The Uncared Whispers.

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Good evening my friends and xanga relatives. Hope one more day closer to Christmas is getting you all excited. Well, normally Christmas day don’t have much of excitement except for surprise gifts. The whole time with family and friends together brings in unforgettable memories. I am not feeling well today, my sneezing started again. So kinda keeping low. I thought I will do a blogtv show. But called it quits as I have a bad feeling about my back. Can’t sit for 4 hours straight. By the way, no snow where I live, it warmed up to about 50F, so we will be getting some rain soon. I love rain too, wonderful to listen to the rain. It gives the feeling that the soul is trying to speak to nature. Or nature is trying to speak to my soul. 

  Talking about listening to soul, (not soul music) here is a poem I wrote couple of weeks back, as someone in xanga told about making a piece of dance. I have nothing against dancers or dancing in general. Well at that time I remembered a wonderful dancer from India. She studied with me for more than 10 years. So I know her like my own sister. She was a dancer and last time we met, I asked her about her dance.

She told me, “Riaz, dance don’t exist alone, it needs music and the modern music does not get me to dance. So I learned music”

She sang a piece of music from Carnatic Music that made me wow. She wrote the lyrics in sanskrit herself.

Then she told me…”Poet, I wrote the lyrics first, then modified it to fit to the piece of Carnatic music”. This is something I taught her a long time back, sometime in 1991 when we were together in a train trip. Her husband at that time told me, I don’t think she will ever write even one line of poetry. Now she writes in Sanskrit and she can translate that to three different languages. She is a Sanskrit professor now.

When I remembered that I thought why is this girl in xanga learning and trying to make a piece of dance which have no self existence. She is so talented in both music and poetry. She is just losing herself in her own fancy ideology of dance. Well why I said this. Because as a poet I know how good a poet she is. It will take at least 15 years of training with writing every day to become a good poet. In 15 years of dancing this girl will be destroyed from inside out. This poem is about that. Personalized in my form, hehehe what is that form? I think that girl and everyone should know… I write through a romantic feeling. Just because I write using romance as a medium doesn’t mean I am in romance with this girl or any girl I meet on the net or in real. I am way older to be in romance and I don’t have anything with me any woman can fall in love with (looks, money, skills, house, status) I just wanted to make that very clear to everyone now. I am a poet who lives with very limited set of priorities, I don’t plan much, I almost live my life as life happens. There was a time when I loved and honestly I love that time. Now it is time for me just to write about it. Love in real is for people who are much more fortunate than I am.

The Uncared Whispers.

Oh how close were we and how further went we,
Hopes described but stood in the middle with eyes closed,
When right beside feeling breath we stayed,
Ah’ love indeed a double edged sword became.

Dearest, the net weaved for our own safety,
Now in it tangled the care and love of us,
And deep in the woods with creatures unknown live,
Looking for the feelings lost, crying for a drop of tear.

Never shown paths to a loving heart,
Always in suspicions of a criminal looked,
Oh’ the island you made in your own design,
Dance on it alone, in the rhythms of love songs I sung.

Dance the form of art, in music depends,
The best step in rhythm bound can only be poetic,
As in every step, in the rhythm of another heart you make,
The poetic heart of yours under your foot you crush.

My paths are clear, my life in simple priorities bound,
No dance moves, only whispers of soul unseen, heard,
As age binds and gives experiences of life you now know not,
Hear you will the whispers of your soul, the whispers I heard.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. 2009 All Rights Reserved

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