"maktub" poems
"Changes"
Metamorphosis.
This is my epiphany,
To old self bid gone.
"Honoring"
The servant-hearted,
Selfless and genuine soul,
Sheer blessing to us.
"Unconditional"
The Almighty God
Loved me for all that I am,
A love so ardent.
"Levanther"
Such comforting wind
Sweeping off between my hair;
Here goes the chimes ring.
"Syllogism"
Great continuum,
Why such distance imposed
That wall between us?
"Cantor"
Oh that lone guitar,
Let me caress such old strings
And I'll sing sweet songs.
"Maktub"
The wheel of fate turns,
Made me search off the cosmos,
All leading to you.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
Maktub saw the light at the end of his tunnel
It approached him with a barbaric screech
Doppler shifting to piercing, painful pitch
On the wrong side of tracks he watched the train charge past
In his new freedom, he explored the station
Wandering through the grimy halls by
Too-busy roaches scurrying from the bright
A burpy crumple lump sat propped against the wall
Reeking of sick and
Filth and dead liver
Maktub bought him a sandwich
And left it on his lap, with a dead president
On whose face he had jotted a blotted
Don’t drink me
The *** woke to this, and
Bless you friend, jaundiced beam
Bless you back, sir
Restored faith in (chances) chances
Some teens whizzed unpaying under turnstiles
On rolling boards, lying on their backs and holding bags
Maktub found them clever and pursued
In a secluded spot they made aerosol spray mural
Mischievous hands intricately crafted as cans blasted
Through their mist emerged a mighty orb of life
And in blackness round twinkled possible worlds
He admired their vandalism; art is everywhere, he thought
At sound of step the mural makers
Dashed, leaving colors and can
Maktub raised it, unfamiliar, and finished the wall with
We are one
Returning to his platform, he saw that more had gathered
And a strumming bard, milk eyed, fluttered notes with dancer’s grace
Her voice sent shivers down his spine and lifted him in spirals
I would recognize the
Song of God, he thought (and I know where he is)
The screeching came again, and Maktub
Leaned to watch, eager for his light
His train had come to take him home
He was calm
He was ready
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 10:13 AM UTC
I ran away and started a new journey
Caught myself in a peculiar story.
Been to different places and found myself startled
Obscured, grotesque, melancholic, and bleakly mottled.
Meeting different people, but never got the chance to stay
Mind fickle and heart let astray.
But then, I understand now how it feels
Of these surrounding silent hills.
All those stirred up feelings gave me nostalgia
But aren't you in spasmodic sequence of amnesia?
Alas, reality throws me up in all that regression;
It teared up my obsession.
Then there goes a series of flashbacks;
It occured to you all of the setbacks.
And oh, I remember a certain old man,
Told me a something about a plan.
With conviction, he said, "Maktub, it is written;
Those who can see and listen,
One's fate has been predestined
To those who is good and sinned."
"Young one, it is about time for you,
Know all that is true
And seek to discern for your true happiness.
"Well, I say "That's intense!"
Then as I pondered on this old man's wisdom,
**** that old geezer is just random.
But what he said did make sense,
If BMW is better than Mercedes-Benz.
Though it may seem easy for him to say it,
My mind went into a frog's "ribbit!"
How vague is it to listen to such hearsay;
The horses neigh and the hearsayers, nay.
Life is giving me much more farce
Though the sarcasm is all so scarce.
Oh, I give up cause it's better to be at home
With my friend Gary the gnome.
Now I know it's better to return
Than travel further the world that is too stern.
It's all but you I see is missing
In a picturesque abode with me, kissing.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
Sometimes a pleasant shower and sometimes show her power;
Up to the expectation of someone or becoming a curse for someone;
Many feelings many reactions for the same drops by the same people;
Ask a trader whose skin pores are dry after a long time, how happy he is?
Ask a farmer who watered his young grains last night, where his smile is?
How can be you so unexpected so partial, to give joy and sorrow;
When the cold breeze blow sprinkling the droplets of water;
Lady of the house standing by the window letting her hair go;
With a dancing heart like a peacock, wishing to get dissolve in air like sugar in water;
But what about those droplets which became bullets for a Fishermans cottage;
Oh! Lord Indra are you unaware from the pain and vain of earth;
Sitting in nirvana are your blessings forgotten to be at right time;
Why there are floods and drought faces of yours;
Why can’t you be always symbol of joy and satisfaction?
Joy that a child feels in facing towards raining sky;
Rain oh! Rain don’t make us wait, is this our fate?
Questions sweated bodies looking towards the sky;
Sun overhead, shining mercilessly, extracting water of earth;
Farmer sitting with bending knees can’t even spot a single cloud;
Lands and roads are as dry as faces of people, asking the same question;
All hells and heavens reside here only;
Goods and bads, joys and sorrows, gifts and penalties;
Nothing is in hand of anyone, none can stand against divine powers;
Good and evil happens because god wanted them to happen;
It’s all written somewhere, by someone, for everyone, "MAKTUB"
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
before the beginning
were the thinkers,
the thoughts,
the ideas,
the great imaginations.
before the beginning of time,
life as we know it,
the story of our being,
came the authors of the world.
who may the be?
for centuries upon centuries people have discovered the ideas,
words that have been granted the representation of existence,
the gospels of our truth.
however, fooled we must be, as the authors of our world remain a fraction of an individual imagination.
history and fate only share such in common,
and so the authors of our world have intended all of this
as we live our lives, the ones we have been gifted by them,
the authors,
and so they say "Maktub",
it is written.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Sometimes I’m afraid to talk to you openly
Sometimes I’m afraid to to talk to you anyway
These are the times, that I most regret
These were the times, ilost my way
Sometimes I think, you might not like me
Sometimes I think, you may even hate
These are the times, that I most regret
These are the times, icurse my fate
But these sometimes led me to a decision
And these sometimes made me realize
That fate is nothing, but it’s Maktub– already written
then why this misery and why this suffocation?
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
on a sunday afternoon
a baby girl was born
and so life had begun
for a seldom creature
God's miracle
stepped into a place
where her very presence
would change the world forever
they felt it after 3 years
something was different
a girl
of such immaculate beauty
remained from speaking a word
and so they gave her time
to come into her own
but time passed on
and the girl never spoke a word
no one could figure why
there were doctors
there were tests
there were places
to go
but nothing seemed to awaken the silence
people watched her
as she wrote
in her very own
a book
full of secrets
to an identity
so fragile
not even a fire
nor a flood
could destroy such an image
of perfection
and with this
she held it close
the girl
was truly mesmerizing
strangers stared
and when they attempted to speak to her
a smile was the only answer
for the mystery of awe
seemed to disguise itself '
in the body of an angel
until one day
on a sunday afternoon
a boy was born
and a girl looked down
into her very arms
and whispered quietly into the ear
of her son
"maktub"
she said
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
Omen!
The soul connection she felt with him was her first omen!
Most precious one but may be not the happiest.
Last winter, the green leaves dried out.
East wind changed it's fragrance.
Words of moment were altered.
Sign of Olives came by that wind,
was like the last one.
That time, she forgot the quest of treasure,
Distance of thought was getting higher than ever.
But she thought the cascade of waiting is over.
Maktub!
It was the time of realism for Another Omen,
No Time for lamenting for the past thought she had.
Maktub! New omen comes by changing the path of destiny, Not the destiny itself.
Persue of life meant to be followed anyway!
The Enchanted dream that she has ,
was the part of her melody of soul;
Only meant to become true.
After the long night,
At the moment of dawn,
Silence of heaven whispers the eternal truth of destiny!
Maktub!
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 1:33 PM UTC
She woke up to the whisper of the blues
“Come close and listen here.” It’s time to dance
She tries to count the stars up in the sky
One two three four five six - the girl is gone
She floats on to a place where love is light
In darkness where she feels at home so late
The clocks hold her within their own two hands
Only to let her fall back down to earth
A world that grows within her heart so full
With eyes so green the trees they start to dance
The leaves so free until she a leaf herself
A cold breeze blocks her vision all but clear
Enclosed inside a box of madness tears
Into the walls that isolate her soul
Tears now do flood this place - a world so dark
These holes where light does shine for her to see
Las luces lead her to escape outside
She draws herself a door to lock behind
That place where silence is no song to sing
Maktub, she listens to a voice within
Her heart so full it grows a Sycamore
One two three four - words written by the hand
Where fate conspires in helping to achieve
The dream of Santiago’s journey now
Like him she walks the sands of time to find
A treasure where it’s love at last she walks
Across the paper pyramids she goes
Every blessing ignored becomes a curse
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC