Look here,
Come closer and look,
That's it...
Close your eyes,
No, please don't laugh,
I'm serious,
Right, now that your eyes are closed,
Look at the darkness,
Do you see the different shades?
It's amazing how one colour can be so diverse,
Imagine if we mixed the vibrant palette of the earth,
What a wondrous and magical rainbow we could create,
Come, let's go generate it...



©Rangzeb Hussain

Said the Prince unto his raven-haired Lady as he rode and galloped away,
He leaned back and this is what he had to say:
“Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.”

Jack O’Lantern prowls and haunts the frosted hills hunting to ****** for fresh meat.
This monster, this dark beast creeps down from upon the heath!
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

“Where be the Lord of this warm and happy house?” says Jack O’Lantern with claws tapping.
“Gone to London town,” says the Nurse the coins from Jack receiving.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

“Where be the lovely Lady of this house?” smiles Jack O’Lantern mouth full of jagged teeth.
“She’s in her red chamber,” says the Nurse asking for a treat.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

“Where be the delightful baby of the house?” says Jack O’Lantern purring like a cat.
“Asleep in the cradle,” says the Nurse accepting Jack’s gold sack.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

“We will pinch him, we will ***** him, we will stab him with a long pin!
Nurse, you will hold the basin for the blood all to run in.”
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

So they pinched him and they pricked him, then they stabbed him with a very sharp pin.
The false Nurse did hold the basin for the blood all to run in.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

“Lady, come down the stairs, come drink this tasty gin,” says Jack O’Lantern dripping sin.
“How can I see thee in the dark?” says the Lady unto him.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

“I have silver bracelets and rings fashioned out of gold,” says Jack O’Lantern bowing.
“Lady, pray sail down the stairs and come see them glowing.”
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

Down the stairs the radiant Lady gently glided without alarm, thinking there to be no harm.
Black-eyed Jack stood ready to snap her in his arms.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

There is blood in the kitchen and blood on the chamber floor, there is blood also in the hall.
There is blood upon the open door and blood upon the wall.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

There is slippery blood in the parlour and bedroom too where the Lady did slip and fall.
Now Jack will be caught and hanged and punished in hell’s hall.
Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
Be concerned! Lock and bolt the door until I return.

And the false Nurse will be broken and burnt in the fire raging scarlet and black.
Said the Prince unto his Lady dead as he rode back:
“Beware the moor, beware the fog, beware the nightly shadow of Jack O’Lantern!
O why did you unlock the door? My heart will now forever twist and turn!”

NOTE*  -  *The largest animal in Great Britain, a red stag named Emperor who stood over 9ft tall, was last night shot dead by a trophy hunter. The antlers of the majestic deer are highly prized, and after pictures of the stag appeared in the national press last week, the animal was tracked and killed in Exmoor, Devon.



These mist covered mountains of the highlands,
‘twas here that I once freely wandered upon nature’s pasture grounds,
Now I lie shrouded in the mournful fog of the lowlands,
‘twas here that I was met by a pack of bone breaking hounds.

The fresh dew upon the harvest of autumn’s final flowering,
‘twas here that I chewed the grass of sweet nature’s offering,
Now I grow cold upon the ground where I was stalked by dark doom,
‘twas here that I left life’s rocky way under a hunter’s moon.

The air of the early morn moor with the sky above my dome,
‘twas here that I ran and with joy loved and royally roamed,
Now my legs will nevermore click or clack over my domain fenced with tree gates,
‘twas here that I wooed and won my shy majestic mate.

She, my queen of the green woodlands, she was my wife and my empire,
‘twas here that we romanced in the fading summer’s fire,
Our charming child, my princess of these grassy hills now cloaked in shade,
‘twas here that she saw her father the monarch in death finally fade.

In the chorus of the dancing dawn awakening upon the horizon’s golden rhyme,
‘twas here that I sang the tune that will drum till the end of nature’s time,
They will come with stakes and wood and cross and bow me to the beams,
‘twas here where they hacked and tore off my enchanted crown of weeping dreams.

The scent of the freshly mown grass mingles with the green pine,
‘twas here that I drank the perfume and nectar of the divine,
My eyes glaze, my breathing falters, my clay chills, my soul no more sings,
‘twas here that I finally returned to the hands of my Beloved, the eternal King.

"...I shall now graze upon the sacred acres of my Creator,
I shall frolic and run free in the tender fields of endless splendour..."



©Rangzeb Hussain

There was no dragon
And there was no girl with hands bound with pearls,

But…

There was blood
And there was mass ****** littered all over the land and rivers.

There was no saint
And there were no hymns or marching pipes led by earls,

But…

There were lies
And there were bones inked to write and slaughter was delivered.

There was no lance
And there was no horse or swords drawn to help curvaceous girls,

But…

There was a red cross
And there was blood smeared on a pure white flag which flapped and curled.

There was no gallantry
And there was no dignity or pride nor was there justice delivered,

But…

There was a pale man
And he rode a pale horse and he rode from a land called Palestine.

Long ago in shadows when the world was in magic robed,
Thus begins this tragic tale from times old,
A Mother and a bright girl did have a cottage near a hill,
On the edge of a creeping forest did they live.

Poor they were yet happy too with songs at dawn,
Nor did their stomachs in hunger churn or yawn,
Life was hard but they got by with chickens hatching hatching,
Eyes in the night always watching watching.

The Mother did always caution her delightful daughter,
“Freia, don’t be a lamb to the slaughter,
Wrap your apple blossom face from the dead eyes of dogs,
Beware the men who haunt the forest fog.”

The bright days were dreamed away in peace and solitude,
No neighbours did intrude,
Time slipped away over the misty mountains and innocent lambs,
The years ran on, so silently they ran.

One day in late autumn when Freia had maidenhood reached,
She was asked to gather wood for heat,
The days were getting shorter and the spiked nights were colder,
Shadows scratched by their door.

“Give me my red scarf quick for I want to be a girl good!
For you I will get sticks of tinder wood!”
But before she let go her dancing daughter dear
The Mother did speak of fear.

“Freia, hush and listen! Return quickly for I am in fear soaking,
Watch out for the wet croaking Water-Goblin
Who reigns and dines beneath the river and hides in woodbine,
Take heed, Lady Night upon the sky shows her signs.”

“Never fear, dear Mother wise of mine,” said Freia,
“Blind Mistress Night, ha!
She will never ever catch or lay her black claws upon me,
Just wait and see! Back I will be.”

Freia skipped and slipped into the forest loud with sound,
She was collecting wood from the ground
When an idea came darting and burrowed into her curious mind,
“There’s no Water-Goblin! It’s a tale to scare and blind.”

And to prove her Mother wrong about tales tall and long
She went to the riverbank to sing a song,
The place was dark and no bird sang in the gloomy twilight,
Bright bones upon the bank caught her sight.

A frosty wind licked her and goose-pimples did appear,
Her spine chilled and shivered,
She tried to brush off the terror in which she was crippled,
Upon the river her eyes spied a ripple.

Something was swimming and straight to her heading!
Her legs grew heavy and she stopped humming,
She stayed rooted as up her legs crawled spidery lice,
She stood like a statue carved out of ice.

Bubbles were breaking above the tar-like water ring,
The gap closing between her and the thing,
“O, why did I to this dead river come running and singing?
How I wish I was at home skipping!”

It was as if some magic older than time kept her frozen,
Freia had thus been chosen,
The gap between her and the creature was fast closing,
If only she was at home safely dozing!

She tried to shout but only dry silence puffed out,
Her eyes bulged, she was clouded in doubt,
Tears fell upon her cheeks but she still could not scream,
Cruel, O how wrong everything now seemed!

Something dark, something bleeding green greed
Crept from the water with fluid speed,
The creature from the river wrapped a long strong arm
And held Freia’s gentle palms.

“Mine!” it gurgled through gnashing sharp teeth.
“Please, no!” spoke Freia in fever’s heat.
“Bride you will be!” the scaly creature hugged and hissed,
With jagged lips he did upon Freia plant a kiss.

The Water-Goblin, for indeed it was he,
Dragged away Freia by the knee,
Into the cold and dank river he waded,
O, how his touch she hated!

“I’ll drown!” Freia screamed, “To the shore take me!”
“Please, no!” she tried to sense make him see,
“I’m sure to slip and sink and in the water drown and weep!”
“Will not,” spoke he, “Magic bubble I shall for you weave!”

He spun his murky magic and just as he had promised and hissed,
A large air bubble circled Freia’s body and hips,
He lowered her ever deeper into his Netherworld Kingdom,
Up above the sun into the horizon did drown.

The green-eyed Water-Goblin a wedding banquet did hold,
It was a hideous party truth be told,
The guests he had invited made Freia’s skin crawl,
Demons of all kinds smiled and prowled.

The poor girl dizzily danced with the greedy groom,
Her speech slurred and darkness loomed,
Her pulse quickened and her breath came in bursts short,
Her husband’s nails did pinch and hurt.

A year and a day passed away like a carnivorous nightmare
And Freia birthed a baby golden haired,
“Pretty child,” grunted the Water-Goblin, “Is it a boy?”
“No, it’s a girl,” spoke Freia with joy.

Freia enjoyed the happiness by and by tick,
But soon she became homesick,
She wished to see her Mother and to her show the baby,
In that watery Kingdom she was but a trophy.

“Please let me visit my mother?” she kept pleading.
“Never!” he kept repeating.
“Please?” Freia was all honey, clever and charming.
“Never ever!” he was no more laughing.

And so it went on, and on, each and every day,
The Water-Goblin did for an end pray,
“Wife go then,” he one day gave in and readily flipped,
“Back you must come!” he spat through rotted lips.  

“Go now,” he gestured with claws ******
And at the child in the crib he pointed,
“The baby tender and sweet will with me stay,
Come back or else she pays.”

Freia begged, “To my dear Mother I want to baby display.”
“Hark and hear!” he kicked the cot of clay,
“Listen to my dread law. The child here plays.
Return to me by dark of this day.”

He took her to the surface and released her from the spell
Which kept her prisoner in the river red,
She went away yet still she heard a warning burning in her ears,
“Be back before dark or else they be tears!”

When to the old cottage she arrived she wiped her tears,
Her Mother was sitting in the rocking chair,
In the very air floated cobwebs, dust and impending doom,
The room was cloaked in layers of grainy gloom.

Freia rushed to her Mother feeling sad and weak,
It had been a year since they last did speak,
Mother and daughter warmly hugged and held each other fast,
“O, my doll, you return at last from the past!”

Freia did to her Mother tell her tale from beginning to end,
She was broken and needed to mend,
To her Mother she told about her beautiful baby,
Outside, the light was fast fading.

“I must now go back to my darling child before dark
Or else my dread lord will bark
And wreck vengeance most sharp upon my precious pearl,
O, how I miss my darling girl!”

“But don’t you see?” began the wise Mother true,
“The Water-Goblin has no magic over you.
It is said that whosoever returns to dry land can the spell break
If they keep the Water-Goblin at bay till daybreak.”

“Will the vile Water-Goblin free me and my child sweet?
And will he shift this curse? O, do speak!”
“Yes! You and the baby will be safe,” the Mother explained,
“The Water-Goblin will crack and be in pain.”

“Now we wait for the night of shadows long,” said the Mother poor
As she bolted the door,
“Go and bar the kitchen windows, I begin to feel sick,
Lock also the house on this side, be quick!”

No sooner had they barred the door of the cottage old
When the wind howled down the valley cold,
Night shrouded the land and black things moved outside,
They heard the rain pelting the hillside.

The storm with titanic volcanic fury spoke,
Everything fled even hope,
The cottage door with demonic force did vibrate,
Something was tearing the cottage.

“Has he come for me?” Freia shook in her Mother’s arms,
“Has my Master come to inflict harm?”
“No!” shouted her Mother over the thunderclaps,
“It’s the storm perhaps.”

Scratching was heard and they began to fearfully pray,
The panel above the doorway shattered,
Sharp shards of glass everywhere cascaded and scattered,
“Come back!” the thing outside banged and battered.

“It’s the wind. Only the wind, darling dear,” the Mother cleared
Her frightened daughter’s eyes full of fear,
The noise and the angry threats of the unseen creature
Drove darts of icy terror into their features.

“When will this nightmare end?” asked Freia with concern.
Replied the Mother, “Dawn is about to be born.
This Water-Goblin has to go back to his Kingdom before sunrise
Or else he will lose his life and prize.”

Crash! Something broke, splinters of wood in the air flew,
Cracked claws clawed across morning dew,
A hairy paw with nails long and sharp shot through the opening
Above the door and for the lock began searching.

A heartrending howl of frustration then was heard,
Without warning the probing fist did disappear
And there was an unnatural silence in the morning land,
The Hour of the dead Wolf was at hand.

Bang! Something outside the door had horribly burst,
Something had been flung with frightful force
But the cottage door was strong and held firm and fast
The Mother dryly spoke, “The terror has passed.”

“Has it?” said Freia as she with caution went to unhook the lock,
The handle was cold and her heart still in shock,
Her brow and hands wet with the nightmare’s perspiration,
She paused before the door in desperation.

Something lay on the ground before the door all blood and bone,
The sight would bring tears even to a stone,
Freia saw what the Water-Goblin had used to batter the door with,
O, how she wished to stitch her eyelids!

For there lay the lifeless body of her baby on the earth,
This was the baby to whom she had given birth,
Only a small finger remained of the golden curled girl,
The Water-Goblin’s curse had done the worst.



©Rangzeb Hussain

The walking dead slumber with deadly aim
and let sleeping dogs die,
Mongrels
heat anger in forges of spiteful flame,
Corpses see and hear more
than these walking sightless, tongueless, earless
lifeless poor,
When shall these sleepers awake?

The Bonfire had been piled high,
Almost reaching the cold abode of Mars,
The fear to light it was replaced by
recklessness as the season rolled on.

The stage was set and the audience of
Porcupines and hawks were eager, impatient
for the peaceful Overture to expire
and the deadly Act to commence.

Young Spring was delivered from the womb
and cried for nourishment
when,
Suddenly,
The last bars of the Overture faded into obscurity
and
“The Unholy Holy Crusade”
was ignited upon the starry stage.

The embers of Autumn burst into lashings of blame’s flames
and into forgetful numb snow did the show go.

The porcupines raised high their itchy spikes
to cast their vote of united damnation
while the crowds outside the theatre
cheered the unseen and unheard.

Earth herself
trembled beneath the raw fury of the
Satanic Play,
The volcanic eruption of unnatural hatred threatened
to torch the outer reaches of Mars.

This Bonfire of passionate poison
showered upon the naked body of Truth,
First it gagged and then it bagged Dad,
Mum’s screaming lungs were ****** out,
Her ears were drummed
while her lovely eyes sprouted wings
and flew out from their socket cages,
Her seductive legs snapped away
from the weight of her body
and waltzed headlong into the vaporised night,
Her faithful Left arm stayed to comfort her
but the Right one was yanked away and eloped with a
hot man-made
mushroom cloud that blotted the heavens,
The people were hugging loved ones tightly as they scattered
in the winds of bombastic devastation.

Moonlight dripping from the eyes of a restless red Moon,
Lone witness to the uncivilised crime.

The stork brought a newly born Life
wrapped in the soft garments of innocence,
He held the precious Life in his beak carefully,
caringly, lovingly,
On Bonfire Night he delivered the package to
a young ****** bride,
When the present was unwrapped
warm flames kissed the young baby inside,
A newly born Life arrived,
She was wrapped in soft and sinless rags,
She was carefully caressed,
Lovingly fed,
On Bonfire Night was this desert princess born
to a young untarnished bride,
Three storm soldiers arrived bearing candy,
When the sweet was unwrapped
warm flames burst out to kiss the young baby’s insides,

“Aargh!”

“Aargh!”

Silence...

Death plucks another trophy from the garden of Life.

The broken, charred fingers of the child
clutch the peeled hand of the unborn mother,
The earth of the child has shattered,
Her globe is no more,
Her remains are strewn across the industrial carnage
of the cold Spring.

An act of war against Mars,
“O, sacrilege!
Man, thou dost concoct evil.
Vagabond, thinkest thou superior?
I shalt shackle thee yet
to the accursed gates of Hades!”

The first Act ends,
The safety curtains drawn
and the theatre of blood explodes with applause,
The hawks shout out at the top of their wheezy lungs,
“*******,
it was like the Fourth of July celebrations!
Wow, man!
The sky was full of stars!
Stars, our stars!”

There is a lull between the next Act,
The walking dead gather up the sticks
for the next Bonfire Night,
Windows on the world continue to
drivel and stir the steaming early evening news,
Invisible men pick at the brains
of the sleeping,
This race is the supreme master of
exchanging insanity for black diamonds.

Beware you guy,
They are sipping the priceless grey treasure
that is your birthright,
It will be
with the theft of your precious
jewel that will finance
another glorious victorious production of
The Bonfire Night,
This time, perhaps, in
stunning Summer.

Remember,
Remember,
Don’t you ever forget
the
Filth
of
November.



©Rangzeb Hussain

I want to taste your delicious basket of ripe red fruit
Which drips with the aroma of an ageless golden summer,
Warm honeydew tantalizes my barren tongue
And enriches the roots of my parched soul,
Your orchard is blessed with succulent charms,
Pearled flaxen curls encircle the gorgeous bewitching branches,
Leaves beautifully green and bold orchestrate the
Choir of sweet nature to a rapturous symphonic crescendo.

Kneeling,
I enter the kingdom of your supple flower garden,
Looking,
I am astounded by the silken beauty and curvaceous bliss,
Birds of wondrous paradise float before my amazed eyes,
Colours of the rainbow glaze my sight with contentment,
The sound of your breathing fires my imagination and
I unravel the mysteries of your unexplored depthless universe.

Biting deep into the amber nectar I taste your husky fruits,
I take my fill of your heavenly food,
It restores, refreshes, nurses and sustains me,
My senses are heightened and my experience sharpened,
In return I offer you my heart and you drink lovingly of
My desires contained within this butterfly cup of life,
This chamber of fertile dreams and everlasting
Passion fruit.

Exploring further I find your Eden has no limitations,
Boundaries are only erected by our imagination,
I search softly with practiced fingers to find your
Velvet spirit in this empire of dazzling jewels,
Your rose flavoured apples glint in the morning sunlight,
Their juice sparkles as it drips down my throat to
Tickle the hunger of my now heated soul,
Aromatic mists caress my nostrils and
I satisfy my senses at this exquisite banquet of ecstasy.

I trace my tongue across the purple peaks of your pomegranates,
The burgundy juice tattoos your desire into my soul,
The grapes of your insatiable dreams leak with pleasure,
I feel the moist heat rising and your lips parting
As I explore the fibres of your existence,
There are beads of beauty in your diamond shaped melons,
I slide through the doors of your soft and ripe pear,
And your breath comes fast and hard as I plough deeper and deeper.  

Travelling to my journey’s ****** I am excited to a liquid frenzy,
My desire is to remain lost in your voluptuous forbidden city,
My aim is to become one with you and stay there for evermore,
The paths, alleyways, marble arches, golden halls, curved architecture,
The blue skies and fountains entice me, all of your charms plead to me,
You whisper hoarsely to me, “Stay awhile yet",
I want to remain within my lady of these most wondrous and precious treasures.

Soaring to mountains where even eagles dare not surmount
I reach my life bursting ambitious decision,
The rain of my throbbing soul at first drizzles, then showers before pouring
Molten honey over your fertile garden of life,
These drops of salt sweetened rain are graciously and hungrily received,
They seep into your moist soil to feed young peacock coloured seeds
Which will one day spring forth and be born as
Colourful and majestic flowers.

I am content and happy now,
More happier than the music of a mute swan,
I admire my sultry flower resting beside me and
I inhale her purple perfumed beauty,
The restoration of my starving soul is now complete,
I am sated and will remember this magnificent bouquet till the end of time,
I promise to become a gardener
In her generous Paradise,
Let me begin by composing an
Ode to my hyacinth.



©Rangzeb Hussain

Lights dim,
Colour explodes,
For upon the stage there is magic
and in the orchestra pit there is music,
Young dancers robed in elegance
glide across the richly decorated stage,
And the night smiles by
with selection after selection
of sublime ballet confection,
The dancers dazzle and daze,
Their bodies hugging the music's enchanting embrace,
Upon their faces are the smiles of summer and golden radiance,
On their bare backs ripple muscles glowing with the sheen of sweat and glory,
Their breath comes in quick bursts as they fly through the air
and land as gently as a feather on the breath of a nightingale,
The girls are as bright as dawn's first light
and the men so supple and full of ecstatic zest,
These gifted artists were not from the snow-capped streets
of St. Petersburg
or from the steppes of the Bolshoi
nor were they from the giddy heights of the opera at Notre Dame de Paris
nor were they plucked from Covent Garden's glorious school of Royal Ballet,
No, it was none of those rigid and regimented corps de ballet,
For the vibrant and energetic dancers that mesmerised the audience
were living the pure joy of life,
These young men and women were from the poor villages and back streets of Cuba,
They brought the sun's warmth and delight,
They brought the lightning's energy and spark,
They brought the air of vitality and light,
They brought the moon's bewitching sophistication and surprise,
They brought the colour of life to their art,
This was a night of remembrance for the human soul,
What wondrous poetry in motion we can sprinkle and sparkle
if only we let our prejudices seep away,
Come, let go of the rat race sweat and pain,
Just ease back and let your mind be transported
to another time, another place, another type of magic,
Go enjoy a night at the ballet
and see human expression expressed through movement,
Witness tales of myth and wonder without a single word spoken,
One flick of the wrist
or the pointing of a finger
or even a tilted head
can say more and mean more than a hundred thousand spoken words,
Hearts full of love's deep lyrics told their tragic stories
through a mere touch or a caress,
Hearts were lacerated with a single swipe of a glance,
When two lover's shyly held hands and smiled
there was a thundering hush in the Hippodrome,
The lights changed from a cold blue to a pulsating red
and the orchestra showered the stage with glittering notes,
Drama, Music, Dance...

This

was

Theatre.



©Rangzeb Hussain

Who is that rides so late in the forest so dark and wild?
It is but a helpless father and his frightened and lonely child,
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

The father cradles his lovely son gently in his arms,
He keeps him snug and he keeps him warm and he keeps him calm,
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“My son, why do you wrap your radiant face in such dread and fear?”
“Mine father, can you not see the Erl-King? He draws ever so near!”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“O father! The Erl-King with his weedy crown and thorns of pain is here!”
“My son, it is nothing more than mist and rain on the plain over there.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“Sweet lad, O come into my jolly lair and join me, do!
Many pretty and joyful games do I promise to play with you.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

On the forest floor the autumn flowers die in the suffocating cold.
“O you dreaming lad, I have for you garments of red silk dyed in gold.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“Mine father, mine father, can you not hear my rising fear?
The Erl-King drips dark promises and breathes in my ear! Help me, father dear!”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“Be calm, stay calm, rest my child, stay easy and keep your head low,
In these withered leaves it is only the night winds that creep and roar.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“My rosy lipped lad, will you come take a merry stroll and dine with me?
My daughters three shall care for you and many wonders will you see.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“My silky daughters of darkness live in yonder castle in shadows deep,
They three will dance and sing and cradle you to the sweetest of sleep.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“Mine father, mine father, O can you not see the red eyes in his fearful face?
The Erl-King’s misty-eyed daughters live in that haunted place!"
The wind blows icy cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“My son, my son, I see the frozen milky moon very clear
And how the ancient weeping willows like castles in the dark do appear.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“O how delicious you smell, my tender innocent succulent boy!
Come off that horse and take these wonderfully coloured bright toys.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

“O father, my father, the Erl-King has seized me by the arm!
His long bony claws crawl toward my heart to do to me hungry harm.”
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

The father whips and rides fast but his warm cottage is away by a mile,
In his arms he holds the groaning, twisting, shivering child,
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Listen quietly as this tragic tale is told.

The horse halts outside the family home and the father looks with dread
For his son, his only child, he holds in his arms is now dead!
The wind blows sharp and cold,
Hush! Weep quietly as this tragic tale is now all told.

VI

“Hearken, all ye there!”

Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis

It began, as these things tend to do, with a quartz encrusted howl,
Lamenting under the crystalline shadows of Leda’s heartrending growl,
Her ravished moon bled and sank into the vocal cords of guilt coated cowards,
“Come back, come back! Oh, frivolous sanity thou art truly unjust, most unkind!”
Right here in this lonely place did my Darling dear spill devotion onto spiced dust,
She swayed on the rickety ridge surveying her sapphire kingdom’s splintered trust,
There it lay glittering, her city of cities, nothing now but a jeweled corpse.

V

“Know ye not of the oft-told tale of the drinking-well at World’s End?”

Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco

My Lady who did fire the lyre of Orpheus, she weeps there in the misty chilled cold,
Wild it is, all about her the night wind nibbles at the skin clothing her fractured soul,
Cacophonic waves of regret silently scurry to labyrinths entombed with truths bold,
“Come back, come back! Oh, to my tempestuous ***** hasten with thy canticles!”
The symphonic fingers of fog pluck a requiem upon her autumn flavoured hair,
My Queen is attired for her banquet at tables far beyond Persephone’s desolate tears,
On the precipice her figure rises for the final faithful leap into Styx’s stratosphere.

IV

“Behold now the dread eyes of Hades, see how they hunger blood at the boil!”

Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro

Carnivorous tasted memory plagues the betrayed Minotaur’s desired deliriums,
On these haunted shores I clutched her close and eagerly inhaled love’s elusive serum,
Legend has it a suicide was here on this very cliff-top, ‘twas a true Roman centurion,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let us under Demeter’s enchanted orchards lie!”
My obsidian-eyed Beauty gathers her eggs and over the fearful edge she unfurls them,
Closer to the dead of Euphrates she steps, I to madness hurtle as one condemned,
Bind savage Cerberus for the solitary reign of the wolf is fate for all hanged men.

III

“Prometheus thou hast drunk Pandora’s poisons, what sayest now the Titans?”

Tres Tres Tres

Golden fleeced days into the fleshy ground of Morpheus’s realm did seep away,
How well spent they were not even immortal Calypso shall decipher nor say,
Would that mine myopic ears had been shorn and tossed into Pompeii’s crisp clay,
“Come back, come back! Oh, gentle Maid no more, I beg thee stay awhile yet!”
What was it? Was it me? No, no, it could not be me for I was Achilles buried asleep,
How little we then knew, we two did partake of the stinging, you the wasp I the bee,
Mayhap ‘twas this unlocked the plumed towers to thy curled universe tunneled deep?

II

“Therefore did the Serpent spake and pronounce a judgment most nefarious!”

Dos Dos

She thinks back, my Lady fairer than Medea, she remembers a time happier,
Really there was, hear yet my credo, once upon-a-time there was no doubting terror,
But then a thing did into our guarded haven breach and wreathe about my treasure,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let me slake my thirst with thy honeyed spirit!”
My flesh did crawl, my fangs grew sharp, my spittle ran down and my fur stood taut,
The jawbone stiffened and all the while I burnt like an infernal phoenix caught,
Oh, my sweetly crazed fruit, did I for real the horror upon you wrought?

I

“Would that thou didst offer me thy riches upon the hour of the violet twilight...”

Uno

Wolfsbane moon, high above it rose in that final cracking of sacramental bones,
My Lady much wrong did you I, forever for this will the beast in me atone,
Now, at this baleful hour has the wolf left you on the edge of an embryonic cyclone,
“And so to the Elysian Fields where insanity fertilizes the soul do I embark...”
You cross the Rubicon and glide into the obliterating arms of Plutonic eternity,
The wolf, me, is left clawing your hooded red robe with absolutely no certainty,
I see you sailing upon Neptune’s trident, forever adrift on oceans of eternal cruelty.

N

“Seekest thou sanctuary in the hinterlands where the man with one eye is King?”

Cero...

pretium libertas est nex**



©Rangzeb Hussain

For they are the gold that floats upon the wings of angels,
These innocent sweet eyed infants,
They bring to us a gentle reminder of
Beauty
&
Purity,
Mayhap we shall yet reach those fabled lands
which glow and glitter
with the glory of God.



©Rangzeb Hussain

In the marshy North Country there lived a lovely maiden fair,
Red was the colour of her hair,
Her eyes, they did like merry diamonds sparkle and shine,
She was innocent, pleasant and kind.

Catherine was her name,
Her father wanted for her riches and fame.

One day the Black Knight came riding up to her father’s gate,
He rode upon a white mare looking great,
He saw Catherine blush and her heart did fearfully flutter,
To him she was cream, honey and butter.

Catherine was her name,
Her father wanted for her riches and fame.

Said the Knight, “I have come to court your daughter of the auburn hair,
I have silver, I have gold, I have fabrics rare,
I have lands and servants and riches beyond compare,
I will buy lots of delightful dresses for her to wear.”

Catherine was her name,
Her father wanted for her riches and fame.

Said the girl, “Sir, thou art most kind but I care not for your divine riches,
Nor do I hunger for your clothes golden stitched,
For I have pledged my hand and heart to a Poet whose ink is red,
To him only will I happily wed.”

Catherine was her name,
Her father wanted for her riches and fame.

Catherine’s scheming father did sharply speak,
His nose curled like an eagle’s beak,
“On Sunday you will to church go and wear the Knight’s ring of gold,
Young lady, you’ll do as you’re told!”

Catherine was her name,
Her father wanted for her riches and fame.

In a misty village of the North Country there is a weeping river vast and deep,
They found Catherine and her Poet drowned in love’s sleep,
The church bells peal and weep out across the valley in the evening twilight,
Merry music floats and stains the tragic sight.

Catherine was her name,
Her father now cries and hangs his head in shame.



©Rangzeb Hussain

We must build
the twin towers of

Love

&

Peace

in our hearts...
lest we forget
and in blind ignorance
fuel and flame the fateful fires of

Hate

&

War.



©Rangzeb Hussain

“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”

This Earth upon which you so proudly walk, now it time for the Sun and Her to gravely talk,
The baking Sun’s heat rapidly rises, the melting kingdom of the mighty polar bear is in crisis,
From Pole-to-Pole and all over the green globe, we must beware of pollution’s slimy crime,
The seasons twist and twirl just like a revolving door, nobody reasons to help the thirsty poor.

“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”

Engineers drill into the Earth’s veins causing so much pain, seagulls burn and drown in acid rain,
Pipes **** out black oil from the Earth’s deep core, Her rocky bones and fleshy soil are so sore,
Her life blood is pumped to fuel coughing motor cars, which are soon discarded with yesterday’s tins and jars,
Poisoned are the ocean’s seals and whales, will anyone stop and listen to the Earth’s warning wail?

“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”

There is still hope and time enough yet, if we together get we can halt this grime and threat,
We must do what the students do at my local school, they live by true values and excellent rules,
Environmental projects and dreams here abound, everyone there is very aware of green schemes,
Let us quickly play our crucial parts, we must all commit these important issues to our hearts.

“O, you who read and learn, please take heed and be concerned…”

Plant a tree or flower, keep a bee and honey hive, you must strive to keep Mother Earth alive,
Share a car, walk to the park, care for the grass, plant a green garden, grow peas, pears, potatoes or tomatoes,
Recycle plastic and paper, save your water, turn off your computer, use the wind to dry your Manchester United jumper,
Reduce your carbon footprint, reuse shopping bags and pass the hint, lower the heating sweating temperature.

“O, we who now know, it’s up to us to change or else we reap Tomorrow what we Today sow,
We must protect this Earth, this is after all our place of birth and our lovely home, a brightly shining rainbow…”*



©Rangzeb Hussain

Be not afraid...

My true heart, may you stay strong,
The jagged edge of a broken champagne glass
gently kisses my love’s wrist,
Her blade of glass drowns between the lines of blood,
She offers a rare gift, it is the silent music of her soul,
Life blood red as rubies sold,
It flows from veins still fresh with love’s eternal truth.

Be not afraid...

Man is the cruellest animal,
He plays games of hot desire and sticky traps,
Like bee to honey are girls attracted to Love’s dreadful fall,
The only good heart a Man has
is the one he rips from a Woman,
Man tramples, kills and destroys with his blind lust,
It is Woman who generates the creation of newborn beauty,
Man thou art but a false-hearted beast.

Be not afraid...

Remember your strength and never give up the fight,
The individual has always had to struggle
to keep from being buried under the tribe,
If you try it, you will be lonely often,
and sometimes frightened,
Out there in the cold no ear listens,
Born crying from the womb, only a few die smiling.

Be not afraid...

No price is too high
to pay for the freedom of owning yourself,
Too costly is the price of living in a cage,
You need chaos in your soul
to give birth to a dancing star,
Children of love’s revolution
are sacrificed in the summer solstice harvest fields.

Be not afraid...

There is always some madness in love,
But there is also always some reason in madness,
Beware the thorns amongst the gold red rose,
In the shadow of the wall
Men become monsters,
Flowers twist into barbed wire,
Tear down this wall of deceit and lies.

Be not afraid...

For Death shall never conquer Love,
Where be thy sting, Death?
Grave thou hast no victory!
Every breath we take is a step closer to Death,
In the kiss of Death we finally wake up
from the hollow dream of life,
In the cold twilight my love all alone she sits.

Be not afraid...

Dance with darkness to find the diamond light,
Fear eats the soul,
It dines on your desires and drinks your hopes,
Out there it waits, in the dim edge of your day to day,
Come my love, as the hour ticks by and bye,
I will wait for you by the gates from beyond the edge of reason,
There will my love find her heart’s true desire.

Be not afraid...

Take good care of yourself,
My lady of the crystal lake,
Below these wintery waters swims
a world more precious than air,
Here, take my hand, hold me tight
as we two take to the lake for one last time,
No crying do we want at our going, only songs of bitter joy.

Be not afraid...*



©Rangzeb Hussain

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.

For jilted lovers there is no tomorrow,
For them the smoke of memory burns through
the fabric of each waking moment,
For them each breath melts in the acid of no hope,

For jilted lovers there is no today,
For them a new born day suffocates their throats
and ***** away all glimmer of joy,
For them each sound brings the silent step of fear,

For jilted lovers there is no here nor there,
For them it all evaporated in the kiss of a word
which left them hollow and bare,
For them each moment tightens the rope of despair,

For jilted lovers there is only the day before yesterday,
For them that was when all seemed well and good
and that was when the sun’s ink spun brightly coloured dreams,
For them each sweet sharp kiss of a blade promises eternal sleep.

King Rat gnawed at the piece of wood for to bite and dine!
God's pure name was inscribed upon the battered sign,
But King Rat continued to snack like it was the flesh of freshly caught cod,

What was this then, maybe Rat was God?

Aha, oh no, but along came slinky Mistress Cat!
So quick and nimble was she, up she snapped and gobbled up fat King Rat,
She licked her lips upon a fallen slab of greasy salty lard,

What was this then, maybe Mistress Cat was God?

Aha, oh no, but along came faithful Master Dog!
Away he chased crafty Mistress Cat into the swampy mired bog,
Hardworking Master Dog surveyed his domain and his tail stood up to attention like a rigid rod,

What was this then, maybe Master Dog was God?

Aha, oh no, but along came Chief Wolf!
He bites and shakes hard into the collar of Master Dog, the neck tears like fleecy wool,
Blood ran down Chief Wolf's chin and he smiled with victory as he sat down by the warm coal road,

What was this then, maybe Chief Wolf was God?

Aha, oh no, but along came the Queen of Fire!
Into Chief Wolf she passionately burns, into ashes was he burnt upon her sultry bed of burning pyre,
The gleaming Queen of Fire burned with glowing glory, there was red life yet in her pulsating bud,

What was this then, maybe the Queen of Fire was God?

Aha, oh no, but along came a river of Mighty Water!
The fiery Queen of Fire hisses and fizzles and soon she is nothing more than steam, all slaughtered,
Mighty Water flows vast and rampant, he rules his oceanic valley just like a pea in a pod,

What was then, maybe Mighty Water was God?

Aha, oh no, but along came a pure-hearted Man!
Very thirsty was he and so away he gulps and guzzles the Mighty Water in the glen,
He channels the Mighty Water to quench his dry farmlands, this was indeed a smart farming lad,

What was this then, maybe Man was God?

Aha, oh no, but along went the Man licking a ripe red cherry ****!
Into the hallowed building of prayer he does go and gently picks up the Rat bitten name of God,
Down falls the Man upon his knees, he prays, he bows, he silently nods, he wishes his soul was resting in the blissful garden of his beloved God,

What was this then? Maybe...

God

IS

God!



©Rangzeb Hussain

They will look upon me and say –
“There goes one who has become drunk!”

And they will speak true!

For I have gone from tavern to tavern
and in the evening shadows
have I licked the fever of my yearning,
My thirst, this delirious hunger,
It can only be parched and sated by the glorious sight
of my benevolent Beloved,

I look into my liquid glass and spy the fire
of my burning desire,
They who have never loved will never know
what it feels like to embrace the fading twilight,
My Beloved, my eternal love, my moonlight,
Come to me this night and teach me the mystical ways
of the Creator’s starlit delight,

I have become drunk upon the heaven scented milk
drawn from the pure breast of paradise,
This night I shall sleep and dream
in the ***** of the divine Beloved.



©Rangzeb Hussain

Death...

"In time I shalt wither
and learn to
sing the song of songs,
But...
there is time enough yet
before my fall
so come hear my
final
plea!"

We're living in a time of
discord
where the concept of universal
Brotherhood
lies twisted and torn
on
the apocalyptic
highway of the world.

The inner soul
of
each and every being on this earth
must
learn the ways of truth
or else
be consumed
by
the continual temptations of hellish
Hate
that prey and plague upon us
as we venture
through the thorny path
of
our rose-tinted

Life...**



©Rangzeb Hussain

The dreams of yesterday linger,
They mock and torment my
Sad shattered shell,

You whom I loved, you torturer of my heart,
You violated my pure love to one I truly loved,
I thought the very angels themselves gave you innocence,
The red rose your deliciously curled locks and lips,
The early morning dew your sweetly curved body,
The delightful sky your eyes,

But...

This heavenly beauty was skin deep, you
Lied, despised, cried, tried
And succeeded in the burglary of my heart,
Many innocent hearts have you stolen thief,
Do you never think of
The train of pain
You have made me a passenger of?

I am not alone on my lonesome journey,
There are many others,
Your victims,
One way ticket to Nowhere,

Oblivion.



©Rangzeb Hussain

The white feathers sail through the winter's whispers,
It is the bird of hope,
She is the dove of joy and love's peace too,
Her music carries the pure blood of the red rose,
In her beak she carries a message older than the universe,
It reads...
*"Humanity,
Drink from my cup,
Dip your heart in my love,
And rise to sing the glory of peace,
The child of mercy has been born.
I am the herald of the New Year.
The majestic Beloved, my eternal maker,
His music sings of the brotherhood of nations."

Once, two lived under the shade of friendship,
They needed only to see into each other's eyes
For in them swam the pearls that were written
In their hearts.

From these glittering jewels of trust
A bond was born,
These two floated upon the carpet of memory,
Their lives travelling along the same colourful patterns.

She, pretty and funny and loving,
He, shy and deep and lyrical,
Music was theirs, and Poetry and Art too,
Both were to the ***** of love drawn.

Ideas were exchanged,
Thoughts expressed and treasured,
In time the Two
Became...

**One.

I am content...
for I have known Defeat

It is not Success...
for she is but an elusive *****

No...

To dine and dance with Defeat is what defines you,
This is what makes you

It is only through the door of Defeat
that we step into ourselves and find out who we really are

We must needs embrace Defeat
and with grace find the reality to go forward

Courage is found in the bittersweet battlefields of Defeat,
It keeps the coals of the soul burning bright.



©Rangzeb Hussain

At this late hour you ache for Eden’s precious priceless peace,
Shy shame pecked you until you recklessly plucked forsaken fruit
from yonder randomly ravished tree,
You no more sleep sweetly in deep dreams
with your beautiful bountiful luscious lovely turtledove,
Tintoretto’s golden lipped asp is now by you so poorly pawned.

You day by day wastefully just joke away
with an old cloaked crone already fertilized, discarded yet owned,
It makes me want to croak cry
how this age old dastardly liar desperately detains you,
He is but a shallow sinking stinking tainted tyrant
with a hundred thousand hidden talented talons.

His moist mobile tongue ensnares you
from dewy dawn down to darkened dusk,
He is nothing more than a tasteless thankless fat figureless fig,
His contorted contours all folded fool’s flesh
and insides as empty as dusty dried rotten garlic,
He truly is sinfully seeded and begotten love’s handicapped lie.

He has tightly tied his bearded corded coils
round about the pure purse of your emotional riches,
Even though there is no fragrant flower nor creamy silky milk
inside the horizontal trunk of his bloated body
you still pin ***** for a crust of vertical ***** joy,
Your promiscuous ***** red rose brings baleful blight upon your pure soul.

Death will wise wide prise open your poor glazed grazed eyes
to what his false face really is:
A murky mournful mountain of hideous crags
filled with black broken backed snails,
The roots of his treacherous tree burrow into your fine feathers,
He means to have and hold more than just you.

No more morbid advice.

Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of your original lost love,
There, in the distant future yet to birth, comes days of the pearly past,
Embrace them, those were the songs sung in the halls of summer long gone,
Birds of prey, birds of paradise, birds of every colour and hue,
Just remember to keep well away from the wizened vulture with the bloodshot eyes.



©Rangzeb Hussain