Two Hearts, beat in time
Two Hearts, yours and mine
Two Bodies, step in time
Two Bodies, yours and mine
Two Souls, crying in time
Two Souls, yours and mine,
Two Minds, thinking in time
Two Minds, yours and mine


Two Lovers beautifully combine Heart, Body, Soul and Mind.
One beautiful package of  friendship respect and love.
Symbolised by the beautiful birds above, two white charming doves.

Dedicated to all my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2019 ! Kindly read the footnotes too. If you like it, do re-post this poem for wider circulation please! Thank You, - Raj

A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
             * By Raj Nandy
“We three kings of Orient are,
  Bearing gifts we travel afar;
  Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
  Following the yonder star ! “
                               - A Christmas Carol.

Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Travelling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the 'uncrowned
King' one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolised His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!

So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
Of His kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
……………………………………………………………….......................
NOT­ES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC, which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
           *ALL COPY RIGHTS WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
,

Clouds, Clouds, Clouds, Clouds
Calculated Clouds
Interesting Idioms
Physical Phenomena
Spiritual Symbolisms

Cloud seven
Completely happy, perfectly satisfied, wholly euphoric
Cloud eight
Befuddled by drinking too much liquor
Cloud nine
Jumping for joy; walking on air

Have one’s head in the clouds
To be out of touch with reality
Every cloud has a silver lining
Difficult times always lead to better days
He must be under a cloud
People have an unfavourable opinion of him
There’s a cloud on the horizon
An omen threatening to happen in time
To live in cloud-cuckoo land
Believing those truly impossible things will happen

High-Level Clouds
Cirrus and Cirrostratus
Mid-Level Clouds
Altocumulus and Altostratus
Low-Level Clouds
Nimbostratus and Stratocumulus
Vertical Development Clouds
Cumulus and Cumulonimbus
Other Cloud Types
Contrails and Billows
Mammatus and Orographic
And Pileus

An arc in the clouds represents God’s promises
A pillar of cloud symbolised the Lord’s guidance
Do you understand the balancing of the clouds?
He that considers the clouds shall not reap
In OT times, the cloud filled the temple
Jesus Christ will return on clouds of victory

And a personal one
Black clouds one afternoon covered the Salève
Hiding a most beautiful rainbow
And despite the clouds’ efforts to confuse
His promises are forever true

Which cloud are you under?

The forested breeze blew eastwards. On each swing of the wind, the birds flew and fluttered. Each of their wings swaying to find a harmonious balance. The sweet melody of ethnic hymns from the native village rose above the trees. The sequenced output with equalised acapella became an anthem that ruled the forests.The gravelled path structured it's way between the trees right to the heart of the village.

The village elder sat outside the middle hut. His hut stood out from those encircling it. Humbled in stature but yet symbolically decorated with colourful redness of the roses. The beautiful scented ambience rose to fuel the air within and around. The door of the hut was formatted with sculptured inscriptions that had a covert meaning. A story line about the long historic lineage of leaders. The entrance of the doorway was guarded by two warriors. Each of them had a shield and spear, alert and portraying courage. Their bodies were bare ready to attack the enemy, their groins fully formed and covered with *****. The sight of the hut itself was magnificent...... it's aura radiant with an embodiment of hereditary and hierarchical authority.

As the village chief watched the birds sway and whistle, he sat on his antique stool. In the openness of the nature he appeared puzzled. As he shrugged his symbolic leopard hide on his back.... it swung side to side. Still in situ, but there was something about it's presence that nagged him. He touched it and then speedily moved his hand from it. He then raised his voice. "Amita!"

His voice echoed and roared penetrating all the homesteads. By the time the volume of the echo subsided he called out again "Amita, Amita, Amita!"

Amita came running and knelt at the feet of the Chief. She replied "Yes Chief Hashi. I am here for your service Sir!"

Amita was a 21 year old girl. She was wearing a straw skirt. Her arm was tattooed with a prominent artistic representation of a snake swinging from the tree. The shades of the red snake pictured on the hues of the green tree. This symbolised that she was a servant and lived at the Chief's Quarters. Amita had sacrificed her life as her lineage did to serve the Chief and his household. A dedication of servanthood to the Chief and him alone.

Amita bowed as she knelt, her bare ***** ***** and shadowing the Chief's feet. The chief looked at Amita as if hyptonised by the touch of her *******. He glared at her beauty, the outstanding womanhood she poised. After a long pose of silence the Chief responded, " Amita, can you fix my hide ensuring that it's attachments are secure"

There was a level of vulnerability that the chief showed Amita. He appeared to be humble, a denudation of authority, that very call of submission. There was evidently a reciprocal of roles as Amita raised her eyes from the ground to face the Chief. As their eyes met the Chief hastily paused and froze as if speechless. As he gathered his senses he was firmly able to look at Amita and said, " Can you join me inside my hut please?"

Amita remained kneeling as the Chief stood up from his stool. Chief Hashi steadily walked to the doorway of his hut. Pace after pace, stroll after stroll. As he walked by the doorway the warriors raised their spears to his presence. He was proudly ushered to his exquisite residence. He then  faced the warriors and asked them to leave guard. Chief Hashi requested, "Can you come back after two hours." As the guards walked away the Chief in his freedom danced around, hysterically moving his hands multi-directionally.

Chief Hashi opened the window to his hut. This was adjacent to where Amita was kneeling. In his vulnerability he whispered, "My child Amita, get up and join me inside my hut. The door is open and ajar.... always for you my queen."

Amita stood up from the kneeling position and run her way into Chief Hashi hut.

I used to climb Trees

Out in broad daylight,
where we used to ride bikes,
My home time was defined by streetlights,
fistfights and first times.  

I used to play kick stone.
outside on the roads of my home. 
Scared of the dark when I was home alone. 
A sombre tone in those days. 

My cul-de-sac was a continent,
you couldn’t count the times 
we jumped hedges and jumped the brooks,
wider berths as we grew and beamed with confidence.

He grew up on the other side of the brook to me!

Exploration into dilapidated buildings,
to seek out lost felines for the £10 reward. 
One guy got stung by a bee nine times, 
he lived to tell the tale of course.

Thinking back sometimes, 
It was us who had nine lives,
playing on the tramlines and and swimming in high tides.
colliding with live wires and life lessons,

We built sandcastles and burnt them down,
in spaces of seconds.
Lost in imagination.
I stayed in the sea until my fingers wrinkled, 
but this happened more often in the bath if i’m honest.

It seemed so simple, 
within the borders of our town, in those days.
The good old days,
or so they say - 
but i don’t disagree with the sentiment of it all, if i’m honest. 

It’s a ghost town now,
Treehouse's and broken fences,
Sweet shops and trips to the dentist.
A playground apprentice,
like Dennis the menace,

Ernie and Bertie,
maybe.

The bell rang more times than I care to remember.

It symbolised the beginning of the next class rather than the end.
To some at least, i’m not quite sure precisely who.
But it always started in September. 

Those were the days, 
Kiss chase and roller skates 
missed chances and romances.
First dances and your first falls.

The sycamore tree got smaller,
but remains the exact same size.
The boys got a little bit taller,
some of us guys even became wise.

Life is full of surprises. 

We flew apart. 
The sun went down and we grew up.

And now I don't climb Trees anymore.

Sheltered here in this room.
Drawn by need and invitation.
Protected by the sacrificial blood.
We share the meal of meaning.

Bless this bread to us.
Broken body symbolised.
Bread that will sustain us.
Wine, strong on the lips.

Can you taste the love and sadness?
Gratitude and praise in an act of remembering?
Of realisation, that we must accept the sacrifice.
The lamb of God, without blemish.

Or the scapegoat.
Taking our sins.
What a burden!
Carrying a cross was the least of it.

We remember how you love to party.
How you lived.
Loved the seekers.
And ate with sinners.

You are here now, still pierced.
But alive!
Your presence lifts us.
Your spirit fills us.

Lord in this bread and wine we join with you.
With each other.
And with all the body of Christ.
In this act of communion.

i’ve just turned an umbrella into a skirt
(ok... a tiara)...
what the **** are you on about concerning
informal messaging when
all the postcards went missing?*

alt. title - song for the **** of a pin-up,
benny hill and the done exterior...
we all 'ad our glad tidings... few remembered
the tide, let alone the waves....
or so student fee bargains said: be it told.
scotch witches were greedy on the thought of it
becoming adventurous... english ones
gave it all up to paedophiles aged under 16 for ****...
as always the welsh were kept sacred...
the heart of the prince the people were symbolised as...
so the commoners the roses and the ***** ***** equal...
among the dragons and saintly conquests
and longbow men in France the cut of ****-off-****-you
of the index and middle equating a V... to you too!
i said something else, but got bored from writing it.

Souls collapsed in a darkness that blanketed the starless sky,
Giving up on humans that sold us life’s biggest lie.
Everyone loved exploring the sun when it was out,
but when darkness settled in, their minds grew in doubt;
No one wants to swim the waves, when jaws came out to play.
Everyone falls in love with rainbows,
we are all colourblind that’s the way love goes.
Love left her once but she’d imagine it over and over again,
contaminated her brood and they declared her insane.
She scribbled a few tattoos that symbolised the love she has tasted,
but they only spoke half the story of her love gone wasted.
Dead clouds painted on a wall at night,
she illuminated flaws in the daylight.
Her darkness was worth exploring,
her tear-tainted eyes daren’t ignoring.
They spoke of her in past tense,
she wrote blurred lines in all defence.
With dry cheeks in the summer sun,
she cried blood until there was none.
Little cotton puffs painted in silver outline,
she smudged colours onto clouds that died in a line.
How it played out in real life versus how it danced in her head,
her love would never return back from the dead.

Swimming without assistance,
Progressing - stroke by stoke.

Gently moving along the surface,
Barely scratching the depths.

Stroke by stroke, I become stronger and more confident.
Stroke by stroke, I pound and penetrate the water.
Stroke by stroke, I overcome my previous position.

Each stroke like torture
Ripping myself out and falling back in,
Allowing the water to take a hold of me once again.

The water symbolised my struggles and insecurities.
A never-ending and already lost war,
I was battered, stroke by stroke.

© Tabassum Tahmina Shagufta Hussein
  
    Those who say about thee with
    words of despair,
    Merely weave walls of words,
    You are not invisible , Oh Beloved.
    Talk to me for a while and bless my
    heart at times,
    With your bliss.
    Sit with me, with the gentle breeze,
    I can listen to you in the sound of
    waves,
    I see you in the blazing sun,
    From the blade of the grass to the
     twinkling stars.
    You make the breath of life,
    Oh eternal sweet,
    I am relieved of the fatigue of the
    day.
    Stretch Thy hands,
    Put it on mine,
    Paint the images of life,
    With the brush of beauty.
    In this beautiful dawn,
    It was  you who symbolised,
    The living message of this Universe.
    My Beloved!

this body isn't a temple
if anything it's a church that catholics have sworn is haunted
by years of whispers and catcalls and screams
it's a house that has never been truly beautiful or taken care of
with broken windows and scratched walls
that kids run away from and shudder while passing by it and wonder if anyone lives there
it's a mask that has been marked by an illness that's symbolised by masks
it was marked by commands that were never quite done
if it was a color it would be a dark old grey
if it was a sound it would be a weak quiet whimper
it's a source of fun when i used to be "up"
it's a source of fear any other time
it's something that i've been always told could never truly belong just to me
that i'm supposed to give it to someone, not too soon but not too late
but not to someone with curves and long hair and soft features and
if someone did get it first he would get forever because that's what was decided years ago so it has to true, right?
if anything it was always supposed to be ran by rules and lines that could never be crossed
if anything it's a word said years ago still stuck somewhere in my mind forcing itself closer to my thoughts, so i can remember it as if it's tattoed on my hand, with me every second
if anything it's a force that's constanly trying to be the most important but never can be, not quite
if anything it only ever works the way it was supposed to when the chemicals in my brain don't work the way they were supposed to
if anything it feels like it will never be worshipped, loved, adored how could it be when it's not a magnificent castle but an old house that's falling apart
if anything it feels like it doesn't deserve to be good so it's not
if anything it's like a meeting so bad that i don't ever want to leave, a conversation so bad i don't ever want to really end it, a material so bad that i won't ever completely rip it
if anything, it's mine

when the spark in our relationship was first ignited,
he gave me daffodils
for they symbolised new beginnings and eternal life
he said it seemed fitting, since the love between us
should be treated with the same fondness and compassion
as a new life, to ensure its longevity.
“our love is spring,” he said,
“it’ll end eventually, but that doesn’t remove the beauty of it.”

and when we wed, i held white tulips
our eyes met, the sparkle in yours mirroring mine
the message my bouquet held was only legible to you
i wasn’t bringing flowers to the aisle,
only respect, purity, honour, and love
all the qualities our marriage would have

but when it died,
we bought single chrysanthemums
to place on the grave of our love
and it seemed fitting, almost
confirmed its death.
what could’ve been better to place on a grave
then the very flower of death

after all, spring had passed
the daffodils had died, each petal withered away
it was the end

-m t

There was a little moment I had just the other day,
When I felt really low and wanted to disappear,
When I was sprawled across my bed and felt every ounce of pain and anguish,
And thought about how it could all be gone, how If I wanted, I could just erase myself from the world,
And the little cogs in my brain that were currently turning,
And generating a presence would just stop forever,
And I dreamed of it and felt it and with that fell asleep,
And I was gone, momentarily because for that moment sleep symbolised so much more than just resting and waking up,
And when I woke up those cogs started turning slowly and I was back again,
But that moment, the dream, the feeling and the desire stayed with me,
And I always go back to that moment.

Balloon three held her spirit
As friends stood, long with looking.
Balloon two symbolised her mind.
And family lined along her way.
Her strong heart filled the first one
Leading the journey up to the sun.
We said goodbye, and people cried.
Feeling moving, thoughts, we tried
All other balloons just like friends
Ever close through curves and bends.
One by one for home we turned
Lost in thought, as memories burned,
Moments passed.
Which are now yearned.
Without a high,
Our inside’s churned.

.          A S S A N G E 'L


      In Judaism goats were

       laden with sins of the

       village then sent forth

       into the desert, to die.


       They were known as

        escape goats, from

       whence derived the
  
    modern term, scapegoat.


   Angels were journalists of

    God, messengers, town

   criers, paragons of virtue,

       underwriters of truth.

    
    In Biblical times, the ***

        symbolised service,

   suffering, patience, peace,

humility, but above all, wisdom.

The waiting

Art can caress, but does it speak?
Words cannot tame, but gravely hit.
As the rock of the world is founded on a butterfly's wing-
I wish I could say I am tired of waiting!!

The Jacobin Cuckoo, hallucinates the prospering smoke-
Tirelessly in every sky, for water she does evoke;
As I wander sleepless through this nightly pounding,
If only I could say I am tired of waiting !

I saw needle and vein engage in a kiss,
That would lead to ruin , not permanent bliss-
Even, for all the nights, I was scorched to the pain of loosing;
I could never say, I was tired of waiting!

I saw the bright truth, behind the veil of death's bride;
And death row's ragged strangers crucified-
If love is symbolised with a fancy red heart- does that heart stop beating?
So, why do they complain , they're tired of waiting?

I saw the face of love, embrace the Rose union-
The patient farmers, sweating in famine's dungeon,
A sleepless eye, can never lie, the pain of tireless blinking-
As it searches for respite , never tired of waiting!

Yes, I stared into eyes of love and hate,
Yet, most carried the cross of cruel fate-
If love is a fire, in the darkness of life; shall it stop flaming?
I wish I could find a flame for me waiting!

The Dove does descend from the sapphire blue skies;
To show us, all is one and all is free-
Can a son ask his mother to delay her dying?
If only he could, he would not be waiting!

The April rain heals in verdant springtime,
Like the poignant whispers of love sublime.,
Oh ! The intellects, the supremo mammals, can you for once stop mating?
And free that albatross, as an ancient mariner is waiting.

And I realise in the Rose pink dawn-
There is only a brief light between two dark eternities,
As I numb my senses, to love's thrill and wailing,
I wish for me, there's someone waiting!!