert lands,
We are the daughters nourished upon the ink of olive branches,
The stubble of our village was shaved off without news or trace,
Life’s bittersweet aftershave of memory still stings to this day.

We are the children with forlorn hands and forgotten faces,
We are those who have suckled the milk of honey and grief,
Our school is entombed beneath an avalanche of oppressive lies,
Our tongues string and weave the haunting tunes of broken trust.

We are the girls dressed in rags caressed by death’s pernicious smile,
We are the orphans who shelter in cemeteries dug by men of war,
Our eyes sparkle and glow with a kaleidoscopic firework of fear,
The carnation of our youth will be stitched into dry dead wreaths.

We are the sisters who buried the flowers that were our brothers,
We have frolicked under the barbed shadow of death’s high wall,
Our toys are plucked from the palm of dates sweet with our hopes,
The fresh fragrance of deliverance shall one day perfume our nation.

Art painted, art confined, art denied,
The skin of the canvas cages and congeals the art,
Colours more plumbed than the peacock of paradise,
Yet trapped and tossed about in stormy framed emotions.

In the end it all bleeds away,
The paint dries, decays, and dies,
Faint leaky lines leave behind faded memories,
Life’s canvas rusts on the ground in solemn silence.

Hark now! Unhinge your ears!

Hear now music flowing from elegant veins,
Listen to how the strings pulse and weave the notes,
Watch how the music flies free and completely unconfined,
Those butterfly melodies entwine and in the air flutter and swirl.

Their dance is the ecstasy of a nightingale’s song,
They sprinkle and circle round and round, up and down,
The music of the cello is love’s supple spine, smooth and sensual,
Hear it, inhale it, caress it, sway with it, and be at ease and free with it.

I sit in a world with crucified colours,
But O my people,
I have a rainbow gleaming in my heart,

The wind shrieks and scratches at my hopes,
But O my people,
I keep alive the flame of my dreams,

Death combs cold air through my hair,
But O my people,
I am content and nourish my fears with Life,

War has stormed through my house and lands,
But O my people,
In my arms I cuddle the seeds of a new day.

He was born under sun soaked skies,
In the land of dawn’s rolling mountains,
But this was home here and now,
He was British,
He loved the flavours of his community,
And he inhaled the scent of this multi-coloured nation.

For over seventy years he walked from home to work,
And from work to home, a stone’s throw from a school,
He walked through these happy and silent streets,
He walked that same journey five times each day
To offer up his love and his prayers,
And to give thanks for the daily bread he baked.

Then…

One dark night of the soul,
As he left his local mosque,
And as he neared the safety of his home,
Three infernal stabs came from the back,
Deep, the blade slashed hard and it slashed deep,
Grandfather, father, husband… no more.

He was buried under sun soaked skies,
In the land of green lilting hills,
This was home here and now,
Every speck on the crowded horizon is a human,
The sun’s heat incinerates their hopes and tears,
And the soil wept for justice of a gentle soul.

The kingdom of my life is no more,
My hopes are cobwebbed with silence,
My life frozen between worlds,
Solace long ago abandoned me.

The birds of desolation now flock to me,
They peck my mind with beaks wet with lies,
And they scratch into my heart
And build nests of needles and despair.

My eyes see the orbs of dead dreams
And shards of paranoia wrinkle my face,
Madness twists and wriggles into my mouth,
It ripples with emotions etched by infernal ink.

I rage with the hunger without reason,
My sons nourish the fire in my stomach,
My daughters I have bargained to fill my drink,
My soul... I know not where it has escaped.

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?"

"...and her innocence,
torn and clawed,
it bled and dripped,
the tatters of her childhood flapped away
into the misty layers of life's hooded forest..."

I hold her gently and I hold her still,
She grows cold and still in my iron hard fist,
She still swims in the cells of my dead and drowning mind,

Still…

The summer has come
And the summer has long gone,
Taking with it her symphony of yesterday’s songs,

Still…

I smell her rose red essence,
Still as fresh as a summer’s bygone day,
Her memories float over the dry and sharp jagged thorns,

Still…

Everything in time will be silent,
No more will I hear her light footsteps,
Yet I still hear her soft weeping in my suicidal screams.

A city contained in a cage,
A cage creaking in a cell,
A cell crammed in a prison,
A prison stagnating in a city,
A city boiling in a country,
A country trapped on an island,
An island sinking in an ocean,
An ocean rising in a world,
A world drowning in the black milk of the universe,
A universe without hope or end,
An end without mercy or end...

The fragrance of love,
Our love, our desires, our high hopes,
Two hearts fresh from the heat of summer,
The earth herself welcomed and warmed us.

In the coming of the autumn,
Wet, moody and sodden, foggy and mystical,
The rains sprinkled, drizzled and stormed and poured,
Yet these sombre rains could not simmer our love’s passion.

The street lights wept soft golden tears,
My autumn lady, she breathed to me her shimmering thoughts,
She wrapped her tantalizing dreams around love’s soft scarf,
We two hearts held our future under the glistening umbrella of love.

The red, gold, violet and blue,
The purple, yellow, pink and green,
This rainbow drenched confetti painted the halo of love,
And we stood on the boundary of life and knew our souls were as one.

“The rains of Autumn are here,
They make wet my face
and hide well yesterday’s tears,
I will forsake all my smiles
and in the evening shadows
my life will wither and hide.”

Clouds at dusk, they bleed a song written by life’s blunt knife,
The ink of pain rains down upon me a sorrowful crisis,
It flows free from my veins serrated and sliced,
Sadness soaks into the dry sponge of my richly wasted life,

A chorus of starlings soars over the horizon dark and hazy,
Taking with them all tidings of hope and mercy.

She, who once sweetly sang the hymn of time,
Her song, which once echoed through my life and left a sign,
This music which was once the rhythm of our breathing rhyme,
It once more seduces me upon the purple twilight ridgeline,

The colours of the sunset bleed into the darkling land,
Dark depression leaks across my mind and stains my hands.

Grief, you rushed with wide open arms and kissed my once happy throne,
Your life changing embrace whispered secrets, laced with groans,
You cheated and robbed me, licked clean my weeping bones,
I know this world no more, only the memories now remain hot as volcanic stone,

All else is but a winter of my soul,
All now is buried in a cold graveyard hole.

Storms batter and sink my ships laden with yesterday’s screams,
The thunder echoes through the dead timbers of my dreams,
But know one thing, go chisel this on my headstone yet unseen,
Her spirit, her love, her words, all pure and clean.

Above the bitter eruption of tears
I hear a soul soothing voice which kisses away my fears.

*Her voice... I hear her beauty the night air fill,
It has her strength and it has her will,
As I stand on this silent grassy hill
I hear her still...

And she sings,
Her song dances and with truth rings.

Her empire, once vast and free, is now walled up,
He marked her face with the scars of unkind kisses,

Her floating ship with all her ambition has been beached,
He sabotaged her boat of hopes and drowned her dreams,

Her bank rich with love and treasures untold has been robbed,
He crept into the secret chambers of her heart and left her hollow,

Her reservoir of strength no longer runs fresh and deep,
He tunneled into her and leaked away her innocence and life source,

Her days of blue and white light are now anchored with gravestones,
He carved his name on her fear and showed the world he owned her,

Her songs of pearls and paper butterflies lie silent and wrecked,
He tattooed his ruthless red rage and rules inside her trembling throat,

Her spirit…
He will never be able to touch or tarnish her spirit.

His feet* – they walked upon the waters of untarnished truth,

His knees – kneeled to no man for He was a King amongst mortal men,

His legs – always journeyed to the valley overflowing with warm wishes,

His body – was the embodiment of all that is rich and wholesome,

His arms – embraced both me, you, him and her, young, old, black or white,

His fingers – as smooth and supple as the skies before summer’s soft rains,

His neck – lifted high not in pride or anger, only tilted upwards towards the Beloved,

His lips – spoke yesterday, to me today and to you tomorrow, to all everywhere,

His nose – inhaled the scent of newly born flowers on the eve of Spring of yesteryear,

His eyes – saw the miracle of life, and sleeping death held no fear or dominion,

His hair – every strand curled to form a heavenly glowing crown upon His head,

His message – it will live and sing longer than the executioner’s silent song,

His love – is the lyric of this life, it is life everlasting and in it lives our Lord.

Note:*
This poem is inspired by the words of my beloved Mother. I continue to miss her and ache to hear her voice once more. I know one day we shall be reunited in a world without pain...

Heart of God

“Remember well, my son…
For the Almighty all-knowing God
does not live in
the bricks, cement or the timber sticks of

a temple,
a mosque,
or a church,
nor a synagogue,

The abode of God is in the heart of every
man,
woman
and child upon this emerald earth,

This was one amongst the many gifts
He bestowed upon us.
Therefore,
Be soft and gentle, and remember…*

Never break the heart of another,
For when you cause hurt in a heart,
That is when there is a ripple
in the palace of paradise where resides the one true God of All.

Love yourself,
Love others,
Love the most Merciful
and love one and all.

Remember too one more thing,
Leave those you meet
with a smile playing upon their lips and lives
and smiles singing in the chambers of their hearts too…”