Punk

I usually don’t write at work. When I was terribly busy I took a
breather leaning back to my chair and took the pen and wrote this. To
be honest with you there is no real girl I know with these qualities.
It just came to me. May be the descriptions I’ve given resemble couple
of girls I’ve seen and heard about.

Punk.

Quitting smoking was not an easy task,
But my last cigarette I have thrown away,
To give my best to the next Date of mine.

Weeks passed by with me scatterbrained,
But not a drag of smoke I took,
And held on to the promise I made,
To that girl only my imaginations seen,
The withdrawing nicotine brought cravings,
The chaotic mind in eagerness swayed,
The first one I meet I will ask, I decided,
And with no thought in mind into the street, I walked.

The first lucky one was by the mall wall,
Pierced around the eye and lips,
Golden brown hair pointing up and down,
Low waist shot jeans with embedded metals,
Shows the silver ring in glitter on her bellybutton,  
The tattoo on her upper arm speaks,
About her unbelief in any God,
Pointed nose and ears pointed at every movement of mine
Walking towards her, I met a friend of mine,
After formal queries my friend left with a kiss on the cheek,
Then I went to the punk with a smile that said more than ‘Hi’,  
“Who is she?” asked the punk in a perplexed tone,
“A friend” was my reply in politeness,  
“Who am I?” The punk again asked philosophically,
Through an ironical laugh I said,
“If you were old enough and I was young enough,
I would’ve given a ring that need no piercing to wear”,
“Not young enough and not old enough” with a smile she said,
And crossed the street waving her hand at me.

From the nearby ashtray I picked
A still burning cigarette butt,
And walked away taking a long missed drag.

Unknown Passage.

I am busy… well that is good news but it is 1:30AM here and I am still
working on a program that needs to go out tomorrow. Crazy as hell…

Get the new Enya CD if you like her music. I love it.

 I think the picture circus to scare some kids didn’t work at all.
Thanks to all who feel what I feel in my writings than the way I look…
Believe me… I really get scared everyday morning when look in the
mirror. Well the graying beard will be gone by tomorrow as I need to do
a webcam conference with my mom in India. She hates my unshaven looks.
I will capture some shots and post it here or if you are intelligent
enough you will know how to see my webcam online.

  Enough of that, I was just commenting on another site and one
line stormed into my head, “Life feels like reading a palindrome”. Haha
I am the master of manipulation. Here is what I made of it..

Unknown Passage.

The dream did not passed me by,
But hopes seems to have left,
The soul astray in a never ending road.

Life feels like reading a palindrome,
Again and again I am reading,
Again and again understanding the same.

Waiting for a hand to guide,
Through the loveless road to a bright valley,
But the passage still remain unknown.

To Rediscover A Soul.

When asked about truth this is what I told in a comment in another site.

 “I am the ugliest, most unloved man ever lived, living. Because,
God gave me a deck of cards to play my life, none knows how to play
with those cards. The truth, simple and straight truth.”

I apologized for posting a comment like that in another persons site. But to be honest with you all. That is the truth.


Who want to be around this genetically mutated pineapple


This is what bad love can do for you.


Okay this is the best part. None want to get scared off my big belly. {hellish laughter}
Hate me everyone, for at least I’ll have that.
 
The third installment of the Tess poem is in first draft. My work kinda
pulled every plug out of me. I am really tired. But I wrote this for
those who were angry at my mile long poems. If you all think what
you’ve read or just browsed by was long then just forget my site for
the next one month. The rest of the 6 poems average 200 lines per poem.
Haha

To Rediscover A Soul.

A moment’s wish lingered,
Way past days deep inside,
Tears for the dream trashed,
The soul held unknown to oneself,
And cries away when deep asleep.

Darkness crept away when arrived,
The lazy, gloomy winter sun.
The long held silence, the alarm broke,
Shocking everything around and the weeping soul,
On to the cold dry palm out of the eye spilled a drop,
What remain, the only remains,
Through which to rediscover a soul.

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden No More

On a personal note, I am too sad for multiple reasons. I just couldn’t get my act together. Nothing worked in these last 5 days. I visited so many sites and looks like many are not happy with this holiday. I hope the next one will be far better.

On the funnier side. After playing so many Elton John songs I think my Computer had turned gay. I have to keep it always on my lap, otherwise it will shutdown, you know what it wants…haha.

I know so many of my regular visitors did not comment on the first of the eight poems. I can understand that most of you are all out there shopping and having fun. I am sorry to bring you these huge poems at this point of time. My favorites like Sam Nolte will hate me for writing such long poems. My apologies to you all who like to read short poems.

The second phase of the book “Maiden No More”, the shortest first draft I wrote of all the eight poems. There is a vast description of a field woman’s life in England in this section. I loved reading it. But when I am looking from my view into just the character those descriptions are not necessary at all. So I avoided it altogether. I may later re-write most of these poems. But for that I need completely free time with nothing to bother me. When my love goes freewheeling it is hard to get anything out. The irony is nothing is conclusive yet. What I have is disheartening silence.

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden No More

No true woman can hide,
Beneath the tyranny of manhood,
So did Tess walking miles away,
From the noble who have no soul,
Who could only ask her to open her beauty,
Without opening his heart,
So not a word of matrimony came from those lips,
As everything in the Lead sealed mind of his,
Filled with luxury, lust and inhuman aristocracy.

Oh’ the curse to mankind he can draw,
From that soul so pure,
But men lived then, now and forever are saved,
As hatred to her heart unknown.

The dawns and dusks of Marlott welcomed,
Tess back with strange colors and patterns all around,
Though her childish innocence badly wounded,
In weeks out of her seclusion she came,
To the house of God where she found,
Parishioners looking strangely and whispering,
Sick at heart with disgrace back she went into seclusion,
Under a few yards of thatch,
Winds, snow, rains, dawns, dusks and
Many full moons she watched.

Out she went once in a while after dusk,
When brightness of the day bows away to the dark,
Finding liberty in lonely woods among sleeping birds.
Though made to breach a social law,
She knew the guilt she felt washed away,
In nature’s tranquility that merged in her heart.

Rumors, mockery and disgrace,
Will never bother a woman,
Illicit or not but motherhood always perfects,
Every woman beyond any reasons man can know.
The world around her looked at change,
From virgin girl to a single mom,
And bearing pain of death of Sorrow,
She called her son that name near his death,
May be to bury what sorrow remained,
Of the lost innocence of her childhood as a child,
And to enter the world of youth as a lady,
Though the child’s soul left her astray,
Priests and society can chant,
The mockery of mankind with laws,
But a mother is always a mother,
In her duty to god as the reason,
For that soul to be on earth and back to heaven.

Oh’ Tess, you touched deep me and many,
When you kissed your child in that field,
And baptized him in the dark of night,
And buried him with a prayer in mind.

Though Tess shown the mighty will of her,
To hold life in her own way,
But world always fence life in,
Catapulted to womanhood from childhood,
The role of a field-woman she played well,
The drama of harvest was over,
Back to the house back she went,
But when status and hunger called,
Into the plight in she walked,
The beginning of life for her she thought,
As fate shown a glitter of delight,
Away from disgrace in employment.

(End Of Phase Two).

Here is a link to the second phase of the book. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The Second–Maiden No More

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-Phase The First–The Maiden

This is a long post.

Persuasion always works with me. I am not stubborn like I used to be.But before anything I say let me thank all of you for the kind words ofencouragement in a ridiculous time. Said that… I really wish nothinghappened. As I have little or no control over it. I no longer worryabout things at all. It was a quick turn around. And it is all of you Ithank once more for the support.

   Once more I am going to specially thank Sam for thewonderful support she gave. I am forever indebted to this young girl.Her words stood out from everyone else’s, and her remarkable boldnessto support someone in dire straits amaze me once more. Thanks againSam.

   Last night I voice chatted with my mom on yahoo and I toldher I am tired. She told me something that helped me to come back here.She told me if you are tired go back to where you truly belong. Thelove of you xangans and words and the special words from Sam saying”Regardless of what you say, I will think of you…I hope that thistime works more than any.” And heartcry24 I agree with you this day ofgood eating cannot be spent on ridiculous thoughts. I thank you toohere.
 
 Ok enough rambling
  I am going to post the first installment of “Tess OfD’Urbervilles”. I called this first draft when I first posted this inLonelyPoet.Org. Now I know I am not going to make any big changes inthis. But unlike I said before it won’t be coming to you in eight days.I haven’t even started writing the last poem. I am stuck with one ofthe letters which is a heart touching one by Tess to Angel Clare. Well it may take sometime to finish the whole thing as my work isdemanding my attention big time. I am working tomorrow. So go figurehow busy I am these days.
    
  Thomas Hardy wrote novels to get money to publish his poetry.Most of his novels first came out as serials in Papers and Magazines atthat time. So his novels are heavily descriptive. I love reading it asit kinda takes one to a flight through Victorian England and thepeasant life there. But when I am taking the sequence of events fromthe novel to speak about the main character in the book, the wholedescriptiveness kinda become a stumbling block than a big help. Inother words the mastery of Thomas Hardy’s style is bound in thisdescriptiveness. Rather than trying to write the whole thing in onemonth I should’ve realistically tried to write it in six months. It isworth the effort for my satisfaction. I am sure some of you may likeit. Others may not even find much time reading it at all. The first twophases or parts I just breezed through as Hardy was just talking aboutthe circumstances than the character here.  So my first poems arecomparatively smaller ones. But from third poem onwards you can seesome of Hardy’s descriptiveness in my poems also. I may change it in myrewrite of those poems.

   So here is the first one on this wonderful “White”Thanksgiving day. I am going to go and dance outside in the snow. It issnowing here.

The world may wonder if ever these verses be found,
How many years this character of fiction swayed?
The mind of an adolescent, a youth and now a man,
How many more have been amazed at the boldness?
Of a girl, lady and a woman filled,
With hope, dreams, passion and love,
Even from the day she had known the first lessons of life.
Tess of the D’Urbervilles lived in many hearts,
Taught the lessons of her painful life,
Kept the hope of her lifetime ever green,
Seventeen years passed in my life with the urge,
To tell the world what I felt from Hardy’s tale,
Here I am breaking my silence I kept for long.

Tess Of The D’Urbervilles. Phase The First–The  Maiden.

Durbeyfield’s empty soul was filled,
By the parson who called him Sir,
And told a truth he never known to himself,
That the noble D’Urbervilles really were his ancestors.

May Day dance of the virgins filled the meadows,
The music and rhythm and the beauty of the ladies,
Every soul so pure, every step the meadow loved,
Spring time was born for this day of the dancers.

Tess Durbeyfield was no lady at that time,
Sweet sixteen upon her was knocking,
But still traces of childhood loomed,
All over her in gestures and this May Daydance,                                                                 
And her beauty to which nature blended in pride,
The evening golden light held on to her,
Like a parasite that will die if parted from the host.

The onlookers watched in amazement,
Of this beauty of nature in rarity seen,
Among them were the tourists on foot,
Who watched the dancers as if in a dream,
The wanderers never thought of the dance,
But sight and monotony of the walk
And the power of youth flushing from heart,
Led Angel Clare to dance,
On the meadow as a partner for each of them.

Tess never thought of any man,
But youth also have a price to pay,
The inevitability of the passion of love,
In that moment’s wish of his hand.

Angel left without a word nor danced with her,
Pride and embarrassment too played their roles,
Her father’s mockery of her family,
Boasting about the dead noble ancestors in Leads,
With a belly filled with fresh brewed ale.

Durbeyfield’s celebration of his nobility,
Went late into the night,
Drunk to the marrow he failed to stand straight,
And poor Tess and young Abby took the goods,
To reach the market by morn,
On a horse cart late at night they started.

The night ride after the tiring day,
Knowing new about the D’Urberville ancestry
The mind of the young lady’s in dream,
For that knight, covered with the night,
Killed the horse she called prince,
For fate to start his role in her life.

Family always made the English  proud,
The same fact that led Tess to the Stokes,
In her thought that they were true D’Urbervilles,
But they were nothing but new rich folks,
With no real noble ancestry.

Alexander the Stoke she met in Trantridge,
Who looked at her as if in love,
Alec knew nothing about love,
In the lavish life style of his,
Money and the power of wealth,
Charm and the feel of lust,
All covered this man from head to toe.

Employment at the age of sixteen,
When she should’ve been singing,
Along with the birds on the meadow,
That was left empty,
As to the caged birds whistled she.

Alec is no guardian of anyone,
And the guardian angels slept,
When the innocence of a virgin was ravaged,
Blown with the fog and left her to unknown ruins,
A simple act of lust of the wealthy,
The total mockery of womanhood,
Oh’ life sometime sure is unjust,
That was a moment in history and fiction,
I always wished never done, written or said.

(End Of Phase One)

You post your comments here or email me your opinions if you cannotpost it here or IM me on yahoo. I’d love to here what some of you thinkabout this.

If you are interested in reading the book  here is a link where you can read it. ‘Tess Of The D’Urbervilles-A Pure Woman’ This is the text I followed.

Happy Thanksgiving again.

A Frustrated Mind

When events go unexplained. I “WILL” not confuse my mind. I usually shut it down until I find an explanation.

Life Is Complicated When One Act Bad And Think About It. Life Is Simple And Easy When One Think Right And Act Upon It.
LonelyPoet.

I am stressed out, depressed or purely insane whatever you may call it
over silence. Don’t think about me. Enjoy this wonderful day to the
fullest. And forgive me for gone from  here with my  verse until I figure out what to do next.

Out Of My Mind.

{Update. I once more put on hold “Tess Of D’Urbervilles”. There is too
much going on. There is a happy part, confusion and a bit of chaos.
Forgive me everyone. I need a breather that’s all. I updated
LonelyPoet.Org blog. For you all I will post some more short poems
shortly”.}

“A poem I wrote when I was sitting alone in my room
watching the nature outside through the window. This poem was written
while I was in Florida, though I personalized it, actually it was about
Milwaukee I wrote that poem.”
 
 That was the original
comment I left for the poem when I first posted it in FortuneCity.Com.
Yes, I remember my roommate  at that time, Cecil Mathew, called me
and told what’s going on in Milwaukee. I told him that I love that
place and Wisconsin. He asked me to write a poem. I wrote a poem and
two years later I changed the whole poem giving it a human touch.
Today, though I sucked big time at work with blowing up deadlines. I
thought about Wisconsin. There is a reason. So I thought this old poem
of mine from LonelyPoet.Com is something my Xangans may love to read.

Listening To Silence.

Here I am sitting near my window,
Listening to the silence around,
But the summer winds brings to me,
The clinging of the leaves around,
And the squeaking of the little birds,
When I close my eyes in stillness,
I could hear the beat of my heart,
It’s steady but unusually fast,
But I feel nothing unusual,
When I opened my eyes and listened,
I feel my heart is steady,
But still I hear the fast beating,
It’s not one beat I heard, but two,
One of mine, another, my sweetheart’s,
Living far away,
But her heart, beating with mine.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM.
This poem was written in Ft-Lauderdale, FL. It was first released on
the web in the Fortune City Home Of The LonelyPoet. It was later moved
to LonelyPoet.Com.

For The Busy Bee.

Some of my latest posts are huge. There are some of my favorite xangans
who have little or no time to read and comment on a big intro and a
long poem, probably they will be cursing me now. So last night I wrote
this poem. It is for all and I hope all will be able to enjoy this poem
on a great weekend.

My Budding Rose.

The wind slowly crept up from west,
The drizzles blessed the lands,
Months of waiting to see a leaf, over,
But the thorns still strong to leave a scar, deep.

Bright sun and the misty morns,
They live around you and for you my budding rose,
And waved in to your side are my silly verses,
The slow but steady awakening of you I watch.

The stem that holds you dear,
Defending with scary thorns all over,
The wind, land and drizzle defines you well,
I am still waiting to watch you blossom.

The beauty of a flower blossoming,
Is in the steady opening of the petals,
Upon which even the coldest dew melts,
I am still waiting for you to spread your charm.

With care and love I can only help,
For you to grow in your own color and scent,
Once blossomed in full the world will enjoy,
Every bit of your color, texture and scent.

In surety I can tell, none will feel or see,
The warmth of the deep soul of yours,
The charm of the color of yours,
The scent that fills every bit of the soul,
Like I feel through every sense of mine,
The heart and soul of yours, my budding rose.

Hurricane George

  Seven years ago, I was working in Ft.Lauderdale, Florida when
my manager told me to make a website for my poems. I made my first site
without much knowledge in FortuneCity.Com. Initially I called it “The
Inspirations Of Riaz Poet”. Later I registered a domain calling it
‘LonelyPoet.Com’ and moved the first 15 poem into that site. I was
sitting in the HomeStead Village Suite. At that time I thought that
this should some day become my first collection of poems. I gave myself
2 years to write 100 poems. I never gave a thought about the days to
come. Three days later I evacuated from my suite because of hurricane
George and went to Key West. For some reasons unknown, I told myself
what’s to come will be as turbulent as this hurricane. The hurricane
did not hit Ft.Lauderdale, it took a turn and hit Key West. That
might’ve been a warning that I will not be able to run forever from
fate.

  If I am going to tell everything about the nearly 8 years of
life here in America then it will take a whole book probably to tell it
all. Recently while talking to my best friend Deepak Prabhakar on the
phone I told “I have seen every bit of life in every possible
combination in the last 7 years. Feels like 5 lifetimes passed me by” I
went from place to place connected to my software consulting work.
First came to Milwaukee, that trip from India itself had most weird and
funny scenarios. Then from Milwaukee to Florida, then back to
Milwaukee, Got transferred to Indiana, then back to Milwaukee, then to
New York/New Jersey, back to Milwaukee, moved to Kansas, then to San
Francisco, then back to Kansas, then to Milwaukee again, then went back
to Kansas, from there to Texas, from Texas to Virginia, Now In upstate
New York. In all these places I lived and worked for at least 2 months.
. It was a plight I would not have taken if I’ve known before. But now
I remember what I told three days after I made my site “As turbulent as
this hurricane” and it was.

   The promise of 100 poems in two years did not happen.
Last night I made the final changes into the 100th poem sitting in a
similar suite. All paid by the company. It gives me a feeling that a
cycle is over. Yes, seven years, lot of dates, mad love, 100 poems (101
if adding the last one which is ‘Tess Of The D’Urbervilles’ which is
not done yet) and a lot of weird events I am still standing haha.

  Most of my poems are about my romantic failures, hopes and
dreams. The words hopes and dreams are used extensively in my poems.
Well real love is still in “hopes and dreams” for me. Therefore, I
don’t know if I ever fall in love with any girl. It may take a good
effort from any woman to get me out of this ‘Lonely’ shell. I don’t
expect it to happen at all. I am getting too old for running after
women. Haha.

  If I say, the reasons are unknown for writing the following
poem it will be a big lie. However, I just don’t think it is
appropriate for me to tell it now. But I hope someday I will write
about it. Love is something I can write about for volumes may be never
feel in real. I promise you all that my writing don’t end here. It is
an end of an era for me and a turning point for my website,
LonelyPoet.Com.
That’s all.

  Enjoy the poem.

An Angelic Incarnation.

All the time I lived for you,
All the dreams I’ve seen about you,
Wherever you are my dear,
All these days I was in the search,
Maybe can’t be said, as doubt always prevails,
But to the dream I always wish to see,
Don’t have any to say.

Oh’ I only wished to see that dream,
Every dreamer always dream to see,
But tongue twisted I lived,
When thought about the fulfillment.

In the depths of my mind I caressed,
A feeling embedded with a reality,
But the Angels that guarded that dream,
Burned away in the flame of my lost love,
And I was left astray,
With a hollow heart that lived,
In the mourning of a pathetic loser.

I looked around and tried to feel,
But fell and awaken nothing but obsession,
Filling my mind, threatening all minds away,
And like a gathering storm in winter,
Love outgrew in my mind and soul.

Winter has its own beauty,
With none out there to enjoy,
The soul and body was already frozen,
When everything to a dream got bound,
Repeatedly seen with different faces filling,
Life in all perfections and imperfections,
The reality of the dream never ever felt,
The dreams grown like a Banyan tree,
A life within a life, but a life unlived.

The spring brought warmth and colors,
But none of the colors seen,
By a heart in despair,
Then you came with summer,
Like that evening rain with warmth,
Waking every corner of my soul,
Through those eyes in sparkle,
Taking me in the awe of flight,
Of imaginations of unknown magnificence,
The frozen heart of mine, melted,
In the warmth of the love of yours.
Luxurious in being every moment’s blessing,
Unlocking the mystery of my unloved heart,
Everything real in me became blessed,
Everything unreal became fulfilled.

Through the bright days and sleepless nights,
The presence of the Angles I tried to feel,
Who all melted away in the lost love of mine,
But never felt in any senses of mine,
Even after the wishful prayers of mine.

The eve of the fall came and went,
The freeze came back with fury,
Love of yours have out grown every seasons sway,
Then in your everlasting presence I understood,
There were no guardian Angels for my love,
They were all metaphors of your arrival I felt,
In the awe of the love that surrounded me,
The well said lost love was a nightmare passing,
The unreal dream an illusion of my unwell mind.

Like the early morn spring sun melts the mist,
You with your love blown away the nightmares,
With your care my illusions disappeared,
As for each of them you being the reality,
Oh’ to the horizons never need to look,
For lucky stars and unseen guardian Angels,
As every hope and dream you took away,
And made my mind free for you in fulfillment.

The End.

This is the last poem in a chapter I wrote called
“She”. Six years ago, I thought I would never be able to close that
chapter. To every word of ‘move on’ from my friends and family, I asked
“To what?” I’ve dated couple of other girls well they were all just
passing faces. I wrote this poem during a flight to St.Louis in 2001 on
my way to San Francisco
and I only modified it a bit in wording today when I finally closed the
chapter. It was not a moment’s decision to close it and “move on”. It
was a gradual process and I buried a dream and all my hopes, wishes and
everything else I constructed as a bubble around me forever. Now there
is hope, there is a dream, and I am in the middle of it. The hope and
dream are out there they still haven’t got into me yet completely.  Haha, may be I will write a poem with this idea later.

  
This also means another thing, “Age Of Survival” That’s what I call my
poetry collection, is over. There is this other poem I need to release.
I will do that later this week. Well to be honest with you, I did not
survived in the way I wanted it to be. I failed again and again. I am
not depressed. I was, but I got over it long time back. I will never be
depressed again. I may become sad and I am used to it, as dreams
sometime remain as is when life squeezes from every corner. 

 By the end of this week you will see this
other poem I talked about earlier and then I don’t know when, may be by
the end of the Thanks Giving weekend you will see the first part of the
final versions of ‘Tess Of The D’Urbervilles’ here in Xanga.Com
PoetryBox itself. That will be over in eight days. Then… I just don’t
know…

Your Answer. 

The evening went away,
With no murmur of hope,
Then the chill of darkness swayed,
Every corner of the loving heart.
From the shadows of the day,
Searched a long lost soul,
In faith, belief and reasons known,
Only to the heart defeated.

Oh’ how many pretty faces I’ve seen,
Without giving me a thought, passed me by,
Thoughtless I am in the rush
Of lost passions in you,
Passions too left me in loneliness.

Never to the heart I spoke,
Only sweetness of love I felt,
In every bit of life of mine,
In the spring time when you flowered,
Imaginations to the truth of reality.

Some days those buried feelings sprout,
With a new days freshness,
But bury at the end of the day,
Like that fat old sun,
Those are moments of achievements I cherish,
Now with the tit bits I’ve got, contented,
As the greatest achievement was lost,
In your answer that said ‘No’.