Urdu Poetry: English Translations



You will never comprehend me:
I pour out my feelings; you only read the words!
―original poet unknown, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Tears are colorless―thank God!―
otherwise my pillow might betray my heart.
―original poet unknown, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Near Sainthood
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Kanu V. Prajapati and Michael R. Burch

On the subject of mystic philosophy, Ghalib,
your words might have struck us as deeply profound ...
Hell, we might have pronounced you a saint,
if only we hadn't found
you drunk
as a skunk!

There are more English translations of poems by Mirza Ghalib later on this page.



Every Once in a While
by Amjad Islam Amjad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Every once in a while,
immersed in these muggy nights
when all earth’s voices seem to have fallen
into the bruised-purple silence of half-sleep,
I awaken from a wonderful dream
to see through the veil that drifts between us
that you too are companionless and wide awake.



First Rendezvous
by Amjad Islam Amjad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This story of the earth
is as old as the universe,
as old as the birth
of the first day and night.

This story of the sky
is included in the words we casually uttered,
you and I,
and yet it remains incomplete, till the end of sight.

This earth and all the scenes it contains
remain witnesses to the moment
when you first held my hand
as we watched the world unfolding, together.

This world
became the focus
for the first rendezvous
between us.



Impossible and Improbable Visions
by Amjad Islam Amjad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eyes interpret visions,
rainbow auras waver;
similar scenes appear
different to individual eyes,
as innumerable oases
coexist in one desert
or a single thought acquires
countless shapes.



I Have to Find My Lost Star
by Amjad Islam Amjad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Searching the emptiest of skies
overflowing with innumerable stars,
I have to find the one
that belongs
to me.

...

Gazing at galaxies beyond galaxies,
all glorious with evolving wonder,
I ponder her name,
finding no sign to remember.

...

Lost things, they say,
are sometimes found
in the same accumulations of dust
where they once vanished.

I have to find the lost star
that belongs to me.



Last Night
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Last night, your memory stole into my heart―
as spring sweeps uninvited into barren gardens,
as morning breezes reinvigorate dormant deserts,
as a patient suddenly feels better, for no apparent reason ...

There are more English translations of poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz later on this page.



Intimacy
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I held the Sun, Stars and Moon at a distance
till the time your hands touched mine.
Now I am not a feather to be easily detached:
instruct the hurricanes and tornados to observe their limits!

There are more English translations of poems by Rahat Indori later on this page.



Strange Currents
by Amir Khusrow
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O Khusrow, the river of love
creates strange currents—
the one who would surface invariably drowns,
while the one who submerges, survives.

There are more English translations of poems by Amir Khusrow later on this page.



The Eager Traveler
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Even in the torture chamber, I was the lucky one;
when each lottery was over, unaccountably I had won.

And even the mightiest rivers found accessible refuge in me;
though I was called an arid desert, I turned out to be the sea.

And how sweetly I remember you—oh, my wild, delectable love!—
as the purest white blossoms bloom, on talented branches above.

And while I’m half-convinced that folks adore me in this town,
still, all the hands I kissed held knives and tried to shake me down.

You lost the battle, my coward friend, my craven enemy,
when, to victimize my lonely soul, you sent a despoiling army.

Lost in the wastelands of vast love, I was an eager traveler,
like a breeze in search of your fragrance, a vagabond explorer.

There are more English translations of poems by Ahmad Faraz later on this page.



The Condition of My Heart
by Munir Niazi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is not necessary for anyone else to get excited:
The condition of my heart is not the condition of hers.
But were we to receive any sort of good news, Munir,
How spectacular compared to earth's mundane sunsets!

There are more English translations of poems by Munir Niazi later on this page.



Failures
by Nida Fazli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I was unable to relate
the state
of my heart to her,
while she failed to infer
the nuances
of my silences.



Apni Marzi se
by Nida Fazli Shayari
translated by Mandakini Bhattacherya and Michael R. Burch

This journey was not of my making;
As the winds blow, I’m blown along ...
Time and dust are my ancient companions;
Who knows where I’m bound or belong?

There are more English translations of poems by Nida Fazli later on this page.



My Apologies, Sona
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My apologies, Sona,
if traversing my verse's terrain
in these torrential rains
inconvenienced you.

The monsoons are unseasonal here.

My poems' pitfalls are sometimes sodden.
Water often overflows these ditches.
If you stumble and fall here, you run the risk
of spraining an ankle.

My apologies, however,
if you were inconvenienced
because my dismal verse lacks light,
or because my threshold's stones
interfered as you passed.

I have often cracked toenails against them!

As for the streetlamp at the intersection,
it remains unlit ... endlessly indecisive.

If you were inconvenienced,
you have my heartfelt apologies!

There are more English translations of poems by Gulzar later on this page.



Come As You Are
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come as you are, forget appearances!
Is your hair untamable, your part uneven, your bodice unfastened? Never mind.
Come as you are, forget appearances!

Skip with quicksilver steps across the grass.
If your feet glisten with dew, if your anklets slip, if your beaded necklace slides off? Never mind.
Skip with quicksilver steps across the grass.

Do you see the clouds enveloping the sky?
Flocks of cranes erupt from the riverbank, fitful gusts ruffle the fields, anxious cattle tremble in their stalls.
Do you see the clouds enveloping the sky?

You loiter in vain over your toilet lamp; it flickers and dies in the wind.
Who will care that your eyelids have not been painted with lamp-black, when your pupils are darker than thunderstorms?
You loiter in vain over your toilet lamp; it flickers and dies in the wind.

Come as you are, forget appearances!
If the wreath lies unwoven, who cares? If the bracelet is unfastened, let it fall. The sky grows dark; it is late.
Come as you are, forget appearances!



Unfit Gifts
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

At sunrise, I cast my nets into the sea,
dredging up the strangest and most beautiful objects from the depths ...
some radiant like smiles, some glittering like tears, others flushed like brides’ cheeks.
When I returned, staggering under their weight, my love was relaxing in her garden, idly tearing leaves from flowers.
Hesitant, I placed all I had produced at her feet, silently awaiting her verdict.
She glanced down disdainfully, then pouted: "What are these bizarre things? I have no use for them!"
I bowed my head, humiliated, and thought:
"Truly, I did not contend for them; I did not purchase them in the marketplace; they are unfit gifts for her!"
That night I flung them, one by one, into the street, like refuse.
The next morning travelers came, picked them up and carted them off to exotic countries.



The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.



This Dog
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Each morning this dog,
who has become quite attached to me,
sits silently at my feet
until, gently caressing his head,
I acknowledge his company.

This simple recognition gives my companion such joy
he shudders with sheer delight.

Among all languageless creatures
he alone has seen through man entire—
has seen beyond what is good or bad in him
to such a depth he can lay down his life
for the sake of love alone.

Now it is he who shows me the way
through this unfathomable world throbbing with life.

When I see his deep devotion,
his offer of his whole being,
I fail to comprehend ...

How, through sheer instinct,
has he discovered whatever it is that he knows?

With his anxious piteous looks
he cannot communicate his understanding
and yet somehow has succeeded in conveying to me
out of the entire creation
the true loveworthiness of man.



Being
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You are so close to me
that no one else ever can be.

NOTE: There is a legend that the great Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib offered all his diwan (poetry collections) in exchange for this one sher (couplet) by Momin Khan Momin. Does the couplet mean "be as close" or "be, at all"? Does it mean "You are with me in a way that no one else can ever be?" Or does it mean that no one else can ever exist as truly as one's true love? Or does this sher contain an infinite number of elusive meanings, like love itself?



Being (II)
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You alone are with me when I am alone.
You are beside me when I am beside myself.
You are as close to me as everyone else is afar.
You are so close to me that no one else ever can be.



Perhaps
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The cohesiveness between us, you may remember or perhaps not.
Our solemn oaths of faithfulness, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
If something happened that was not to your liking,
the shrinking away that produces silence, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Listen, the sagas of so many years, the promises you made amid time's onslaught,
which you now fail to mention, you may remember or perhaps not.
These new resentments, those often rehashed complaints,
these lighthearted and displeasing stories, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
Some seasons ago we shared love and desire, we shared joy ...
That we once were dear friends, you may have perhaps forgot.
Now if we come together, by fate or by chance, to express old loyalties ...
Our every shared breath, all our sighs and regrets, you may remember, or perhaps not.



What Happened to Them?
by Nasir Kazmi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Those who came ashore, what happened to them?
Those who sailed away, what happened to them?

Those who were coming at dawn, when dawn never arrived ...
Those caravans en route, what happened to them?

Those I awaited each night on moonless paths,
Who were meant to light beacons, what happened to them?

Who are these strangers surrounding me now?
All my lost friends and allies, what happened to them?

Those who built these blazing buildings, what happened to them?
Those who were meant to uplift us, what happened to them?

NOTE: This poignant poem was written about the 1947 partition of India into two nations: India and Pakistan. I take the following poem to be about the aftermath of the division.



Climate Change
by Nasir Kazmi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The songs of our silenced lips are different.
The expressions of our regretful hearts are different.

In milder climes our grief was more tolerable,
But the burdens we bear now are different.

O, walkers of awareness's road, keep your watch!
The obstacles strewn on this stony path are different.

We neither fear separation, nor desire union;
The anxieties of my rebellious heart are different.

In the first leaf-fall only flowers fluttered from twigs;
This year the omens of autumn are different.

This world lacks the depth to understand my heartache;
Please endow me with melodies, for my cry is different!

One disconcerting glance bared my being;
Now in barren fields my visions are different.

No more troops, nor flags. Neither money, nor fame.
The marks of the monarchs on this land are different.

Men are not martyred for their beloveds these days.
The youths of my youth were so very different!



Nasir Kazmi Couplets

When I was a child learning to write
my first scribblings were your name.
―Nasir Kazmi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When my feet lost the path
where was your hand?
―Nasir Kazmi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Everything I found is yours;
everything I lost is also yours.
―Nasir Kazmi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Memory
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, as performed by Iqbal Bano
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In the wastelands of solitude, my love,
the echoes of your voice quiver,
the mirages of your lips waver.

In the deserts of alienation,
out of the expanses of distance and isolation's debris
the fragrant jasmines and roses of your presence delicately blossom.

Now from somewhere nearby,
the warmth of your breath rises,
smoldering forth an exotic perfume―gently, languorously.

Now far-off, across the distant horizon,
drop by shimmering drop,
fall the glistening dews of your beguiling glances.

With such tenderness and affection—oh my love!—
your memory has touched my heart's cheek so that it now seems
the sun of separation has set; the night of blessed union has arrived.



Speak!
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Speak, if your lips are free.
Speak, if your tongue is still your own.
While your body is still upright,
Speak if your life is still your own.



Tonight
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not strike the melancholy chord tonight! Days smoldering
with pain in the end produce only listless ashes ...
and who the hell knows what the future may bring?
Last night’s long lost, tomorrow's horizon’s a wavering mirage.
And how can we know if we’ll see another dawn?
Life is nothing, unless together we make it ring!
Tonight we are love gods! Sing!

Do not strike the melancholy chord tonight!
Don’t harp constantly on human suffering!
Stop complaining; let Fate conduct her song!
Give no thought to the future, seize now, this precious thing!
Shed no more tears for temperate seasons departed!
All sighs of the brokenhearted soon weakly dissipate ... stop dithering!
Oh, do not strike the same flat chord again! Sing!



When Autumn Came
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

So it was that autumn came to flay the trees,
to strip them ****,
to rudely abase their slender dark bodies.

Fall fell in vengeance on the dying leaves,
flung them down to the floor of the forest
where anyone could trample them to mush
undeterred by their sighs of protest.

The birds that herald spring
were exiled from their songs—
the notes ripped from their sweet throats,
they plummeted to the earth below, undone
even before the hunter strung his bow.

Please, gods of May, have mercy!
Bless these disintegrating corpses
with the passion of your resurrection;
allow their veins to pulse with blood again.

Let at least one tree remain green.
Let one bird sing.



Last Night (II)
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Last night, your lost memory returned ...
as spring steals silently into barren gardens,
as cool breezes stir desert sands,
as an ailing man suddenly feels better, for no apparent reason ...

There are more English translations of poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz later on this page.



Ghazal
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Not the blossomings of songs nor the adornments of music:
I am the voice of my own heart breaking.

You toy with your long, dark curls
while I remain captive to my dark, pensive thoughts.

We congratulate ourselves that we two are different
but this weakness has burdened us both with inchoate grief.

Now you are here, and I find myself bowing—
as if sadness is a blessing, and longing a sacrament.

I am a fragment of sound rebounding;
you are the walls impounding my echoes.



The Mistake
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

All your life, O Ghalib,
You kept repeating the same mistake:
Your face was *****
But you were obsessed with cleaning the mirror!



Inquiry
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The miracle of your absence
is that I found myself endlessly searching for you.



It's Only My Heart!
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It’s only my heart, not unfeeling stone,
so why be dismayed when it throbs with pain?
It was made to suffer ten thousand darts;
why let one more torment impede us?

There are more English translations of poems by Mirza Ghalib later on this page.



Couplets
by Jaun Elia
loose translations by Michael R. Burch

I am strange—so strange
that I self-destructed and don't regret it.
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The wound is deep—companions, friends—embrace me!
What, did you not even bother to stay?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My nature is so strange
that today I felt relieved when you didn't arrive.
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Night and day I awaited myself;
now you return me to myself.
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Greeting me this cordially,
have you so easily erased my memory?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your lips have provided thousands of answers;
so what is the point of complaining now?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Perhaps I haven't fallen in love with anyone,
but at least I convinced them!
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The city of mystics has become bizarre:
everyone is wary of majesty, have you heard?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Did you just say "Love is eternal"?
Is this the end of us?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You are drawing very close to me!
Have you decided to leave?
―Jaun Elia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Intimacy
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I held the Sun, Stars and Moon at a distance
till the time your hands touched mine.
Now I am not a feather to be easily detached:
instruct the hurricanes and tornados to observe their limits!



The Mad Moon
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Stars have a habit of showing off,
but the mad moon sojourns in darkness.



Body Language
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your body’s figures are written in cursive!
How will I read you? Hand me the book!



Insatiable
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This mighty ocean, so deep and vast!
If it sates my thirst, how long can it last?



Honor
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Achievements may fade but the name remains strong;
walls may buckle but the roof stays on.
On a pile of corpses a child stands alone
and declares that his family still lives on!



Dust in the Wind
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is how I introduce myself to questioners:
Pick up a handful of dust, then blow ...



Dissembler
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In your eyes this, in your heart that, on your lips something else?
If this is how you are, impress someone else!



Rumor (M)ill
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I heard rumors my health was bad; still
it was prying people who made me ill.



The Vortex
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am the river whose rapids form a vortex;
You were wise to avoid my banks.



Homebound
by Rahat Indori
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

If people fear what they meet at every turn,
why do they ever leave the house?



Becoming One
by Amir Khusrow
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have become you, as you have become me;
I am your body, you my Essence.
Now no one can ever say
that you are someone else,
or that I am anything less than your Presence!



I Am a Pagan
by Amir Khusrow
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am a pagan disciple of love: I need no creeds.
My every vein has become taut, like a tuned wire.
I do not need the Brahman's girdle.
Leave my bedside, ignorant physician!
The only cure for love is the sight of the patient's beloved:
there is no other medicine he needs!
If our boat lacks a pilot, let there be none:
we have god in our midst: we do not fear the sea!
The people say Khusrow worships idols:
True! True! But he does not need other people's approval;
he does not need the world's.

(My translation above was informed by a translation of Dr. Hadi Hasan.)



Amir Khusrow’s elegy for his mother
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wherever you shook the dust from your feet
is my relic of paradise!



Paradise
by Amir Khusrow
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

If there is an earthly paradise,
It's here! It's here! It's here!



Mystery
by Munir Niazi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

She was a mystery:
Her lips were parched ...
but her eyes were two unfathomable oceans.



I continued delaying ...
by Munir Niazi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I continued delaying ...
the words I should speak
the promises I should keep
the one I should dial
despite her cruel denial

I continued delaying ...
the shoulder I must offer
the hand I must proffer
the untraveled lanes
we may not see again

I continued delaying ...
long strolls through the seasons
for my own selfish reasons
the remembrances of lovers
to erase thoughts of others

I continued delaying ...
to save someone dear
from eternities unclear
to make her aware
of our reality here

I continued delaying ...



Couplets
by Mir Taqi Mir
loose translations by Michael R. Burch

Sharpen the barbs of every thorn, O lunatic desert!
Perhaps another hobbler, limping by on blistered feet, follows me!
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My life is a bubble,
this world an illusion.
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Selflessness has gotten me nowhere:
I neglected myself far too long.
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I know now that I know nothing,
and it only took me a lifetime to learn!
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Love's just beginning, so why do you whine?
Why not wait and watch how things unwind!
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Come!
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come, let us construct night
over the monumental edifice of silence.
Come, let us clothe ourselves in the winding sheets of darkness,
where we'll ignite our bodies' incandescent wax.
As the midnight dew dances its delicate ballet,
let us not disclose the slightest whispers of our breath!
Lost in night's mists,
let us lie immersed in love's fragrance,
absorbing our bodies' musky aromas!
Let us rise like rustling spirits ...



Old Habits Die Hard
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The habit of breathing
is an odd tradition.
Why struggle so to keep on living?
The body shudders,
the eyes veil,
yet the feet somehow keep moving.
Why this journey, this restless, relentless flowing?
For how many weeks, months, years, centuries
shall we struggle to keep on living, keep on living?
Habits are such strange things, such hard things to break!



Inconclusive
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A body lies on a white bed—
dead, abandoned,
a forsaken corpse they forgot to bury.
They concluded its death was not their concern.
I hope they return and recognize me,
then bury me so I can breathe.



Wasted
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You have noticed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips ...
In whose imagination I have lost everything.



Countless
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I recounted the world's countless griefs
by recounting your image countless times.



Do Not Ask
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not ask, my love, for the love that we shared before:
You existed, I told myself, so existence shone.
For a moment the only light that I knew, alone,
was yours; worldly griefs remained dark, distant, afar.

Spring shone, as revealed in your face, but what did I know?
Beyond your bright eyes, what delights could the sad world hold?
Had I won you, cruel Fate would have ceded, no longer bold.
Yet all this was not to be, though I wished it so.

The world knows sorrows beyond love’s brief dreams betrayed,
and pleasures beyond all sweet, idle ideals of romance:
the dread dark spell of countless centuries and chance
is woven with silk and satin and gold brocade.

Bodies are sold everywhere for a pittance—it’s true!
Besmeared with dirt and bathed in bright oceans of blood,
Crawling from infested ovens, a gory cud.
My gaze returns to you: what else can I do?

Your beauty haunts me still, and will to the last.
But the world is burdened by sorrows beyond those of love,
By pleasures beyond romance.
So please do not demand a love that is over, and past.



O God!
by Qateel Shifai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Torture my heart, O God!
If you so desire, leave me a madman, O God!

Have I asked for the moon and stars?
Enlighten my heart and give my eyes sight, O God!

We have all seen this disk called the sun,
Now give us a real dawn, O God!

Either relieve our pains here on this earth
Or make my heart granite, O God!



Hereafter
by Qateel Shifai
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since we met and parted, how can we sleep hereafter?
Lost in each others' remembrance, must we not weep hereafter?

Deluges of our tears will keep us awake all night:
Our eyelashes strung with strands of pearls, hereafter!

Thoughts of our separation will sear our grieving hearts
Unless we immerse them in the cooling moonlight, hereafter!

If the storm also deceives us, crying Qateel!,
We will scuttle our boats near forsaken shores, hereafter.



Picnic
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My friends laugh elsewhere on the beach
while I sit here, alone, counting the waves,
writing and rewriting your name in the sand ...



Confession
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your image overwhelmed my vision.
As the long nights passed, I became obsessed with your visage.
Then came the moment when I quietly placed my lips to your picture ...



Rain
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Why shiver alone in the rain, maiden?
Embrace the one in whose warming love your body and mind would be drenched!
There are no rains higher than the rains of Love,
after which the bright rainbows of separation will glow with the mysteries of hues.



My Body's Moods
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I long for the day when you'll be obsessed with me,
when, forgetting the world, you'll miss me with a passion
and stop complaining about my reticence!
Then I may forget all other transactions and liabilities
to realize my world in your arms,
letting my body's moods guide me.
In that moment beyond boundaries and limitations
as we defy the conventions of veil and turban,
let's try our luck and steal a taste of the forbidden fruit!



Moon
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

All of us passengers,
we share the same fate.
And yet I'm alone here on earth,
and she alone there in the sky!



Vanity
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

His world is so simple, so very different from mine.
So distinct—his dreams and desires.
He speaks rarely.
This morning he wrote: "I saw some lovely flowers and thought of you."
Ha! I know my aging face is no orchid ...
but how I wish I could believe whatever he says, however momentarily!



Come
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come, even with anguish, even to torture my heart;
Come, even if only to abandon me to torment again.

Come, if not for our past commerce,
Then to faithfully fulfill the ancient barbaric rituals.

Who else can recite the reasons for our separation?
Come, despite your reluctance, to continue the litanies, the ceremony.

Respect, even if only a little, the depth of my love for you;
Come, someday, to offer me consolation as well.

Too long you have deprived me of the pathos of longing;
Come again, my love, if only to make me weep.

Till now, my heart still suffers some slight expectation;
So come, ***** out even the last flickering torch of hope!



I Cannot Remember
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I once was a poet too (you gave life to my words), but now I cannot remember
Since I have forgotten you (my love!), my art too I cannot remember

Yesterday consulting my heart, I learned
that your hair, lips, mouth, I cannot remember

In the city of the intellect insanity is silence
But now your sweet, spontaneous voice, its fluidity, I cannot remember

Once I was unfamiliar with wrecking ***** and ruins
But now the cultivation of gardens, I cannot remember

Now everyone shops at the store selling arrows and quivers
But neglects his own body, the client he cannot remember

Since time has brought me to a desert of such arid forgetfulness
Even your name may perish; I cannot remember

In this narrow state of being, lacking a country,
even the abandonment of my fellow countrymen, I cannot remember



The Infidel
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ten thousand desires: each one worth dying for ...
So many fulfilled, and yet still I yearn for more!

Being in love, for me there was no difference between living and dying ...
and so I lived each dying breath watching you, my lovely Infidel, sighing                       afar.



Ghazal
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Life becomes even more complicated
when a man can’t think like a man ...

What irrationality makes me so dependent on her
that I rush off an hour early, then get annoyed when she's "late"?

My lover is so striking! She demands to be seen.
The mirror reflects only her image, yet still dazzles and confounds my eyes.

Love’s stings have left me the deep scar of happiness
while she hovers above me, illuminated.

She promised not to torment me, but only after I was mortally wounded.
How easily she “repents,” my lovely slayer!



Ghazal
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It’s time for the world to hear Ghalib again!
May these words and their shadows like doors remain open.

Tonight the watery mirror of stars appears
while night-blooming flowers gather where beauty rests.

She who knows my desire is speaking,
or at least her lips have recently moved me.

Why is grief the fundamental element of night
when blindness falls as the distant stars rise?

Tell me, how can I be happy, vast oceans from home
when mail from my beloved lies here, so recently opened?



Abstinence?
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let me get drunk in the mosque,
Or show me the place where God abstains!



Step Carefully!
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Step carefully Ghalib―this world is merciless!
Here people will "adore" you to win your respect ... or your downfall.



Bleedings
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Love requires patience but lust is relentless;
what colors must my heart bleed before it expires?

There are more English translations of poems by Mirza Ghalib later on this page.



No Explanation! (I)
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Please don't ask me how deeply it hurt!
Her sun shone so bright, even the shadows were burning!



No Explanation! (II)
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Please don't ask me how it happened!
She didn't bind me, nor did I free myself.



Alone
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Why are you sad that she goes on alone, Faraz?
After all, you said yourself that she was unique!



Separation
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Faraz, if it were easy to be apart,
would Angels have to separate body from soul?



Time
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What if my face has more wrinkles than yours?
I am merely well-worn by Time!



Miraji Epigrams

I'm obsessed with this thought:
does God possess mercy?
―Miraji, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come, see this dance, the immaculate dance of the devadasi!
―Miraji, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Excerpts from “Going, Going ...”
by Miraji
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Each unfolding vista,
each companion’s kindnesses,
every woman’s subtle sorceries,
everything that transiently lies within our power
quickly dissolves
and we are left with only a cupped flame, flickering ...
Should we call that “passion”?

The moon scrapes the horizon
and who can measure a star’s breadth?

The time allotted a life, if we calculate it,
is really only a fleeting breath ...



1.
Echoes of an ancient prophecy:
after my life has come and gone,
perhaps someone
hearing my voice drifting
on the breeze of some future spring
will chase after my songs
like dandelions.
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch

2.
Echoes of an ancient prophecy:
after my life has come and gone,
perhaps someone
hearing my voice drifting
through some distant future spring
will pluck my songs
like dandelions.
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch

3.
Echoes of an ancient prophecy:
when my life has come and gone,
and when I’m dead and done,
perhaps someone
hearing me sing
in a distant spring
will echo my songs
the whole world over.
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch

If I understand things correctly, Miraji wrote the lines above after translating a verse by Sappho in which she said that her poems would be remembered in the future. I suspect both poets and both prophecies were correct!




Every Day and in Every Direction
by Nida Fazli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Everywhere and in every direction we see innumerable people:
each man a victim of his own loneliness, reticence and silences.
From dawn to dusk men carry enormous burdens:
all preparing graves for their soon-to-be corpses.
Each day a man lives, the same day he dies.
Each new day requires the same old patience.
In every direction there are roads for him to roam,
but in every direction, men victimize men.
Every day a man dies many deaths only to resurrect from his ashes.
Each new day presents new challenges.
Life's destiny is not fixed, but a series of journeys:
thus, till his last breath, a man remains restless.



Couplets
by Nida Fazli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It was my fate to entangle and sink myself
because I am a boat and my ocean lies within.
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You were impossible to forget once you were gone:
hell, I remembered you most when I tried to forget you!
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Don't squander these pearls:
such baubles may ornament sleepless nights!
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The world is like a deck of cards on a gambling table:
some of us are bound to loose while others cash in.
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There is a proper protocol for everything in this world:
when visiting gardens never force butterflies to vacate their flowers!
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since I lack the courage to commit suicide,
I have elected to bother people with my life a bit longer.
―Nida Fazli, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Changing Seasons
by Noshi Gillani
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Each changing season
reveals something
concealed by her fears:
an escape route from this island
illuminated by her tears.



Dust
by Bahadur Shah Zafar or Muztar Khairabadi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unable to light anyone's eye
or to comfort anyone's heart ...
I am nothing but a handful of dust.



Piercings
by Firaq Gorakhpuri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No one ever belonged to anyone else for a lifetime.
We cannot own another's soul.
The beauty we see and the love we feel are only illusions.
All my life I tried to save myself from the piercings of your eyes ...
But I failed and the daggers ripped right through me.



Salvation
Mohammad Ibrahim Zauq
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Anxious and fatigued, I consider the salvation of death ...
But if there is no peace in the grave,
where can I go to be saved?



Child of the Century
by Abdellatif Laâbi (a Moroccan poet)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I’m a child of this dreary century, a child who never grew up.
Doubts that ignited my tongue singed my wings.
I learned to walk, then I unlearned progress.
I grew weary of oases and camels infatuated with ruins.
My head inclined East only to occupy the middle of the road
as I awaited the insane caravans.



Nostalgia
by Abdulla Pashew (a Kurdish poet)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How I desire the heavens!
Each solitary star lights the way to a tryst.

How I desire the sky!
Standing alone, remote, the sky is as vast as any ocean.

How I desire love's heavenly scent!
When each enticing blossom releases its essence.



Oblivion
by Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi (an African poet who writes in Arabic)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Discard your pen
before you start reading;
consider the ink,
how it encompasses bleeding.

Learn from the horizon
through eyes' narrowed slits
the limitations of vision
and hands' treacherous writs.

Do not blame me,
nor indeed anyone,
if you expire before
your reading is done.



In Medias Res
by Shaad Azimabadi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When I heard the story of my life recounted,
I caught only the middle of the tale.
I remain unaware of the beginning or end.



Debt Relief
by Piyush Mishra
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We save Sundays for our loved ones ...
all other days we slave to repay debts.



Reoccurrence
by Amrita Bharati (a Hindi poet)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It was a woman's heart speaking,
that had been speaking for eons ...

It was a woman's heart silenced,
that had been silenced for centuries ...

And between them loomed a mountain
that a man or a rat gnawed at, even in times of amity ...
gnawing at the screaming voice,
at the silent tongue,
from the primeval day.



Don't Approach Me
by Arif Farhad
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Don't approach me here by the river of time
where I flop like a fish in a net!



Intoxicants
by Amrut Ghayal (a Gujarati poet)
translation by Kanu V. Prajapati and Michael R. Burch

O, my contrary mind!
You're such a fool, afraid to drink the fruit of the vine!
But show me anything universe-designed
that doesn't intoxicate, like wine.



I’m like a commodity being priced in the market-place:
every eye ogles me like a buyer’s.
—Majrooh Sultanpuri, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

If you insist, I’ll continue playing my songs,
forever piping the flute of my heart.
—Majrooh Sultanpuri, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon has risen once again, yet you are not here.
My heart is a blazing pyre; what do I do?
—Majrooh Sultanpuri, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Drunk on Love
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Drunk on love, I made her my God.
She quickly informed me that God belongs to no man!

Exiles
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Often we have heard of Adam's banishment from Eden,
but with far greater humiliation, I abandon your garden.

To Whom Shall I Complain?
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To whom shall I complain when I am denied Good Fortune in acceptable measure?
Dementedly, I demanded Death, but was denied even that dubious pleasure!



Ghazal
by Mirza Ghalib
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You should have stayed a little longer;
you left all alone, so why not linger?

We’ll meet again, you said, some day similar to this one,
as if such days can ever recur, not vanish!

You left our house as the moon abandons night's skies,
as the evening light abandons its earlier surmise.

You hated me: a wife abnormally distant, unknown;
you left me before your children were grown.

Only fools ask why old Ghalib still clings to breath
when his fate is to live desiring death.



How strange has life become:
Our evenings drag out, yet our years keep flashing by!
―original poet unknown, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Longing
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Lord, I’ve grown tired of human assemblies!
I long to avoid conflict! My heart craves peace!
I desperately desire the silence of a small mountainside hut!



Life Advice
by Allama Iqbāl
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

This passive nature will not allow you to survive;
If you want to live, raise a storm!



Destiny
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Isn't it futile to complain about God's will,
When you are your own destiny?

Keywords/Tags: Urdu, translation, love poetry, desire, passion, longing, romance, romantic, God, heaven, mrburdu

The inaugural bang swiveled with the vacant expressions of a muted feral crowd indignant about ethnic identity and swift in the recourse of tyrannical thugs pandering withered abuse

I solemnly abided in a chirpy itinerant glower against the exclusive system for stranding the disintegration of lyrical integrity for the Potemkin cheers of the culmination of too many jeers

Withered words for the abeyance of silence I incurred with wistful pleas for resurgent clarity beyond   sheepish fears

So I loitered in the evanescence of words..

Watching with alacrity as the strident ignorance of grafted wretchedness writhed its last mustered exsibilation at the sound of windbags bloviating beyond prodigal extravagance without a visible tweeted word

I measured my pause…..as I considered the heft of poignant exposures to a dismal serenade of miscegenated politics and garbled breaths of wheezy mendicants seeking participation in the trophy of smothered compliance

But I marveled simultaneously at the extinction of the shriveled crowds as they sized up the minutiae of wastrels glamorously inviting a frozen recapitulation of sorrows borrowed and wasted on minced platitudes that swindle still the votive confidence of regimented sympathy pretending empathy for soured hearts professedly defiant at their bereaved will

My pulse I clocked at 120 as I wondered where on earth the 140s and 150s have frittered their patience on with such brazen alacrity for the garish snarl of a sojourn into the ineffable effrontery of aureate mutiny against the tyrant of deaf spoon-fed indignation without the luxury of shared ignominy of memorable cadence for frippery in sparse blurbs registered in braille rather than brawn

Then I remembered my vociferous persnickety temperament and the curdled hatred of procrustean swan songs to an etiolating standard of ethical entanglement in aloof issues delivered with a decisive swoon too swift in earnestness to outfox with a quipped rebuff or a calculus of classical spoof

Then I wondered with a problematic but inherent prolixity…..
I too could adorn the adoring moon with a lyrical lampoon geared for a clockwork punchline or a winsome rebarbative tune….OR…. enchant with an incisive acerbic rant about how pasquinades outstay their welcome because of the clambered insistence of happenstance years ago in a blinkered mirror but never rehashed too soon

But where would affection heap its laurels if I dared to swindle the spotlight away from frisky poetasters who proved a renegade inspiration for fluttered triumph in a seaside tragedy only the crestfallen waves of pestilent Idiocracy could steal from my outstretched tenacity in verse and verve

Boom went a fulmination of hatred at my labored words! And then I swerved to avoid potholes of tenuous gainsay…. and other miscreants littering the world with misappropriated labels for laments belabored with publicity for displaced enmity distilled from a cauldron of mismatched ignorance….tethered to the vagrancy of gripe plucked at the ripe time for a twenty-dollar prize give or take a dime

But that dime separating 1990 from 2010 meant more than anything to a life littered with hallowed word crimes…. against the sanctimony of syncopation with cheap bleats too arrogant to be sheepish at the lavish indulgence of the marginalized wines…. brewed in a castle flickering on fiat worth rather than the simplicities of minutes of warbled time

So I currently warp minds with the proctor of a gamble too garish to finesse the quicksand of attrition but jaunty enough to bypass the limitations of a linear self-referential memorial about the circular nature of irony espoused by divorced rhymes

Now I stand ascendant….waiting for the retinues of retinas to absorb the wavy rigmarole of the serpentine pathways carved beneath the buzzwords of race and division and towards soldered unity with a human race beyond racism…. and a class divorced from socioeconomic crass division

Just then I arrived at serenity…. as I realized that the BAR exams that encage so many aspirant hearts are counterfeit in the court of the highest judiciary art that believes that insidious artifice is an embezzled venture of frolicsome guttersnipes wallowing in division can never revive a lifeless heart…. even if quick-witted credentialism rattles the slaves to vapid artforms that any humanism would never deem smart

Ditch the agitprop as a human frailty indentured to endure the curated disease without a cure to make the snollygosters in Washington ever so cocksure with their cockalorum disregard of the palatable consensus to make news real again….Finally for the fraternity of an enlightened human race in a benighted world of trendy fatuousness that infests the planet with the debauchery of glorified urchins jerking the levers with severed brevity to promote infectious foofaraw with cultural indemnity

I leave you with this

What is ornate complexity without the luxury of concerted beatific bliss that the parsecs that flummox your minds throb vehemently with cohesiveness in my internal design are not remiss

And remember the benighted standards of kitsch for the kitchens of penury bewitched don’t stand a chance against the overriding itch to vanquish mountains one after another to cross them off the list

The television is getting worse, I have noticed on its viewing
What the **** is going on, what do you think your doing ?
Maybe its ungrateful, but our minds are just left stewing
Why must people endure repeats, through years of program queuing?
An example is the game shows, there on every side just brewing
We're paying for the privilege, its the public that your *******

We don't want Deal Or No Deal, with all those crap crisp boxes
Q.I. is not that interesting, it has too many paradoxes
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire ? is that just a stupid question?
I would love to Strike It Lucky, so what is your suggestion?

Pointless has the correct name, cos that's exactly what it is
Has Jasper Carrot got Golden *****, or is he *******
Why is there ***** Money, did they ran out of toilet tissues
Julian Clary had Sticky Moments, and outrageous camping issues

Whenever Opportunity Knocks, well just open the door
If your going to Take Me Out, then what are you waiting for?
Don't Name That Tune In One, I'd rather hear it all
A Question Of Sport is so boring, its hardly on the ball

Is it the Weakest Link, because the chain is full of rust?
Didn't Blockbusters close down, and the video shop go bust ?
Why Should I Supermarket Sweep, Dale can sweep it himself
The pyramid Game is just, an apex polyhedron triangular shelf

I Don't want to go on Mastermind, and look like a ******* fool
If I went Through The Keyhole, then I must be minuscule
Why Would I Lie To You? wouldn't that be a bit two faced
I'm not sure if Celebrity Squares, are really all straight laced?
Could you please repeat yourself, I did not Catch that Phrase
Just how many crystals where there, in the Crystal Maze?

Was Spin Star cancelled, because celebrities where break dancing
Or was it Bradley Walsh's giant fruit, that needed some enhancing?
Why is it called The Chase, when there's no chasing involved?
The Chasers are sat on there arses, so The Chase is never solved

I don't think it is the Wheel Of Fortune, even if you do
You don't really get much fortune, till you solve the final clue
Paul Daniels said Every Second Counts, so forget the introductions
Just get on with the game play, don't even bother with instructions

Philip Schofield played with Five Gold Rings, isn't that just wrong
I thought that Five Gold Rings, belonged to a Christmas song
Ted Rogers read such stupid clues, it made it hard to win
No wonder 3.2.1 contestants, usually won poor Dusty Bin

I would really love to drink, some of that Celebrity Juice
But first I'll have to find out, which ones are tight or loose
I'm not lucky enough to have 300 Blanks, with a lovely lady in a bed
I'll have to hand it to myself, and have a Blankety Blank instead

Mr & Mrs is outdated, most Marriages are not enforced
Those couples who where happy once, are probably divorced
Treasure Hunt used a Helicopter, clues found by Anneka Rice
She ran around quite frantically, but her **** was rather nice

Isn't Ann Widdecombe a dark horse, she liked a Cleverdick
I Suspect if she had the chance, she'd like a **** that's thick
There used to be Telly Addicts, but now they are history
We no longer want Noel Edmunds, or crap games on our TV

Poor Bully tried to play Darts, but his aim was far to high
It isn't all that great or Super, missing the Bullseye
Come on now Jim its not fare, making the contestants cry
To look at what you could have won, and kiss the prize goodbye

Naked Jungle was a one off, Keith Chegwin in the buff
I'm glad it did not continue, so please don't Call My Bluff
Countdown has been on for years, we've had a ****** enough
Only Connect and 15 to 1, are hard and far too tough

Family fortunes and Eggheads, we don't want all this stuff
Fort Boyard and Mock The Week, stick them up you chuff
Going For Gold and Gladiators, too old and looking rough
University Challenge and Impossible, there really dull and duff

Never Mind The Buzzcocks, it's a forgotten piece of Fluff
Crosswits and Chain Letters, should be dragged of by the scuff
Hole in the wall and Alphabetical, are so right of the cuff
The Cube and The Million Pound Drop, I'd walk of in a huff

Many game shows throughout the years, all needed a good host
But there isn't any spontaneity, so none of them can boast
Instead of reading from a script,and acting liked their dosed
Take the plunge make it your own, don't be a mindless ghost
Why don't hosts try to be their best, and try to be their most
Wouldn't it make more sense, to keep your audience engrossed

Ben Shepherd comes to mind, he doesn't seem all there
With his ****** expressions, weird smile and stupid stare
How did he become a host, was it all based on a dare
Why is his act robotic, its more than we can bare

Its like watching a recording, this isn't really fare
If we are subjected to this crap, then we deserve a share
I guess its our misfortune, its enough to make you swear
We're already at our Tipping Point, so we no longer care

Now I'm not saying that every host, is as bad as old Ben Shep
In fact there is at least one guy,who has a better Rep
He may not be a large man, in fact he played a Lep
But at least he isn't wooden, and he's with you every step

Warwick Davis's Act is Tenable, and he has not compromised
With good hosting skills, jokes and quips Warwick has realized
Although I'm not a game show fan, I am pleasantly surprised
He stands tall over the other hosts, even though he is pintsized

Why keep making game shows, was there a voting pole?
I believe there are too many, they are so ******* droll
As bad as all reality, the schedules they both stole
Axe the ******* lot of them, and chuck them down a hole

Just take a look at Brucie, may god rest his soul
He was around for decades, and hosting was role
Taking over all the shows, seemed to be old Brucie's goal
The years weren't kind to old Bruce, they definitely took there toll

There is a Brucie Bonus, available for every Generation
All you really needed, was the right kind of motivation
Nice to see you to see you nice, was Bruce's obligation
Life was the name of the game, in a family situation

A cuddly toy on a conveyer belt, in a prize observation
Didn't he do well all, depends on your own determination
If You Play Your Cards Right, Dollies Dealing a sensation
You don't get anything for a pair, maybe its infatuation

You can freeze but you cant stick, all dealt in isolation
Do you want to bet on it, was a gambling invitation
The price was always right, just use your imagination
Come on down to old Bruce, win a car and a vacation

Maybe he's a legend, with Bruce's game show graduation
A chance to host a new show, a Good Game realization
What's on the board miss ford, moving on to a new creation
It turned camp when they shut that door, and hired Larry Grayson

What was it with Bruce Forsyth, he was far too keen
He monopolised the hosting, on the game show scene
Seizing every opportunity, ever since he was fourteen
Just like Command and Conqueror, on the TV screen
He took on all the game shows, maybe he's just mean
But I cant help but to wander, where else has he been?

With all of his catchphrases, and a chin that was obscene
A wig that was like shredded wheat, it never should be seen
I don't know if I'm being harsh, it maybe his routine
And its all in his makeup, and part of Bruce's gene
Perhaps he liked the studio, and had too much caffeine
Along with the all dodgy food, in the BBC canteen

Now Challenge screens the game shows, but there all so ******* old
We've already seen all these games, they've already all been sold
I do not mean to sound too flippant, but why wont you be told
Your sending your viewers up the wall, and your audiences cold
Now let me state what's obvious, I hope I am not too bold
We don't want all these rehashed games, there hardly TV gold

with predatory instinct found
under siege, underground
Birch II, my ward, my home
before I leave pages turn to tome

with rehashed food and smuggled items of variety
cigarettes, chew, and paper clips, decaffeinated life

suicide attempt
breeding contempt
smash at walls
scream at captors
claws of raptors

manic I was, manic I remain, new rage, I am insane

line by line by line
empty words of horror’s sound
with LSD’s aftershocks ringing my ears
and feeding my eyes that hate your normalcy
with all the confused dread I can muster

one word, madness
shaking fool, lost cool
tremolo-plastic-breakfast-spoon
lifting bits of sanity to my mouth parts

Freshly-washed ****-head desires the woman
I left in the real anti-world called home

close my eyes and see my last trip
bathroom tiles explode and cover sink, tub, garbage can, mirror, telephone, and leg-arms
bad trip, but it was better than your unreal world

take your meds now

two-******, bipolar, mixed-manic, one-eyed, living, breathing, copulating monster under eternity’s bed

anger pounding at my ******* coming out as a giant, stinking ****

the them that sit behind the desk
regulate lives of poor inmate crazies
eat their meals and take my soul
others play cards, I write, **** time, **** tension, **** myself, with treatment plans, unreasonable demands in ******-babble B. S. words like suicidal ideation, that doesn’t apply to me, does it?

I want my trip back, I want to live in another place with another face
I want my trip back darling
I want to watch the words explode, I want to watch the tiles grow up my legs again
to watch as paper becomes pen, to bathe the tiles off of my inhuman skin
I want my trip back baby
I want to breathe in prism air where nothing and eternity collide
in spectacular displays of sonic-boom, emotional madness
incredibly---------------edible-------------sadness

I see the me looking
from inside LSD’s mirror and want to rejoin
the missing-hated-wasted-rain-forest
blackened by man’s desire
with silk-rose-petal-eye-bomb-shell

LEAVE!
leave me, for what I did or did not do or have or think or say or what

style means nothing more nothing less, you know?

it takes confusion to produce effective illusion
to produce base desires feed the fires
smoky the bear at the demon’s lair
with broken feet suckle the ****
of unused, aggressive, possessive MADNESS!!!!!

natural-organic-popcorn-hulls in rotted-bleeding-tooth-socket-decay-pain
elusive means justify idiot ends, so dig the pick into the hole in my jaw
as I scream the insanity away from my ears and into your eye-ball-socket-hole-skull-spot

clipped fingernail
package in the mail
next time I won’t fail

sleep, sleep won’t be my lover tonight, her arms won’t touch my shoulder
I won’t feel her finger-touch-tip or rub my ***** on her ******
I want my trip back
love me, love me, love me
for love or money, for emotions mistaken, for idiot sensation, for all the things you do for me, for my insanity’s sake

my world slowly fills with unbearable ills, chemical need so deep it erases my soul

feet sore from pacing
door to door to door to door

on and on seconds bleed out minutes, bleed the hours, tears bleed out the poison self-inflicted, pen bleeds ink onto paper

thoughts coagulate and scabrous emotions take

Her breath catches. she turns over. it doesn't matter, no matter what she does, she won't sleep. that itch is there.
she lies on the flat of her back, staring at the colours swirling on the ceiling with the shadows dancing with them. she starts thinking about him again. the way his hair curls at the end, the way it moves when the wind blows around, the way his face scrunches up in amusement, the way he holds himself, how he leans in when he speaks, his lips, his face, his eyes...she lets her mind wander...aswell as her hand...
her breath catches again, but for an entirely different reason.
setting a steady pace she drives herself insane, physically with resistance and mentally with reminders of who she can't have.
two years gone and she still can't stop. she loves him. everything about him, the air around him, even. she adores him and it's killing her.
her legs widen to accomadate her rising arousal, a low moan grows in the back of her throat, pushing her forward making her desire vocal, unlike the love that has crushed her heart over and over, again and again, she can't stand it anymore.
her speed increases and she breaks a sweat. she's crying now, thinking about the rehashed fantasy she built in her brain. how she'd loose herself to him, give him eveything, let him take her to places shes never been before. She cries because she knows it'll never be so, all she'll have is her own little bed and her own hand for company, no strong arms to hold her as she falls asleep, no sweet lips to kiss goodnight, no growing passion pushing into her ever so warmly.
suddenly she bucks, screams out in pain and passion, and curls in a ball to live through the aftershocks and the screaming agony her heart holds, she pretends he's holding her and slowly falls asleep.

plea of oddities: bring the tinkling back
its bell lies silent


1.
Existing (not entirely) alone
entertaining itself with nightmares witnessed from long ago
It waited and waited
until the neighbour-orb grew to a level sophisticated enough
to house that lovely assortment of fine specimens.. of females
       that flock of dusted-crystals so long dreamt of
       that mould of sensibility, that plug of warmth
       that banner of softness
which all mirrored the opposite of their ways


2.
they fled in quiet-rebellion from inhospitable hands of the boor-males
altogether, in a ship.. down into the bowels of their breaking planet
subtleties long abandoned by the barbed-wire handling of  rough hands
these gentles could take no more and *uncoupled themselves for good
burning, like the bridges behind them
               they disconnected and slid into a nether-sphere

When the males woke in stupor to find them gone
                 they flipped and fed in anger
and with access to goodness gone and unplaced voracious appetites
It decided to encase them.. in a giant glass-jar, preserving them in ire
until the time was right.. like a tea awaiting perfect steeping
In stasis, they remained for what seemed aeons
the glass-jar which held this army of men, was reduced
became small, like a coin.. which Foog summarily swallowed
and waited . . .  


3.
The sun turned its face in blank-horror of severe sights
                                                               splayed across the surface
forests shrank to toothpicks and died
         blue seas curled and dried
                                 meadows melted to greyish slush
every flying creature lost gravity and got ****** away, too high..
                                                        into harsh deafening-holes
when the tall sentries of oxygen.. twisted and became wiry-distorted
the sky sank and folding itself up.. hid in a black corner
                               behind the crumbling mountains

Foog hid beneath a crater made of ice, on the dark side of said planet
and once every millennium
        it felt the colliding-smack of a passing planetessimal
and it swore that somewhere, somehow..
        that punishment awaited new life

So, it shut its senses to the bay of life
       while hankering viciously for the scream of warm blood
The bell-jar inside, silent and
                        also somehow.. obscenely waiting in its oblivion



4.
Then, came Earth spinning round in flourish.. oh, the day on hand
Yet, veryyyyy far away.. an eye slowly opened
                      / /  roused by the smell of fressshhh life . . . / /



5.
A popping sound and the bell-jar was birthed from a slit on its forehead
It looked nearly quizzically at this odd creation beneath the silent-glass
this assortment of creatures trapped in the folly of Foog:
                                                                ­     oh, shall I, or not?
A cosmic joke, almost.. with so few revisions
The lid lifted and with proportion righted once more..
                                they came, oozing out in droves
Roaring from their milleniac-slumber,
                               crazed in half-remembered wounds
But alive with burning-purpose - - to find the equivalent
of
those soft-crystals

To melt the iron.. inside.



(unsolicited but self-warranted visitations:
camouflaged abductions.. secret prodding..
subtlety re-learnt.. poverty rehashed..
Fugue in a glass bell-jar.. unleashed)  



But alas, when sweet-sounds are closed again
see at whose smart-hands calamity befalls Life
Yet.. who are ultimately the ones
picking up the pieces after devastation wrought?




st, 27 march 2014

Thanks for showing me my own reflection, in the water’s mirror
a solid infusion, insurmountable intrusions by authority figures.
Not knowing exactly what to do with these forms,
we usually choose to keep them just the same.
The mind says, some are more important than others,
anyway, some bear fruit and others bear colors.
You must wear warm clothes in the winter
and let the obtuse angles, shatter the unwelcome inclusions
of cold weather; diffusions of rectangular protrusions,
surprise, i am aligned again with spirit;
while you remain hidden, behind that dismal screen;
another abysmal refraction of technology, numbing us daily.
I choose movement; blindly, kindly or spontaneous,
on spindly legs, spiders spin their winding webs.
Self reflective and expecting more from this world,
than just tired images, rehashed so many times
that they are burnt to a crispy death.
Let's respect our relations, and our ancestors,
and no longer shall we need to get lost on our vacations,
but instead find the treasure, that demands our complete attention.
If our lack of respect is a sign of the times,
then our lack of pride is so much more attractive to the divine.
Loopholes everywhere, yet we pretend to get caught in our own webs,
made out of pens and paper; thank you for saving those articles
tossed in wastebaskets, all the empty drawers in offices
are still busy being born; the moment, morning comes around to save them...

at ease, hideous you
with blood o'prey
dribbling down
your well-crafted
dimples.

eager ears surround,
live to make meaning
off your rehashed
sentiment you *****
from some recent-dead
and righteous boy.

and i admire you.

yes, yes, yes i do.

oh, enemy
playing us all for fools,
eating us all alive,
we townsfolk don't
give you the torch or pitchfork,
just our unending applause.

I'm tired of hearing the same old concept
Rehashed with the back lash of a delayed onset
It's easy to have an opinion when it's been approved by the norm
So gather your sentiments and allow them to form
To the mold cast by a nation fueled with generalization
Is it worth being original with the risk of condemnation?
Occupying the top is the common aim of our generation
Even if we have to surrender, call it moral suffocation
Cuz life is defined by how far we progress
And happiness is measured by the height of our success
So paint on your smile, little artist of conception
Convince yourself that you control your perception

We don't need
no Bieber Fever
We don't need
no ****** songs
No bad lip syncing
on the dance floor
Barbie dolls in
rubber thongs

All in all it's just more
plastic **** against
the wall

Yes, all in all it's just
more plastic **** against
the wall

We don’t need
no **** from Brittney
We don’t need
her rehashed rhymes
No songs of anguish
from Christina
Washed up waifs
beyond their prime

All in all it's just more
plastic **** against
the wall

Yes, all in all it's just
more plastic **** against
the wall...

the vibrations of silent music
an invisible hug
walking barefoot in the grass
your first breath

Schrodinger's cat rehashed
plants in the wrong habitat
ants crawling up and down your flesh
pins and needles writhing in your stomach

the first sign of spring
being encased in bubble wrap
walking on a cloud in the sky
a new life

until they open the door
and the steel shatters

It's the imprint that it makes, really.

There is little relation to
the covenants we have sworn
or the gildings of rehashed
sobriety or leftover temple
bricks, baked clay tablets
on which someone records
these scenes, fragments,
scents, and colors.

How can we reap this Zion?

Can it be gathered as wild
sweet strawberries are,
torn away from their source?
Can it be processed electrically?

Can we make money off it?

If so, how many dinars
would you offer?
One?  Two?  Perhaps
a discount for quantity?

The winter comes and goes
Lost in summer’s clothes
Leaves fall around me
Random memories
Bloom, then blossom
A bud in disguise

The picture tells a thousand words
You paint each one
Waiting, in hope
But the sun never lies

Cycles of the moon
Wash over your mind
Emotional
Recreational
An endless search
You will never find

Treasure surrounds you
It’s breaking the senses
And into the darkness
Dancing in the dust

Energy rises
Day and night
Feeding the illusion
And so we must…

Pursue the desire
To feel
To become
One with the other

Approaching midnight
But lost in time and space
Under moonlight
I trace a line
Across your face…

We are reflections
Barely grasping
At the youth
Slipping away from our fingers…

A secret wonder
This life is
We don’t know what
It’ll bring us…

So misunderstood
Connecting space
Yet feelings remain
True as blood

I count the times
You ran through my veins
Elements of you
Transcend distance…

And yet here
On this plain
Synchronicity
Seeking Invisibility;
I sense your resistance

Rehashed stories
Former glories
Cycle on
From one moment to the next
Going with the flow…

A lesson learned
You grow
With no rhyme, purpose or reason
Flowering, evergreen, everlasting
Yet standing tall, in your season.

Nothing has meaning.
Everything is pointless,
an inane transient cloud.
A single breath of smoke.

Think of all the blood and tears
that you pour into your work.
What do you actually gain
from any of your labouring?
Generations flourish then fade
each one replacing another that passes,
leaving no sign they were ever there,
only the dirt that fell from their feet.

The dawn sun drags itself into the sky
then falls back down as dusk comes,
repeating its dreary cycle over and over
with the same numbing certainty.
The wind gusts towards the south
then changes and rushes north,
mindlessly blowing one way then another,
constant in its confused and erratic pursuits.

Every drop of water ends in the ocean
but the seas are never satiated and so
the rivers and streams keep flowing,
repeating their tedious cycles again.
Every aspect of life inspires apathy
and is filled with indescribable monotony.
Each dull thing bores the eyes blind
and deafens the ears with mundanity.

All that has once been will be again.
Every single thing that takes place
is merely an imitation of another.
There is nothing original on earth.
Some people might claim or insist
that they have something new to offer,
but you can guarantee that all it will be
is a rehashed and repackaged cliché.

All that man achieves will pass away
and the supposedly great things
that will be accomplished in the future,
will also fade  into nothingness.

Gavel in hand
and eyes that cast shadows
on my face
Who are you?

The world is full of double standards
unforgiving
holding ever so tightly to
a false image of god
Hateful
Inhumane

Curse you robots accustomed to dogmatic belief
Your counterfiet
Half assed
Rehashed
Evolve already!
my mind trails....
down different paths
curse me
crucify me

I love to love
built to need another
to feel
to think for myself
to love being a women
and the power that comes with it
My conscience
clear

How's yours?
Guilted into life
Worshipping death
**** off the ones that disagree
metaphorically
and play your role "right"
In the big machine

I am more than rust or grease
a lever a pully a tool to please
and the day I die I'll rest with peace
knowing I operate differently

Dapping on the surface
Trailing a wake of
Rehashed hard luck stories
Mis-spent dreams and
Might have beens
Heedless that he is out-depthed
He holds to his line
And works the bar

Tied by a master
Plumage plucked to order
Starling blue, sparrow dun
Two fine threads
Gold and black
Crosswound, tied off
Sealed with honeywax -
Stealthy weapon of deception

He feels the shifting currents
He reads the weather-gauge
Spring tide, autumn flood
Both echo in his veins
Gnarly and half-sodden
The old fly baits his game
Past his best, yes - but
Potent all the same

*The fish are wary
But the fly is patient

Perhaps
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The cohesiveness between us, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Our solemn oaths of faithfulness, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
If something happened that was not to your liking,
the shrinking away that produces silence, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Listen, the sagas of so many years, the promises you made amid time's onslaught,
which you now fail to mention, you may remember, or perhaps not.
These new resentments, those old rehashed complaints,
these lighthearted and displeasing stories, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
Some seasons ago we shared love and desire, we shared joy ...
That we once were dear friends, you may have, perhaps, forgot.
Now if we come together, by fate or by chance, to express old loyalties ...
Our every shared breath, all our sighs and regrets, you may remember, or perhaps not.



Being
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

You are so close to me
that no one else ever can be.

NOTE: There is a legend that the great Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib offered all his diwan (poetry collections) in exchange for this one sher (couplet) by Momin Khan Momin. Does the couplet mean "be as close" or "be, at all"? Does it mean "You are with me in a way that no one else can ever be?" Or does it mean that no one else can ever exist as truly as one's true love? Or does this sher contain an infinite number of elusive meanings, like love itself?



Being (II)
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

You alone are with me when I am alone.
You are beside me when I am beside myself.
You are as close to me as everyone else is afar.
You are so close to me that no one else ever can be.

Keywords/Tags: Translation, Urdu, Momin Khan Momin, love, close, closeness, unity, farness, afar, memory, remembrance, forgetfulness, remember, forget, forgot, time, silence, mrburdu

If I were her and she were me,
perhaps nothing would be different
about that time the two of us met.
We would each assume with a touch of pity
that the other was adorably naive
in her opinion of you and her together.

If I were her and she were me,
she would find three strands of my hair tangled in your sheets
and her chest would sting with regret as she hashed and rehashed
every imagined detail that began to crystallize.

If I were her and she were me,
she would not be able to look at you for very long at all
without the consuming thought of
you looking at me (in an identical or different fashion)
bleeding in.

If I were her and she were me,
she would never touch the subject,
never approach it, never cross it;
instead, she would let her heart fill up with you anyway,
and I would be smart.

I want to write to immortalize my name,
but my heart is poured out on the ground like wax,
So like Jesus and Solomon and some others,
If I'm lucky,
maybe I could immortalize my pain.

It has all been redone, rehashed, rewritten, and reread, (this included)
and like billions of others,
my world revolves around me,
my instinct and my survival,
wedged in my head.

We are all philosophers, scientists and sheep,
from princes to murderers,
from mothers to sailors,
the remembered and forgotten,
the drunks and the tailors-
We're sincerely believing the delusions we keep.

I think some found truth,
and others found lies,
and some found excuses
for the passions of youth.

But I have favourite things that keep me alive,
the songs and the family and friends that help me pass time,
conquering problems and getting things right,
the fragile ecstasy,
the rare intimacy,
touch.

I constantly feel the drain of time running out,
my back is in knots,
I'm tired and in doubt.

I see people I love aging and fading,
and I know we all share it,
our lives are decaying.

My heart has grown hard from the sorrow I've seen,
so many bleeding,
I'm also bleeding.

It's too hard too cry tears for all the begging children I see
they never run out,
we're always needing.

I want to live hope and love in this world,
despite my terminal condition,
my weakness and waywardness,
my incessant betrayal,
there must be some good to flow from this cracked jar.

And I want to walk with you,
none of us are alone here,
this pain belongs to us all.

I will fail from time to time,
in my self-centerdness forget you are mine.

But there will be times when we will touch on eternity.
We will calm the blame with soft whispers of each others names.
We will laugh and clown until our tears have run out.
We will know we belong, pretend that were strong.

In this sense I do live for you, and you for me,
imagine without that what a hell this would be.

And when I die, who knows what will be next?
But I will leave behind some beautiful things.

And if you go before me,
I'll carry you home,
then bury your bones,
then bury your memories inside me
and let them fade with me.

Is there that much of a edit , drop out, dead zone that the most important things expressed in as much in as several weeks and done so in thoughtful conclusion, seems to have gone unheard while seated or standing , moving in the same places of my home that I am heard when I rant to gather the parts and pieces and turn the churn to rid the plotted roles cast for sorrows and fill them with the rounded wheel and the circle to end back on myself where I find mine own lashings as sharp yet the truth far more palatable than the build up to the shift, change, the turn on myself and explanation of my learned lessons so as to walk one through a creepy Halloween type thing that , oh, lets admit it, I work hard at what. explaining my foolish thoughts?, or at saying what you already know, and probably find rather rehashed over and over.
Truth is, I wish I could dive into the colors of my mind and yours but, seems I am some how, allowing others wishes to dictate the outcome as I wait for them and watch the anger build , threats meander, and think I actually had a moving way of looking at it that might help someone other than my own silly ***.
Sorry. I suppose, it was a drop out time, funny, how editing seems to be a heavy instrument in this, unless I am wrong, well, not like I have ever heard or seen my own foolish self anywhere , which causes its own interesting concerns to self. ugh, lol, at least I am in a good mood and btw I may be weird, but if you are a good person, never take anything I say as directed at you, please, , for it is not, I need your stable and steady self to help me get through this whole thing, cause truth is I am alone even while being surrounded by people, and soon it will all make sense, I hope, . I truly hope so, and if not, then, well, then we are all susceptible to the events that have cast us into a relationship , one That I have come to except and even miss and despise, and even dislike letting you down, and that may seem strange, but only seems natural considering. And yes I have no issue nor need to make you happy, I just have a need to help some thing in this even if its a, do not do this, cause I am a fool, sort of help. and , well. this is sad and pathetic, and yes there are times I wish I could read or hear what I have said, cause I truly need to go over it cause I am trying to learn and remember as well as the fact, I do listen to myself and that is 90% of how I have problem solved my entire life, so, yeah, I am that pathetic, but it has really done me good. and that is all I need to worry about in that regard. but, I do give  a serious ****. and hope, that I am not so edited, because, I do cover and preface more than most might think, and well, it would be a shame if all that were cut out, cause I need it most. and it is truly very sad, sick and messed up, what has happened to myself and my wife and family even separately, and this is really not fun, and I wait politely for her to make a few more head way moments and try to keep my head on straight, while thinking I have ran out of ever being able to discern friend foe, good bad, other than the Lord helping my alone and foolish ***. if not for God it would be far worse than we could ever imagine.

But who am I kidding? it all wont matter in a thousand years, but to me it matters in a million as it does now.


Guns N' Roses - Patience lyrics
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMmX9G8JP38


tired causes us to find comfort in our failures and our alone, sometimes so muh we secretly hope ,,, well, it is a far more true hope I have that those whom say love, and share the air i breath find as much effort as i feel,,, feel that i have put forth, however, i as all people find myself in grandiose proportions and fail to realize, that though a pat on the back is not needed, just the thought that it isnt so one sided in all of life, is that little lie i find myself leaning toward, more and more each day, why? because i am as weak as you and truthfully, far weaker than you may have ever thought, and if it wernt for my disproportionate out of balance sense of right and wrong, duty and being a good person, i would probably, ,,, i will always see failure where ever i find my name or efforts, this is just a fact, and none to be freaking out about, just a deep, pulling sad that we all have inside when we actually consider the real cost and efforts we muster up, and , well, i realize, i am not the best at anything, and apparently that was the point so others with less self worth can see that even this fool some how made it to this point by the grace of a higher power in its love, but, yeah, ridicule and well, embarrassment as well, as mockery for withstanding my own fake *** , even if my fake is due to the real horrors one runs from, well, i tell myself that, so i dont have to face the fact that i forgot yet again and feel asleep and failed to help the last people i tried to help, in fact ****** myself even worse it seems. even though it is so ******* insidious you will be hard pressed, finding a outcome that even the pin ultimate uber hero, becomes the fool and tossed in the trash as i seemed to have though myself far too offten, only to ego up and walk all about like i was fine and free, totally oblivious. and the stain of realizing my girls have been harmed and i could not ,,,, yeah. like i said. hard pressed to find a hero, that could withstand the fracturing and games. but i tried, more than once, more than this time, and at least this time, people seem to actually acknowledge that there is something strange and it is not only my crazy ***. but then again. i have done this more than i care to say, hell, you may have an idea beyond what i allow myself to except, for the pain and um, can be far too much to digest a millennia all at once. lol, no i am not sad, facts and truth do not make me sad, they liberate, but not dancing a jig, for many reasons, though **** it. I want to soon, and care not, i just hope tangible effort is also found in measure on both sides of this thing for mine, and my wife can say i measured well in effort, but i just feel like my efforts dont match my ,, her,,, any of,, well, maybe i have too high expectations of others and a low self image while tired is just seeping in. but We all have eyes that see and ears that hear, and i hope in the end that i and she can say, late start but not of the heart of the matter and the labors efforts hold measure. ,, i am a hopeless one aren't i? well, that is part of the point. you would hope and pray i do it for you if you were in her shoes and long gone and written off and used by so many , right, and if i failed to give such, it would devastate you, as it would me. cause I was long gone and far worse, but you reached out to me, to help. so, well, um, thank you, for your patience and understanding my confusions and blind voids as i tried to make sense of all that is not ever going to make sense.

Dusk drains your color casting shadows on your face
and your lines seem deeper with a frown much steeper
As sweat swells and expels streaking worry whilst the situation gets bleaker
Like a rock in your sneaker a fret you cant shake
Another night shaped by the unrelenting shame
Enraged by the mishaps and the things that dictate from the past
That you just can't grasp nor seem to mask
The pain only grows and unfolds every time you are asked
As memories flash and leave you abashed
Debilitated yet you still thrash through sleepless nights
for the terrors are rehashed
Suddenly wrongs seem right
Your spite grows despite your mold
Good men break bold
and look for loop holes
At times even justice does not seem justified
and a monster is born behind tired tear filled eyes

The right way to assess it
is to say that it isn't broken.
It is not broken but sanded
sanded by the sands of time.

Sanded in a rough manner
By a bad technician with no clue.
Cutting in it here and there
Leaving traces in time.

Some parts have been redone
Rehashed, remade and mapped again.
Some parts were just left
Left as the gaping wounds of time.

I guess the right way to explain
is to say all the normal things happened.
But then there was a bit extra
that nobody asked for.

Flames lick and flicker fueling the fire of a combustible iridescent soul until it explodes in formed phrases and stories told like fireworks. Wielding an unfathomable yearning for learning the true weight of words and how hot they burn for better or worse. Rehearsed and rehashed paragraphs, finely tuned non fiction, fabricated falsehoods, and forgotten lore are riddled and widdled down into one well written epic epitaph ment to inspire us to tightrope walk on live wires or fan the fires of our own burning funeral pyers for a chance that we may be understood through written word.

constantly rehashed
long thread spun out
every chance
chokes
Over
And  
Over
Again
rewind button
never sticks
tape
never breaks
lassoed memories
drug in kicking
and screaming
allegations  
insinuations
half-truths
blows the lid off  
feigned civility
while anger
simmers savagely
under
pursed lips

Oh God, it would be great, wouldn't it?
These were your words, not mine.
Sweet poet, speak to me again,
I ache for your words.
Mine are redundant, recycled, rehashed, and replayed.
I ache for you, I ache for the sound you made, in your throat,
As I ****** your finger, and tickled the tip with my tongue.
Sweet poet, speak to me again,
Offer me that finger, and everything you have,
Offer it all to me,
Please, please, please.

i rest my hand lightly on your chest,
the crisp grey blond curls tickle my palm.

this is not invitation, not yet.

but a need to feel your essential substance underneath my fingertips.
i move to rest my head, my ear hovering
near your heart's steadying rhythm.
at counterpoint to the waves on from beach below.
you cup my face in your large carpenter's hands
and draw my head away from your drumbeat's base.
gentle calluses graze my cheeks.
your face, now in my curls inhaling me,
my thoughts, my grace.

we lean, into together emeshed, entwined,
ensnared.

we are our foundation pillars and piers.
we assay each other finding
the potch and opal dross and gold.
we accept the measure, allay the fears.

two seperate. two complete.
bound together.
made one.
intricate in design and blueprint.
layer by layer,
baggage and taught lies are lost,
forgotten and sundered.
we revived hearts atrophied, critical and dead. shifted paradigms, opened heads,
rehashed, reworked, rewired.
reawoke the sleeping giants,
found truth and honesty
and love and grace.

took a liking to this unkown place.
created gardens, from thought, tumbled weeds. we sought and saved and watered wilted needs.
our house, our home now, built strong
and stable.

we lean into together emeshed, entwined, ensnared,

your gentle calluses brush my cheeks,
finding salted water.
your deep rumbling resonance,
mumbles into my curly locks
"you ok babe?"
i turn my face to yours,
seek your eyes, smile and reply
"just thinking beautiful thoughts"
and gift my lips to yours,
lovingly lingeringly,

this, now,

is an invitation.

There we were,
a pair of inseparable
young souls,
blissfully skipping
through the tall
and viney garden
maze
Our hearts were
full of promise
back then,
and there existed
within us an
unwavering sense
of hope and loyalty
that begged for
forever
At least I did

I was your handicap,
a blind and ignorant
fool
who lacked direction
without hearing the
sound of your footsteps
beside me,
to give me security
and a crutch to fall
back on
Without your gentle hand
to guide me,
I knew I would potentially
crumble,
in my dreadful lack
of perception
And crumble I did

You led me to
the fountain
in the center of
the maze,
where my faith
in us still flourished
in its wishful state
You sung me to sleep
with your sweet lullaby,
a most peaceful slumber
if there ever was one,
and it let my dreams
give me one last
glimpse of limbotic
paradise,
before waking up
to a world
of sudden abandonment

As the clouds turned
to gray,
in a mass that covered
the once blissful
afternoon sun,
I let my hands take over
the role of my eyes,
patting the ground
in search of my
sighted companion
But I soon realized
you weren't there,
and I called your name
in isolated trepidation,
hoping to God
that you were still near

Your voice answered back
with a reassurance
meant to defuse,
telling me you were
only a few strides away
But there was an
absence of depth,
of concern
in your voice,
as you encouraged me
to step forward
with no arms to
catch me,
and no insight of
surrounding dangers
And as I stood up
and took each hesitant,
terrified step,
I could feel your
voice growing more
and more distant,
despite your insistent
promise that you'd
make your way back
to my side

Soon you were gone
completely,
and I could no longer
hear you
I was left there,
to my, all the more
weakened defenses
Left to wallow in
paranoia,
to recoil in deep-seated
anger
Asking to myself why,
why did this have
to happen?
How could you have been
so cowardly,
so as to not tell me
of your departure?
For you see,
there was no way it
could've been said
nicely
But the least you
could've done,
was simply to be kind
and save me from
the torment of deceit

Somewhere in the vastness
of the puzzling twists
and turns,
I made my way
to new territory
I cried out one last time,
knowing you wouldn't say
anything in return,
but holding out for the
unlikely chance of redemption
And when I heard a
voice not too far away,
one that wasn't yours
but one that gave me
enough of my hope back,
I started running
toward the sound

I stumbled
in the rush of
excitement,
from forgetting,
even just for
a moment,
my disadvantage,
my lack of a
fallback
Because I had
a sense of potential
that this voice,
right in front of me,
would be my new
source of solace
following the bitter
betrayal,
the pain I felt in your wake
I was ready for a new beginning

The stranger rushed over
and caught hold of
my arms
to halt the loss of
my balance
I heard their low,
comforting voice as I
crashed into their embrace,
telling me everything
was okay,
that I was safe now
And I wasn't sure if it
was the hope talking,
but somehow I knew that,
from that moment on,
the torture was over
They guided me over
to a nearby stump,
their sensitive hands
supporting me all the way,
their soft voice uttering
encouraging words
with every step forward
And all the while,
they never left my side

As I took my seat
in front of the campfire,
with their hands still
holding onto me
to ensure I didn't
stumble and fall,
they took the liberty
of offering me
something hot to drink
I graciously accepted,
overwhelmed by this
stranger's complete and
utter kindness,
and within half
a minute,
my shivering palms
welcomed a small
cup of fresh tea

I then felt the all-encompassing
warmth of a soft blanket
being placed around me,
as the stranger proceeded to
inquire about my injuries,
whether they were the
bruises from the numerous
falls, in my journey
through the confusing avenues
of the maze,
or the unseen scars
left on my heart
And as I rehashed all
the heartaches of the
tumultuous event,
taking a sip of tea
here and there
to calm my heightened nerves,
a single thought entered
my head,
and for the first time,
I came to recognize
the stranger
as none other
than my inner voice

And with that,
a sense of peace
began to flow over me,
and I no longer
held onto the desire,
to know why you left,
to be reassured
of a presence
outside of myself
to rely on, for all things
and blame for all misfortune
Because that presence
that I desired,
that promise of love and
belonging,
had been inside of me
all along

How Many People Would You Have To Change To Change The World?

How many people would you have to change
To change the world?  
The other day the man I love,  
One who has faith in God above.
Declared the impotence of man.
Insisted phrase by rehashed phrase:
“This world has never been so bad.
It’s getting worse and worse and worse!”
He feels so helpless. What a curse!
Has no belief in his own richness;
Can’t understand the reach
Of butterfly’s effect: the flap
Of wings in Florida
With vibes that stretch to Africa.

How does it work?

You find the thing you’re born to do.
You do it hour by hour by hour.
Work through the furor,
Take your power,
Use it, focused on the now.

There’s nothing more.

That small series called your life
Is quite enough to end all strife.
Not instantly, not right away -
For life takes time.
But yours is prime:
A mix of self-esteem
Humility and bravery,
Seeing life reflectively
With love and strength
The length of days.

How many people would you have to change
To change things?
Think of wings!

How Many People Would You have To Change To Change The World? 3.2.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;

I want to leave you on a better note, every day away from this is like a broken toe, I lose balance when time passes by words I haven't wrote, I run afoul of vowels in slim corridors across the labyrinthian mind, A Major rings in sonata, tenor to soprano tremors, bells of horrors, tight and highly-pitched the orchestrated punishment of tinnitus, this is my mind's bliss, a warning issued at the fourth corner, warm up before you run there won't be any disbelief, no slab for the coroner, cold beef, a ghost you won't meet, like a sheet on a stretcher, the home stretch is the long run, bask in the villainy, I hound myself to waking nightmares like these verbal vibes that flow freely on tap for saps from the vines in my brains that pump through my veins creating this vitriolic viscosity, giving the impression I'm of equal likelihood to ascend to higher planes of peace in touch with divinity as I am to engage a killing spree with explosive, violent velocity, verbose verses versus society, I eat my own rage and bomb it back onto a page, ***** that into pieces, let my spirit leave and levitate over self-loathing so I can see myself clearly, before I am set to go off on any and every figure, past, future and present of authority, fictional or based in this unfortunate reality, I am the risen-to privileged proponent for anarchy, vicarious nature my pair of sights survey from the perspective of the hungry what possessions are beset in my vicinity, and they used to call our democracy one of two parties, that just kills me

I want to be known in my own time for what I'm going to write, not to live a life of luxury, not to be followed and affirmed by every other popular consensus crowd member who follows me, the opinions that are loudest and heard most often are deafening and ones on which we can mostly, almost, partially, chaotically rampage over those who disagree, so I'd rather never put my face on the back of a book and have to give you my biography, in my ambition, those who like it, look for it and when they see my pen name they know it's me, it'll be spoiled by the date I see that come to fruition, I am no role-model, and all the fish will wash up dead and frozen from a boiling sea before I'm a teacher, I'm no hero, I'm just a writer and barely a human one at times, for I may rarely if ever raise a fist and if I hold you in consolidation I may also commit the violation of holding your neck in a twist, I am no model citizen or proper young man I am the spirit of a writer holding this flesh vessel captive, a demonic denizen, while life leaves and all his passions incarcerate and hold judgement over him, driving natural desires away from the light and shadows further in, I see events unfold before me so many steps prior I arrive a kilometer before catastrophe strikes again, my mule trods beneath me, the oni jockey who races his disgraces and chases last places leaving all the trademark traces that makes us traitorous ingrates laughing in saintly, gracious faces with frothing venomous spit at the lips we split to inspire the higher seated those we all admire, the rich and smooth-feeted to hang themselves from their ivory-gold-laden towers by their silk shoe laces, that their laurels awaken to see the golden geese lives taken and then I'll beat my dead horse, and spur it on to trample the begotten generation of idols whose idle idiocy breeds complacency, degeneracy and self-generates the disillusion of individuality in unison of voices all voting in unity for their unique indecency, the power of the cult of personality, until I finally wither to finely ground dust before the over-trusting, ever-loving, new brand of nuke via the actuality behind the pop of the culture of popularity  

It's easy to be a devil's advocate, a spokesperson and a woke-person, while the world worsens and the arsenal of subjugation deepens, your subconscious doesn't register the seeds of indifference and supremacy, poison comes cerebrally, live across all the media, one lone voice starts to look like a medium for insanity or immediacy, impossibility and ludicrousy, intelligence comes into question and they ask why listen when you could stay sitting, divisive mathematics are the key, they keep everyone against each other, the art of snakes in the grass who agitate the viper pit they slither right in it and then shatter like a dagger made of glass, stuck deep so the powdered remnants remain, and no matter how much of their influence is removed there will always be pain, take it back to the top, the labyrinthian mind, that means it's easy to get lost in your thoughts, I don't feel overwhelmed by myself, sometimes I just get lost in my brain and I know I'm not one of a kind, no matter how proud I might get over some clever turn of phrase, you can't twist my arm to give myself a pat on the back, I'd rather be writing anyways, there's no shame in any artist's history that gets them through the days, concepts realized and learning about real misconceptions can give you the chance to wake from a daze, to find time when you've been drifting in a trance through a haze, the mesmerized eyes glazed that just need to get back in touch with one spark to reignite their craze, and hypnotists know this, creativity will never die as long as the game to weaponize control lives on, everybody plays, originality somehow suffers the Mandela Effect, an infrastructure of greed stays, to see the same rehashed creations with promised innovations, everybody pays



For rest, forests exemplify the upmost standard I would live and die by, my mind's eye wanders over the death of all things hungry for exfiltration from this fraught and weary tortoise back world as an expectant fly might beat its wings one last time before the dinner table, its hat hung on the rack, fourth quarter about to begin after it rubs its hands together in prayer and with silverware ready lets out a sigh, and now allow the sun to rise to the sky and all things to know the light of the moon and stars as this at last we rectify; forests fraught with fires raising forth four hundred more foretold score years forlorn of yore, shorn of shores for lore of fifteen forty, Jesus of Lübeck sailed with slaves, Christians filled hundreds of graves in the Red Summer, on domestic soil Jesus saves the foreign force you're in store for, dreamed of exoticism and allure, sure, maybe a cure to the core for the massacres that occurred, the gore and the horrors that four million klansman can commit door to door, they don't teach about the nationwide headcount in nineteen fifteen to nineteen forty four in school, or what happened on July first, second and third in nineteen seventeen before the US joined the first world war, talk about who the murderers were, ****** and morons moreover in their bedsheets, Georgian confederates opened the door for the second iteration of the **** which declined because they enlisted to hand Nazis defeat, the irony is sweet, the third iteration three to eight thousand members off hand, declared terrorists, one hundred thirty chapters of a book that activists and active listeners, anyone with a few braincells on hand just wants to end, their hatred ******, a tour of who's been shot by the luck of the draw, calling out to the white and poor, insecure, unintelligent bores, Biden their time for a public outburst, there was a poll in the land, not an invasion of Poland, I wouldn't even vote, these brats are the worst, so sore from their storied ancestral homes to the inhalants and never having the right bills on the trailer floor, flustered and face-flushed at the lack of sinister will of fellow whites, forgetting choice amendments when they recite them they might as well rewrite a document and call it the Bill of Whites, so hard-working, so hard-headed, outraged at welfare, well it's fair, when it comes out of taxes they can't even afford, if they hate everyone so much, just leave, homes on four wheels that are one doored, the only freedoms they actually use they manage to borderline abuse and then cite their weakness (constitution) of their own accord, truly subversive, you make your own race ashamed to be the same species, if nothing else the fully indoctrinated are to their own pinnacle as a jackboot scraping of feces, cannibals to zombies, crackers to crumbs, when Armageddon comes, assemble Four Horsemen, take back the fourth day of Genesis and the warmth of the sun, even if there is an ever after and Kingdom Come, there are some so dumb all their own, they'd rather be separated from, into a little cosmic barrel to form the fourth iteration, in the infernal eternal segregation of the pitiful, infinitely small-minded, multiplying in their mindset, forever trapped and cyclically blinded, bound to hate and be numb.