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JAMIL HUSSAIN Oct 2016
Sara Jahan Mast
Jahan Ka Nizam Mast
Din Mast, Raat Mast, Sahar Mast, Shaam Mast
Mast Sheesha, Mast Suboo, Mast Jaam Mast
Hai Teri Chashm-e-Mast Se Har Khaas-o-Aam Mast*

The world is intoxicated
The order of universe is intoxicated
The day is intoxicated; the night, the dawn and the evening are intoxicated
The glass is intoxicated, the goblet and the wine itself is intoxicated
Your enchanting eyes have made everything so intoxicated.


— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Aryan Sam Mar 2018
Hanju hole hoge bhara lagge hasna,
Loki saare haal puchde,
Ohne puchya ee nahi,
Jihnu asi dasna,

Jaanda siyara saada dil kamzor e,
Mausam taan ohiyo par akh teri hor e,
Sheesha ghurda si..
Sheesha ghurda si chhad ditta takna,
Loki saare haal puchde,
Ohne pucheya ee nahi,
Jihnu asi dasna,

Bina gallon mud gaye on,
Mudke ni takyea,
Maan Maan aakhda sain,
Maan vi ni rakheya,
Koi sikhe saathon..
Koi sikhe saathon bina gallon jachna,
Loki saare haal puchde,
Ohne pucheya ee nahi,
Jihnu asi dasna,
Loki saare haal puchde,
Kuj ne halat ewe de mere bi
Jacob Singer Aug 2010
Wasting words on half thought speeches,
and steps on roads we walked together.

I waste my time in empty parables,
in parabolic signatures that trace my life from one loop to the next.

Me, the black dot in a line of ink drops from the tip of a pen in God's hands.

Gone are seven dirham taxi rides in Broken Arabic.

Wasting furniture on empty apartments,
and music on crowded subway trains.

I waste my time in black-and-white fantasies,
in bucolic boulevards that draw my life out like lines on a map.

Me, the modern Mediterranean man on the Eastern end of Cabbagetown.

Gone are the nights of grape-mint sheesha on quarters of round tables.

Wasting memories on that "American Dad" episode, and memories again on events transpiring when the room went dark.

I waste my time on lofty balconies,
on silent poetry that recites my life from one page to the next.

Me, the unfinished Portrait of the Young Man as an Artist.
Aslam M Jun 2018
Yeh pyaas kaisee hai. Jau bhujti hi nahi.  
Mushkil tau aur bhi hu jaati hai.
Jab paani sai bharaa wala sheesha haaat mai hai.
Magaar ussai hautai tak bhi nahi laga saktai hai.
C B Heath Jun 2013
There is a gutsy finality to
the way you add curls of cream to the cup;
a knowing glint in the chintzy sheesha,
second-hand, jewelled, meditating on the
window-seat behind you. Beds of children
form foamy chains against the azure blankets

out there, above your head. Your glasses are
windowpanes, screens to a lighter view. Curled
in your belly is a shaman with the
bold dimensions of a project. You stir.
Sheila J Sadr May 2014
Once you drove up in your
1977 Mercedes,
I could feel the hurried pulsation of a weary heart
over the clattered groan of your engine.
Clambering into my seat, I folded in on myself,
too timid to fold into you instead.

Creamed leather seats on a rusted turquoise shell 
I look to the back, expecting some residue
of the last lipstick crush that you set fire to.
Instead, I found $1 books from the library
and your worn regalia that I would’ve stolen
and kept as filthy souvenirs.
A deep inhale of your burnout sheesha
that bobby pinned to tired marrow in my bones -

I would’ve taken you right then and there.

Instead, we played coy with the thin fabric of a relit friendship
and talked poetry and music over a ceramic bowl
of coconut chicken curry.

But all I romanced was a clustered cocktail
of my favorite things:

The drag of my curious fingertips
underneath your prickled jaw.
This fever building as I curl into your arms
and the corrupted graze of your hungry lips
in the groove of my neck.

Temptation at its finest.
Such promise between two starved pilgrims
But the descent down to the deep V between hips
is a sweet flame that
can easily burn you and leave pin pricked stains.
So its a good thing that I let you go.


October 17, 2013 4:38 PM
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
in the background... Howie B's: fizzy in my mouth / your mouth....

i'm rarely given these rare opportunities of late,
where i sit down to have a few whiskey
sharpshooters, smoking less and less cigarettes
(mobile sheesha is the way to go,
cherry... i'm still to try the blueberry liquid)
and thinking: what is it that i want to write?

but sometimes, after doing some manual labour
around the house and... this time the garden
i.e. putting up a wooden arch... trying to salvage
my grapevine... nice work...
   the mind relaxes when the body is exerted...
the joy of not thinking: whether that's
reflexive thinking or long: "profound" instances
of reflective thinking... because the body takes
over reality while the mind checks out...
      
but i was watching this video about dating...
a girl saying she's not fit for the dating scene
because she's a bad-*** *****...
and she could undermine any man's masculinity...
dyed hair... baseball cap worn backwards...
tattoos up to and including her neck...
and these two Aussie guys commenting...
(x) said... she reminds me of my ex-girlfriend...
there's this specific charm about a woman
who likes to give off stand-offish vibes...
      (y) said... i'm put off by women like that...
i prefer feminine women...
swearing is out of the question... blah blah...
    i just walk away (says y): terrible vibes...

i have to agree with (x)... i too dated a girl like
that... although... she was more into dread hair...
piercings and obviously tattoos...
   she swore like a cobbler
   and i was into that... she even wanted to convert
me to turn my long hair into dreads
and given she was into tattoos... she wanted
to give me a tattoo...

    i refused both invitations...
it wasn't even a: "it's not me, it's you" /
   when you love someone you don't want to change them...
well... she did finally remove those piercings in
her lips... her body reacted terrible to all that iron...
crusty lips... i told her: you either take them out
or i'm not going to kiss you^,
    tattoos? no...
   dreads?! double no...
           well, i wasn't going to tell her to get rid
of her tattoos... that would be sort of "racist"...
in a funny sort of way... since what's done is done...
but she got rid of her dreads...
even though i didn't ask...
             i just told her... i have a manic pixie dream-girl
fetish... i was obsessed with the film Garden State
at university... no... that's a lie...
i was obsessed with the song from the soundtrack
of Garden State:
    the Shins' New Slang...
   one night i climbed the scaffold that was erected
when New College... Old College?
    was being renovated in Edinburgh...
                    the Law College...
                                  it was such a beautiful night
to climb up and sit and dance on the roof...
       listening to that very song...
                   that's when i thought i wouldn't fall
in love: in that untidy sort of way...
and that love would only be something imaginary
in my head or in the words of Stendhal's
the Crimson and the Black....

she turned from being this dread-head baggy jeans
sneakers and band t-shirts mad *****
to being... well... when i would put on linen
trousers and a linen shirt... and leather sandals...
she would put on a very pretty dress -
and we would enjoy ourselves in the St. Petersburg
zoo... looking like a very fashionable couple...
or we would do something similar and go to the opera
to see Verdi's La Traviata...
                       she might have know a few bands...
she introduced me to In Extremo...
obviously i figured out: there are more bands exploring
  musikvölkisch... and i found them...
but she wanted to see Madame Butterfly...
   i said no and...
                      that's the thing about dating women...
they're always comparing other women...
in the opera she overheard two women
talking... i don't understand Russian to this day...
but they must have ****** her off...
for ****'s sake... i'd still rather say
КБAЦ
                    than read KВAC as KVAS /
kwas... not... with a Polish diacritical L: Ł...
i don't know how the Germans make
the ****** distinction, i.e. between the V and W...
it's not a double-U to begin with...
it's a double-V... off of Volkswagen...
     but i was thinking in three languages...
we dated speaking English...
   but in the back of my mind i had "mother" Poland
while she had "mother" Russia...
               and i abhorred her accent...
in England people ask me where i'm from...
but they can't really place the accent...
                    that's why they ask...
because i don't have an Essex accent...
i have a London: cosmopolitan accent...
                                            and that troubles people...

hell... i don't have any regrets...
i write fondly of her... even though she was
x, y & z of headaches... the *** was: for someone who just
turned 21... pretty ****... plus she introduced me
to Bulgakov... while i already knew about
Dostoyevsky... i don't even remember what
i introduced her to... jazz... something or other...
my grandfather once asked me:
don't you regret it?
             the older i get... i looked her up some years
ago... after me...
  she spiralled out of control... by the time she
reached 30 she was already on her second marriage
while i was starting to wake up from
my hermit's slumber...
            
but those girls must have really ****** her off...
they must have commented something akin to...
why is this troll of a girl with this good looking guy...
i mean: i wasn't a ******* Quasimodo in
my early 20s... sure... i took some psychiatric beating
in my later 20s... put on 50kg thanks to
the pills they prescribed me... but i managed to
beat 20kgs down... and... let's face it...
a guy in his 30s is not going to weigh a lean
weight that he did in his 20s... muscle...

even she used that same ****** tactic...
   comparing women... with the men they were dating
and how "superior" we were as a couple...
i just wanted to hide with her in the bedroom
and ****... because... over-charged with *******
since aged circa 8 i had to find a healthy canvas / outlet
for all the "suspense" / "condoms"... restrictions
of the "nunnery"...

^mind you... i found myself peeling at the scabs
on my face and eating them...

so gentleman (x) and (y) were talking about this girl
with tattoos and blah-****-blah syntax
and dyed hair and it go me thinking...
gent (y) used the term...
APOSEMATISM...
               that's what prompted me...

i think i need to write that word in the Greek alpha-,
απoσεματισμ...

can we have a "debate": "orthographically",
not that i'm an expert
                e-psilon vs. e-ta
             i.e. within the confines of -σε-
                                               vs.              -ση-       ?

but i already know the answer...
it's e-psilon and not e-ta for the simple fact that...
you can't translate handwriting
into letter-digits...

    i.e. -σεμ-            vs.            -σημ-
  
   although... hmm... that's a tough one...
after all... it's a question of orthographical-aesthetic,
yes, i know that i once stressed that orthography
is related to the use of diacritical markers...
the modern Greeks overuse them...
they're so pedantic about them...
                       they're almost reinvented Byzantine
bureaucracy...
             but it's hard not to discount Charles Dickens'
misnomer use (misuse) of the term orthography
when examples cited are as pointless as: little is to litle...
aesthetically? obvious reasons...
since English is so rigid in its past...

one example in English... but we're not talking individual
letters...
          θought & φilosoφy...
              F ******* F... back to back...
but... enter the Romans and there's no a distinction
of meaning: even though the sound is the same:
one's TH-ETA the other is PH-I...

just like i could never be a novelists...
novels takes weeks, months... years to write...
i couldn't layer my efforts for that long... i couldn't use
camouflage of lost interest: regained interest...
person life / struggles... enjoying life...
sitting in a coffee shop... doing a ******* Ernest
Hemingway's hunting trips to Kenya...
absinthe drinking sessions
         and hunting trips to the back of his head...
bloating in agony like Bukowski...
                         idealising love...
                           oh sure... i have one of those...
and she's a nun going by the name of Norma...
what a ******* name... a bit like Norman...
even Otto is more palette friendly... for the ear...
unless... hearing someone eat with their mouth
open is almost like... hearing the sounds mollusks
make when fudge-packing their ego-skeleton-imaginations...
because: that probably does happen...
from time to time...

    what's so bothersome about the Chinese
and the O? if they have to complicate "matters"
with their skeleton of 圆?
  to hell with building the great wall...
when... nonetheless the Mongols will still invade?!
you really need an "explanation"
of a circle bound to a square?

i have to feign... some details...
i has been a blessing to have experienced a bicycle
accident days prior to my shift...
just days after my *******...
because it was unlike any *******
bound to *******...
it wasn't one girl riding my phallus while
another shoving her **** into my face
where i wanted to be bound to a third person:
looking in...
this was much better...
i was simulating... i wanted to **** both their
faces with my eyes...
how?
        i was cuddling up to one of them jerling me off...
while the other one was looking on massaging my
testicles not getting ******...

i did state a change of auditory "flimsy"...
man with no name - own the world...
this ******* was unlike what
******* sells...
this ******* was...
one was jerking me off
and i was cuddling up to her neck
while the other felt abandon...
if you're ******* two girls at the same time...
at least one needs to feel neglected... jealous...
i wanted to see both of their faces...

it's a good "thing" that after having this *******
had my bicycle accident...
it was a reality check...
                best to feel the ultimate pain
after receiving the ultimate of pleasure...

it's that word again... APOSEMATISM..
at work... i've been working with them...
*****.. butch-lesbian stereotypes...
heavy rings... tattoos...
some come with dyed hair... some come
with crew-tops...
me? i come with bruises...
i get... hurt... i'm currently coughing
and my chest hurts... when i cough...
will i see a doctor? ha ha... since the pandemic...
i've seen a dentist in Poland...
good luck in England...
to hell with the Hippocratic Oath...
if they don't care... i don't, care...
no... sorry... it's not how it works...
              
APOSEMATISM...
at work... these butch *****...
she dyes her hair purple... she collects
serpents... i ask her... what about spiders?
she's like... fair enough...
     they have piercings... they have tattoos...
i have bruises...
ooh... itch...
                      the beta-males surround me
looking for conversational protection...
sure... i'll talk...
   let's talk... Heidegger's hammer?!
*******... silence... i must be feeding the intellectual
escapade of gnats!

half of me is being realistic...
half of me is being insulting...
i don't know which is which!

St. Cyril made a **** poor job of morphing
the Glagolitic lettering away from Greek...
let's face it... Cyrillic looks like the cheap version
of Greek... ***** and their dyed hair...
their piercings... their rings...
their tattoos.... woman: 'ard! ugh!
their crew-top hair...
      but when they see a guy with...
bruises that could have been tattoos...
how they back off...
                                      
there's this girl Emma who collect serpents...
dyed purple hair... insecure **** in the making...
i mention spiders... to counter her obsession
with snakes...
what... could... possibly... be... wrong...
with... either... cats... or dogs?!

but bruises tell a better story than tattoos...
better pain translate...
oh, sure... you want to be readied
at clinging to something serious...
you sometimes stand around these puppets walking
around: his eye is bruised... blah blah..

yeah... these butch girls have tattoos...
i have... scars... i prefer scars to tattoos...
what?!
     ink is expensive...
                       pain is freely given!
children sort of adore people with scars
than tattoos...
         i love children... they adore authenticity.
Mohammed Arafat Jan 2019
In Gaza, we have what makes life worth living. Walking in its narrow streets among its unpainted small buildings means a lot to anyone knowing the meaning of loving their homeland. Greeting the neighbors and friends with Assalamu Alaykom (السلام عليكم) or Sabahul Khair (صباح الخير) or Sabahul Nour (صباح النور) every morning and every evening creates an indescribable and an unimaginable feeling within us. Our mothers telling us تصبح على خير  (goodnight) every night we are about to sleep is just tasty and unforgettable.

Despite the obstacles hitting it, financially or politically, you smell different Palestinian traditional food cooked whenever you walk by any Gaza home. Yummy, how delicious that food is! We smell fried eggs (بيض مقلي) or Hummos (حمص) during breakfast. You smell Maqlouba (مقلوبة), Mujadara (مجدرة) or Musakhan (مسخن) during lunchtime and Shakshukah (شكشوكة) or Falafel (فلافل) during dinner.
You hear kids playing, and engaged couples calling each other on the lower window of the homes hiding from their parents because they are shy. You see elders holding hands going shopping as if they married yesterday. In Gaza, you see true love. Whenever you look at any face, black, white, bronze or brown, you find a hidden innocent smile of a child, an elderly, a woman and a man. We all consider ourselves one. Looking at the buildings of the central Gaza, you can find the history of those who our great great great grandparents lived with. You find mosques and churches built beside each other in peace. You see Muslims and Christians shaking hands and sharing a cup of unsweetened Arab coffee (قهوة سادة) or Silany tea (شاي سيلاني). Sometimes they share a cigarette (سيجارة) or a Sheesha (شيشة) while sitting listening to Om Kalthoum (أم كلثوم) or to Abdul Basset( عبد الباسط عبد الصمد).
Despite the insecurity, you can see Gaza people gather in the streets at midnight during occasions, in the golden clean beach during summer, in malls, shops and cafes during winter. In Gaza, restaurants of Shawerma are full to the fullest. In Gaza, Restaurants of Falafel are everywhere. Shops of Konafeh (كنافة) never close. You can find Arabic Konafeh (كنافة عربية), Nabulseya (كنافة نابلسية), Baklava (بقلاوة) and Osh el-bolbol (عش البلبل).
Despite fear, you can see Gaza youth support Real Madrid and Barcelona at coffee shops or public places just like the rest of the world. Sometimes they support Ahly and Zamalek as well.
In Gaza, people refuse to knee. They refuse to unsmile or unsilenced. In Gaza, people say they want to be free.

Mohammed Arafat
28-01-2019
I wrote this free verse about the positive side of the Gaza Strip despite the bad situations hitting it and its patient people.

— The End —