Those Unshared Lucky Stars

Today I made a post on Facebook with a lot of frustration as some people got some serious issues with me having multiple accounts there. For that one of my friends from UK responded agreeing with me. The first part this poem came out of the comments I wrote in response to his comments. For finding an end to the start, I went back, yes, I went back more than 6 years and took a wonderful event from real life and made a scifi like scenario to end it. Hope you all like this poem.

 

Those Unshared Lucky Stars

 

The songs of motivations into ears blasted,

Foot in different way all around moved,

The body moved as if all bones inside broken,

Then they shouted, “Dance for life,

Dance for liberty,

Dance for a mindful of peace”.

 

Yes all danced, sang and danced,

A generation beyond their capacity hyped,

The whispers in minds echoed,  

And they say they hear voices they understand not.

How will they understand when in intentions,

They don’t want to understand?

 

Oh’ the generation following the degenerated,

Phantoms of a past even time want to forget,

Oh’ they fell in ditches they themselves dug,

And the outstretched hands empty remained,

As for many the trap to capture life they set,

Oh’ their own graves those traps became.

 

Through unpaved paths he ran,

All around the lands screaming “My Darling”,

Chanting verses in which he praised,

The beauty and talent of a poet in traps of life’s bureaucracy fell,

Oh’ he heard not a word or reply in growls,

Growls of society in which her nightingale voice buried.

 

Then all his material senses he shut,

And into the depths of the spiritual senses he searched,

From the past above the horizons rose,

All the lucky stars of her to him she once gave,

There and then to her what she gave he returned,

As his material senses to him with a storm came back.

 

The flying debris and the dust blinding,

Oh’ through them a hand he saw he can never forget,

The hand that wrote the best verses he ever read,

Out of the dark cold ditch he pulled,

And before she could see with the storm he left,

As the same lucky stars, in no ways, two people can share.

 

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved-2011

The Blown Away Bubble.

The gatherer I am not of broken hearts,
For the act I do to feel what I want to express,
Time and again from the bottom of my heart I said,
I know not to love in real,
I know not how to care in real,
For I am not worthy of any companionship,
I only write what in the bubble I paint.

The bubble about which many times to you I told,
The bubble about which to the world many times I told,
From every event that I have known in real,
From any event I heard from others,
From any event about which I have read.
Ah’ I make an emotional bubble, into which I paint,
The images about which I want to express,
Oh’ many models I may choose,
Many ways to express I may choose,
And to you and all who read again and again I said,
It was all an act I do,
To feel what I want to express.

Still who am I to critic who you are, you asked,
Aha, and to all you know slander about me you spread,
Oh’ wonderful to know the poems I wrote worked,
But felt sad when known,
You made me someone I am not.

Many, many times I apologized,
To any hurt I may have caused,
All those times I made it clear,
All I have done was an act I do
To feel what I want to express.

Now no more apologies I can say,
No more favors I can do,
As to the world you chose to spread,
Spread slanders about what I am not,
That lie broke the bubble about you I made,
And with a question blown away, “Who are you?”.

The poet once more a lost cause,
The vagabond mystic none can care about,
The man and poet in different world they live,
Now united to make a new bubble with a new pretty face.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved-2011.

Here is the blogtv presentation of the poem.

Freshly baked from the oven of my mind here is my new poem. J The idea of the poem came in earliest of early mornings of yesterday. First I thought this is a one lame idea I cannot make into a full poem. But when the day progressed and night eroded then when the day came up, whoops the whole idea I wanted to write kind of came to my mind. It took two hours to write the whole poem. So there can be grammar mistakes, there can be typos, there can messages from my devilish mind. You name it, all gonna be there my sweet readers. I am who I am, in the way I am, the best part of me is the definition you give me and that can change in a matter of seconds. So I am dynamic, you know what is special about being dynamic? I am not perfect. No one is. No one can be. I write in the way I want to write, I speak in the way I want to speak. If I see wrong I will say it is wrong. I will show no hesitation to say what is in my mind. Those who can’t tolerate me, there is an unsubscribe/unfriend link. Just click on it and go away. The LonelyPoet needs only him and those who want to be with him.
  Well if I continue I will say things kids should not read. Hehehe.. but let me finish by this. I am a man who love without conditions, be it a friend or a romantic lover or brothers or sisters, my love is unconditional. The only conditions one can imagine is in ones own imagination. So look back and evaluate and see, hear and feel the love of the one man, the lone man, the LonelyPoet.

 

The Miner And The Gem.

 

A millennium came, a millennium passed,

Days like the currents in the depth of an ocean flew,

Seasons flourished and then to hibernation went,

And worldly ways through spirit of life the miner learned.

 

Around the world to many places he went,

Then in the lands of the Americas he came,

All through his plight every moment he searched,

For that mine where the Gem of gems birthed and grew.

 

With all the tools and knowledge he searched,

In darkest of the darkness he searched,

In the middle of crowd he searched,

Then mined with tools and knowledge of the spiritual world,

Mined and mined with tools and knowledge of the material world,

Ah’ found he where Gem of gems grew.

 

Into the mining for the Gem he poured,

Every ounce of spirit and energy he got,

When sun shined, away his sweat he wiped,

When the rain lashed floppy hat he squeezed,

When the snow all around fell, the shovel he cleaned,

Ah’ when the flowers bloomed,

Along in his mind a smile sprouted.

 

Raw in the depths the Gem of gems stayed,

The miner moved closer and closer to grab,

But the Gem of gems has a will of her own,

As raw in the middle of dirt she wanted to stay,

Oh’ no matter how much rock and dirt the miner tried to move,

The Gem of gems away from him swayed,

Into the depths of inevitable chaos she moved,

In the rhythms of the madness of a cunning world she moved,

A dance the miner on his own will don’t want to stop.

 

The Gem of gems is not just another precious one,

What the miner found in not anything wrong,

No wrong to the preciousness of the Gems he ever done,

Only to make her more precious the miner tried,

Oh’ the miner only half way through can mine,

The rest, Gem of gems with her will must come,

But to his disappointment the Gem of gems stayed afar.

 

Then down and down she went,

A drowning from his knowledge of past the miner know,

Nothing he can do to but to watch,

The fall in all inevitability will come,

The Gem’s will Oh’ to remain in dark, in dirt and to destroy in dull.

 

All his tools to whither in weather the miner left,

As for him no past exist,

Without the preciousness of the Gem of gems,

All in present, meaningless, like ghosts stood,

And the first step away,

Future with emptiness welcomed.

 

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved-2011.

The Era Given To Me

Good news… I got more than I anticipated about the poem “The Man And The Poet” wooo hooo thanks a lot my readers, fans, relatives for the support. Bad news.. the following poem hehehe Written from a thought that originated from what I said in the blog of a girl. This is what I said, “I am not obsessed with you or anyone, I am not even obsessed with myself. I don’t care about material life at all”. That gave me a thought what does people care about these days. From what I have seen and heard, I know most of the young people don’t care about anything. Those thoughts made me write this poem. Now to my readers I will make this clear I have nothing to hide from my side. The way I am is something most of you are definitely not used to. I am very emotional and extremely passionate. Because of that if I am friendly I will shower you with praises and do whatever I can to make you feel good. This can be seen or interpreted by many as obsession. On the contrary if you become an enemy of me, there used to be a time when my short temper either beat them up or at least leave a curse. That also can be seen as an obsession. Now a days I learned not to be short tempered anymore. This is not the first time anyone told that I have OCD issues. This happened many times before. I was called many names, my lifestyle was defined in many ways by many, many people. They are right to an extend and wrong to a greater extend. The one thing none ever understood is the fact that I am like one of those young folks out there. I don’t really care about anything in material. I am a Sufi. If you don’t know what is a Sufi, google it. You will know. All this through my five sense I feel are just clothes I one day will leave and then in eternity will feel the love of God. The romance and love I can give to a girl is yet another pretty cloth. That’s it.

 

Enjoy the poem.

 

The Era Given To Me.

The pencil on the tip of the fingers rolled,

As mind through countless folders inside passed,

The details of events so sparsely laid,

Ah’ faces never forgotten,

Memories recorded in association of things felt.

 

Modern day lifestyles cunning fought,

With yesteryears passion filled life,

Oh’ none cared about what is lost,

The generation sprouting unable to dream.

 

Decades it will take for a tree to grow,

Couple of hours to cut it down,

The fruit start to rot the moment it leaves,

The fruit starts to rot the more on the tree it stays.

Freedom early or late Oh’ rot and stink it will,

Rot and stink it will.

 

Modern day to yesteryears will pass,

But to what memories will associate I know not,

Ah’ the phantoms of generations like zombies will wander,

With their sense with lead sealed,

Ah’ many great minds lost in the arrogance of the liberty lady,

Oh’ to what memories that will associate I know not.

 

A simple mind, a humble mind always will smile,

A good smile, wonderful smile will gain one smile in return.

There ends my association with the era given to me.

 

 ©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved-2011.

The Wrong

When someone says an opinion it should be taken as that person’s opinion not an insult and retaliate as “Who are you” that is not decent that is just pride. That attitude is wrong for anyone. There are people who criticize me for many things I don’t go on asking them who they are and what they are to me. I just tell them I understand your opinion and move on.
   Understand, talent is given equally to everyone. It is the way one keeps their focus on their talent that brings and makes a person better than the rest. If one loses focus by following the madness of the world all that will remain will be pain. Sorry to see someone wonderful falling for that trap I have seen many falling into. Like I always say.. one should learn from the wisdom of the past not try to make mistakes and learn from it.

The Brutality Of Mankind

This is a poem I wrote for the anti-romantic poet’s show for authors community video chat. It was initially a total fabrication but once I came towards the end of the poem reflections of some real life events crept in. So I thought I will make this a public one.

The Brutality Of Mankind.

Fools all around paraded,
As the fountains sprouted in the middle of the circle,
Mermaids holding wine chalices pouring,
Colored water from the glittering lights underneath,
Oh’ even in their stone carved eyes one can see,
Passion filled lust from seven heavens not to mankind known.
 
Oh’ the flowers in the garden danced,
To the rhythm of winds from north, east, west and south came,
The wind stole the pollen leaving flowers glad,
And the humming bird beat the wind and gravity,
To stay in air sucking honey to fill every mind.
 
With thoughts filled mind through the garden he walked,
The land around he saw once with farms and industries filled,
Now a graveyard for the American dream,
And for peace of mind young and old romanced in competition.
 
To show their love and care for the flowers they came,
Expression of emotion they deeply felt,
Hurting the thorns with lusty thoughts,
Fools through hallucinations as sex addicts they evolved,
Constant companions of the whispering devils.

Many love not but act,
As if in love to make a fashion statement,
Oh’ those zombies a calamity for mankind,
A degenerated curse destroying dreams in excuse of love.

Love an action with no reality cared,
Love the excuse for millions of death,
Oh’ love bitten mongers cry not,
Your moans by thin air consumed,
And by light of reality blinded.
 
Originated from illusions dreams ate mind,
The closer he got to any flower they vanished,
As men with evil grin plucked,
And to nymphomaniacs gave,
The essence of their self proclaimed love,
That after two minutes of sex evaporated.
 
Truth not seen, buried dream’s moans heard,
Lusty humans in their comforts violated,
Their own conscience with brutal spiritual force.
 
The flowers from stems detached,
Petals in winds of ambitions withered,
The brutality of mankind in one word poet told,
“LOVE”
Then with an innocent laugh deeper into desert he walked.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved-2011.

The Chanting Of The Birds

Here is the new poem. One should be really experienced with my style of  writing to really deeply understand this poem. There are those who love these kinda writings this poem is meant for them. That doesn’t mean that no one else should try to read or understand this. Try and see if it makes sense to you if so you will understand all poems I have written. If not, find a different poet to understand.
 
The Chanting Of The Birds.

The day began by countless birds chanting,
Chanting that made us feel words,
Words that healed the wounds of Yesterdays.

Oh’ nothing more I heard,
Though world around in pleasant explosion erupted,
Nothing more I wanted to hear,
As in those chants mind reflected,
The prayers in early mornings I made,
To purify the love of us,
To eradicate the doubts in our minds,
To strengthen the trust in our souls,
To make us love each other more.

Ah’ not many heard the beautiful chants,
Most into chaotic calamities plunged,
Calamities of their own design,
And losing senses facedown they all fell,
Oh’ they should have listened,
To the chant, to hear loving souls,
For in there is the learning of happiness, sadness, anger and hatred,
Of the one whom you love.

Oh’ in the chants I have heard,
The yearning of her soul I have heard,
Her mind by shadows of past haunted,
And she singing, dancing and smiling away,
The chaos, confusion and dilemma.
In the deeper levels of the chants I thought I heard,
A giggle or sob I know nothing about,
Oh’ hour glass turned again and again by nature,
And the chants went on and on.

Then all paused, no movement felt,
No words in mind came,
Just the sound of an illusion of the sand falling.

Then just the sob of a single bird I heard,
All clear so close to real,
The words to mind came,
Through five sense that made perfect sense,
No one is listening to the chanting of the birds reflecting my soul.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM. All Rights Reserved-2011.