Home Of The LonelyPoet

Heading towards a weekend. At times here in this site and inlonelypoet.org I have said many times, what process through which Itake an event and expand that event to an idea and write about it. Theprocess remain same no matter what different ways I put it. Sometimethe whole process may take about 10 min. Sometime it may take a week ortwo. There was one time it took nearly 10 years. Life in two differentcountries, 3 relationships in between, 3 major deaths in the family.Still I held on to that one idea. That’s the first suggestion I cangive to a young writer. Consistency and the persistence on beingunique. The one reason I stayed in Xanga is there are many youngwriters who show that amazing talent of expression through words. It isthe most difficult art form. As many are young and naive they justdon’t know the treasure they are sitting upon. When I said treasure Ididn’t mean that one is sitting on top of a pot of Gold or money. Poetryis not valued in money and in fact there is little or no money one canearn writing poetry. Money is for the brain and actions generated outof brain. Poetry is from the heart, to the heart, so it is thespiritual enhancement that it brings. With that one can perfect a lotof the brainy works. Said that… it may only take a simple phrase onehear or sight one see that triggers the whole process, so in a way, amaterial connection is always there. It then goes through the spiritualside. Not a lot of writers these days really understand the differencebetween an action and its spiritual side. For most of the people it is all bound together. To become a poet the first and foremost thing toachieve is to differentiate between the two. Talent alone won’t makeone a poet, knowledge alone won’t make one a poet either. Knowledge isthe action, it can be learned. Talent is the spiritual side of it andit need to be blend with the action at the right amount. That, one canonly earn by practice. A poet should write everyday. Even if what iswritten don’t make sense he/she should write. Because when God gave youthat talent God meant something with it and you don’t want todisappoint God by denying it.

  Here is a simple example of taking an event from life. When I saidlife I cannot clearly say it is absolutely real. Because from the timeafter this poem is written things have changed. I thought of notposting this poem here ever. What I want to show is, how to treat anevent from a poetic perspective. The situation was, I didn’t heard fromsomeone for sometime. I thought that person is gone-a-gone. Just athought what that person may get if that person comes back. Okay thattriggered the process. I wrote it last weekend. Along with theprevious poem. But during the course of this week, that person came back. Sothe reality of the context does not exists. So I thought this will be agood way to show how to take a little idea and blow it as big aspossible, taking simple words and images from reality itself.

Tides came and gone with the moon,
Still echoed the roar of the sea,
More inside the mind and mind swooned,
Opened eyes watched memories in the swollen waves flee.

Oh’ the memories of the liar in me,
The one in whispers lied and lied ,
That the love I felt for you was an unreal plea,
Of mind in beauty and charms bide.

Why ye left love to the monstrous dark?
Tightening chains, mind from inside bound,
The flow of the world making thoughts stark,
Leaving love in soul an un-healable wound.

Step back in time, the healer ever forgiving,
Back at those sunny spring and summer days look,
Days and nights spent in ones own soul rediscovering,
In each other’s mind from where love we took.

Now each other we both lost,
In distant deserts where spring never blooms,
Only mirages we both see of each other’s paths we crossed,
And the paths ahead filled with mists of gloom.

Come back, O dear, come back, with smile so bright,
The love ye sought in fulfillment still in this heart reigns,
In the blinding dark give a lost soul love filled sight,
And enlighten your own soul from loveless pain.

Come back and the looming silence you break,
From a heart that dwells in the realm of gloom,
And in your silence forever ache,
And will wait even beyond the day of doom.


  Now here is something I am starting to work on…. maybe some of youcan also work with this. “Stepdad’s crimes, his authority, his passion,his vigilance. Themother’s helplessness, Their love, the mother’s love… the chaos ofall in everyday life. The heart so frozen with every given day gone by.Freedom from it all an oasis far far away.” This is how I make an idea.I got this idea during writing a comment for another post. As I haven’tdealt with a step dad or step mom situation I really have to dig deep intomy imagination to write this. Some of you who have dealt with suchsituations will be able to express this idea more realistically. Let meknow so that we can compare the works.

 
Have a great weekend.

A head start was given earlier this week about this poem. A view point, rest the poem should speak for itself.

The mind of an adolescent with dreams filled,
And step by step tothe worldly cravings left,
Follow the dream the world togetheryelled,
Followed the dreams, focused step by step.

Thescreams of the world never changed,
Those exploiters who made onelook good,
Those feelings that made one feel great,
All of themjust day traders who faded,
After a moments pleasure that onefreely gave.

Adolescent and teen years fallen away,
Like leaves in the season of fall,
When faced the bare naked worldof reality,
Unbearable the pain, as life became,
An unknowngame of poker against wicked fate.

In the perplexed passionsemotions froze,
The youthful years by the unfelt lovetorn.
Whenever eyes in despair closed,
Nothing of this world inmind’s eyes saw,
All felt were layers of sky blocking,
Someunknown reality one always failed to see.

After outliving theyouthful years life took,
A backward turn as all the pathspassed,
Through the roads of time from birth,
None meaningfullydefined any roads ahead.

The charms of youthlingered,
Everything grown, yet another step,
Upon the failedpast that never held,
Life built with sweat and blood,
Upon acastle drawn in the air.

Unpredictable the future alwayswas,
Undefined were the results of dreams,
Uncouth were thosewho filled in roles,
But the drama that repeated with differentpeople,
Oh’ always ended in failures of a bubbled up mind.

Mindbound to unnatural dreams,
The never ending chase after deadlinesunrealistic,
The lovely faces upon which trusted the purity oflove,
And excuses invented, justifying those who rejected,
Beliefthat makes one yearn for perfect and purest,
While looking atothers for ones own success.

For the mirages of life neverwritten in ones life,
Looking way above to those fakedsmiles,
Wanting and wishing for life of someone else,
Blamingeverything alive or some unknown fate,
When all those faded awayas illusions incomprehensible,
Even then dragging on and on leavinglife,
Into surprises guessed and miraclesexpected,
Oh’ they all lead to failures of a kindunimaginable.

******Start Update********
If anyone find any mistakes be it grammatical or in typos please let me know without hesitation. One of my friend from Greece pointed out couple of mistakes, grave ones. Feel free to correct me folks. I will never feel bad about it.
******End Update*********

In the heights of frustration a strength will come from within thatmakes one accept reality. When it repeats the force grows more andmore. In one of those repetitions I decided to write a poem which Inamed “Theory Of Failure”. Well that went well, one week and 7 hourslater the Theory was formed. Now to all the newcomers to this site. Ihave a habit of over writing. That’s not the right way to say it. Ikeep on writing and writing and writing to get an idea work in my mind.During that time I speak aloud and walk around, kiss my own hands, playguitar badly(I never played guitar in a good way). It is a chaos. Mostof these over writing just goes to trash. Sometime they may make sense.Here is what came out during the writing of “Theory Of Failure”interestingly the Theory did not rhymed and this one did. “Theory”right now is sitting in my google docs I may make some more changeshere and there and you will see it on Wednesday.

Charm of blistering youth blazed,
Making every moment glorious,
The moment lived erased,
In a forgotten past sung melodious.

The mindset changed again and again,
Silly emotions in depths of mind left,
Blisters unknown that intermittently pained,
And depression in silence grown heft.

A lot have been known,
Still the pathos of the forgotten past lingered,
A lot left to unknown,
And in sadness and disappointment mind angered.

The fire in the mind to every corner grown,
The force within in every way charged,
Boiled blood through baked veins flown,
And every sense in the chaos of mind enlarged.

Years stacked to decade
And decades stacked to a lifetime,
The body through time fade,
A wrinkled up mass of skin way past its prime.

Into one hand of time and one hand of fate slip,
From the completeness of a lifetime filled,
In arrogance, gladness, anger all gripped,
Yet, disappointment through every senses spilled.

All that in reality, fantasy and spirituality attained,
All came with reasons forced from within skillfully,
As the memory of the reason from within reigned,
The mangled mind in glory of emotions shined willfully.

That face, that mind, the dancing scenes, the musical notes,
Those unrhymed verses that rhymed in feelings given,
Oh’ within the soul they all will always float,
Though, rest of the lifetime in the riff of that soul riven.

Someone asked me in my myspace site is there anything new, I said”Nothing new” yes thereis nothing new. So I just wrote something I thought I will first postthere. There is hardly anyone who knows that I have a myspace account.There are some. Even they did not showed up there. hehehe. On MondayApril 28, 2008 I posted the following poem there.

Pain Of A Blessing.

Through the dark paths gladness left,
As the blessing mind forgot the gone by days
Leaving feelings of a dagger piercing,
Deep into spine, where pain never felt,
As sadness, fear, and anger in disappointment drowned.

Not felt the known feelings of love,
Not felt the unknown feelings of your touch,
There is a hunger inside that depicts,
The truth of of the yearnings of unknowns,
And it all takes your face from this day.

Oh’ followed the dreams I thought ageless,
When through every root of hairs on me,
Pain of passions lost clutched and squeezed,
And the many times bloodless I fell,
Where none stood to lend a hand,
New dreams were formed and lifted,
Back on to legs and I ran and ran and ran,
After all those that came through senses,
Now I know not what a true dream is,
As all that I followed were curses humanity left.

A bleeding heart in my hand youth left,
And it will bleed rest of a lifetime I will live,
As what I was shown will shine bright,
Filling more blood in my already stretched veins,
And never I will free my mind off you,
And never will I live a day without the memory,
Of a blessing in the youthful days known,
A blessing spelled by you,
A blessing which is you.

Never will I bow before another human,
Never will I bury the truth of myself,
May it be that a synonym of failure I become,
May it be that the face of nightmares I become,
But through it all I still will remember,
The blessing you are and you were.

©RIAZAHAMMED.COM

The howl of a wolf from far I hear,
The cunning darkness those howls break,
From them in fear I always run,
A fear that grown thin every day.

Upon our own kind we step,
And as if unknown away we walk,
Emotions are by products of senses,
And to express them Oh’ we forgot.

Another kind of emotions we have,
Far beyond sense can comprehend,
Oh’ my love for you fades,
In those emotions none can ever understand.

When mind in earthly atmosphere suffocates,
The flames of fire of unknown origin consumes,
What left of a that still beats,
Beats in rhyme with your heart.

Curse those who made these cages,unseen,
Curse those who fabricated binding rules,
Curse those who drawn unseen lines,
Curse those who can never stop this bleeding.

The howl of many wolves from near I hear,
They are growing in numbers every day,
They will find me and eat me one day,
Oh’ they will kill and eat in thankfulness,
Than those who in fake love consumes a lifetime.

Metallica-Unforgiven.

There is a meaning in everything I say and do beyond what five senses can comprehend. There is hardly anyone who truly understands it all. Those who did all died of old age, then a handful of people who understands they shut senses to escape the true meanings. The easy way, never visit this site.

I felt lost when I thought about many things.This poem is a by-product of those thoughts. I really don’t know howmany will truly understand this. I know one will.

Have a super sunday and a great week ahead.

Upon the roads like worms moved,
The never ending traffic through the city.
Songs of the feelings of spring,
The blazing heat of summer sun,
The cold of the monstrous winters,
The death of the breezy autumn all blown,
Overhead many many times passed,
Still the ways I passed Oh’ all of them,
And the many, many turns I took,
One ways wherever I went,
Every effort to face the traffic in futile remained.

None in front came but from way behind faded,
And some turns took me to traffic that faced me,
Some of those who faced me took other turns,
Some where eighteen wheelers from which I ran,
Most just stayed stunned with dark wind-shields.

Like a mad dog through those one ways I walked,
Wondering why am I lost in the city well known,
Oh’ looks like the city changed a lot and I did not,
All goes through one ways ahead always I am,
Why my mind can’t figure out roads in younger years passed,
Through most roads in repetition again and again gone,
With the feeling of the spring’s music inside cherished,
The reality of that feeling dancing far, far away,
In the rhythm of that music understood yet forgetting,
And never will I reach a two way road to that reality,
As forever in these winding roads lost I am.

Metallica-Nothing Else Matters.

Someone said in a comment here “mmm metallica” I left a comment for that person which I thought is good for all of you too here it is  “Yes I am a big Metallica fan. FYI, I am originally from India. Whentheir Black Album came out first we only heard the news in BBC worldservice radio. We didn’t had cable networks at that time in the smalltown in India. Me and one of my friend travelled nearly 100 miles tothe nearby city to get the album. But the music store only got a LP andthey don’t have Record Players in the stores. We bought the record andcame all the way back home. I don’t have a record player at home onlycassette players. We went to my friends home who have a record player.The moment we played Enter Sandman. My friends dad kicked us out. Andin a conservative small town going to a girls house itself is a wildidea, then playing music many believe as evil war cry not at all a goodidea. Now I took the record and went to another friends place. He andhis family was out of town, so I literally broke into the house. It wasfarm house so no soul nearby to hear the war cry, only their pet dogwas around who is quite friendly with me. He howled couple of timesduring the play of the entire album.I heard it like 15 times straight.The very sound of the album is something I have never heard till thatdate. If not seen get this “Classic Albums – Metallica: Metallica [DVD](2001) Metallica; Classic Albums” This is a good documentary of themaking of the Black Album.”

The season filled the days with flowers,
Then the season filled the night with stars,
They all fought and the battle they lost,
As the glow of your love upon my heart you left.

Gone, gone are the days,
The days that defined the future ways,
Love filled will be the life,
When purity of love you leave upon every living,
And blessed the world will be in your smiles.

Such were the words he wrote to get to her,
Those campus days of uncertainty,
Romance was a race to win for her,
And they lived together with doubts deep in mind,
The meaning of love only through material life known,
Nothing about each other they both known.

Where life will take he knew not,
And many feelings inside him he buried,
Hand in hand they walked in front of the world,
Yet heart at each other never really smiled.

The busy work life grabbed them next,
And further and further they both went,
Under one roof they have slept,
Yet found no reason to grow in each other,
And discontent about her in him grown.

Business trip took him away into busy city life,
And as the day died around him, at dinner he met,
The charms of a beauty filled with venomous lust,
Her talks and ways amused him in intoxication,
And with her back to her place he went.

Through her drunken mockery she told,
To forget the past and never think about the future,
And live the moment in the joy of her,
Through his veins long lost verses came to him,
Verses in the days that defined future ways.

Left her without another word or touch,
As every doubt about everything he felt,
And reached back home to a girl he thought,
Who don’t know how to love him beyond herself.

About the dinner and the aftermath to her he told,
Without a word she stood hearing all that he told,
What went through her mind he knew not,
But in a sudden move the six iron from his golf bag she took,
Her swing was good as right on his butts she hit,
That left him on the floor in severe pain.

Biting lips and with closed eyes upon his knees he sat,
Seeing stars in the dark of his  eyelids closed ,
Then upon his forehead the warmth of her lips he felt,
The kiss that surprised him in every way.

Tried to open his eyes but he could not,
As no more pain he felt but a feeling in his chest,
The first ever feeling he felt when upon her eyes he first looked,
He sat there not knowing anything about what he felt,
Then upon his nose fell a drop of tear,
Just a drop of tear that told him how much she loved.

No new poems.

My lucky stars all seems to have gone super nova, I said that in a poema while back, now I think I should change that a bit, they all havebecome black holes and suck in whatever that comes around me, never tobe seen again. I am not kidding. Looks like the onlookers of this sitehave all gone into that black hole too, which is a good news as I hatedthem. I felt like those people are pirates who wander around the weblike a curse who all got no sense of appreciation. They are mostly frommy birth place. Nasty folks they are.
  Couple of weeks back I was chatting with a young girl from Russia,she lives somewhere in Norway after her mother married someone there.Luckily she knows english very well so that I was able to chat with herin yahoo. She is planning to move to Singapore as she wanted to joinher boyfriend there, she was asking me about my views on many things asshe converting to Buddhism. I said I am not a Buddhist, I am just apoet. She asked for my poems and I gave her this site. She left and daybefore yesterday she came back online and told she read my poems mostof the recent poems. She was no lying she was going through this sitefrom top to bottom. There were some many posts only one reader in thissite can read…  so except those Ilya read most of posts in this site.She liked this site a lot and told me something interesting…
“I felt like watching Svetlana Zakharova after reading most of your poems in your site”

I asked her, who is this Svetlana Zakharova?, then she told me,Svetlana is a famous dancer. I told her I really don’t know a lot aboutdancing and haven’t done much dancing in my entire life as I used toweigh around 260lbs. I was making fun of calling my poems look likesome exotic dancer. She said “no no, Svetlana is not an exotic dancer”and gave me some links in  youtube. Couple of them were performance bySvetlana another was a link to a performance of another dancer.
 Here are the videos of Svetlana Zakharova she gave me.

Swan Lake Odette Variation (Svetlana Zakharova)

Svetlana Zakharova – Giselle Act 1

The following is a comment I left for one of the videos I saw.

I write poetry, recently when I was chatting online I met thiswonderful girl from Russia who knows english very well, she told mereading your writings makes me feel like watching Svetlana Zakharova. Iasked her who is that? She gave me the link of this video and the samemusical piece perfromed by another dancer. Both are superb performance.In every way the honor I have ever got was the words of that girl asone can feel what true poetry means in this breathtaking performance bythis dancer.

I started writing the following poem with a specific title in mind “TheSorrow Of LonelyPoet” it was not about anyone but about a place. Then Ithrew away all that came to my mind and wrote something entirelydifferent.  As a feeling came to my mind I haven’t reached that point ofmy life to really write such a poem about that place. Every givenmoment I am becoming more and more stubborn to be there. I really don’tknow why… maybe because of that it became a life mission to bethere.. until I write that poem, you all enjoy…note it, that will bethe last poem  of mine you all will ever read.

Where the hell are my lucky stars?

From far away dusts of city seen,
And in the mind those streets imagined,
Those city stores bustling with people wandering,
Some busy in life filled with dynamics,
Some restless in life predefined.

Dreams about life around the city seen,
Oh they chaos about that life never imagined,
Pictures and videos give more than the eyes,
Calm, quite those pictures merge in the soul.
What gained and what lost soul ever known.

How many time through those road walked,
How many familiar faces turned away,
How many wonderful moments missed,
Still life went on in paths familiar,
But lost in cause and spirit.

How many more wonders those alleys hold?
Still looking for heartbeat in a lifeless entity,
The snail paced traffic, the frustrated faces,
The smell of dust and smoke all in union,
Makes the feeling of life in an entity never born.

Imagined what it will be in the city without people,
Oh’ the silence that may come shivered,
The depths of mind which left a freeze all over,
The lifeless nature of the city first felt,
Then life of the city felt upon the face the uncaring minds.

Once more went far, far away with the understanding,
The city means nothing without the wilderness of mankind,
Chaotic and polluted the city maybe,
Still the wonderful feeling I always feel, when standing,
In the middle of all the chaos and smell of killer smoke,
As part of the life giving force of the city I am,
As lifeless without people the city will be.

When I posted a poem here someone told me “You need a girlfriend” Itold her, I have a cute girlfriend. That lady unsubscribed and left.What the hell was she thinking about me or my poems? I don’t know. Justbecause I write opposite of what I feel don’t make me less of a poet.Now being a poet, I have seen many older people writing poetry onXanga. For the experience they have with life, their poetry sucks. Inthe meanwhile some of the young poets I recently read shown amazingability to express. Many shown much more capacity in expressing thanmany classical poets. But it is a free world and everyone got the rightto express. Probably many of the older poets will learn from theyounger ones many lessons.

  There are people who really don’t know what to write that is theproblem for almost all the poets one or the other time of their life.See it is quite simple, as a poet you can only write what is felt inyour heart. Poetry comes from heart not from your brain as a mechanicalaction. So the subjects one should write is right around the poet.Those simple events that one goes through everyday have a point ofpoetry in it. Then the material you read, the shows you see on T.V, themusic you listen all can be blended together to make wonderful poetry.But the process through which one makes those events to poetry is amatter for the individual. It cannot be imitated, if imitated it willonly end up irritating readers. That is well evident in the poetry ofmany people here, especially those who are well experienced with life.In all honesty they are pathetic.

The gentle breeze of the evening fought,
With the screams of the downtown life,
Wednesday fell tired to the mongering life,
That went by like a monster machine none designed.

When night gnawed the evening away,
Laughs filled the sideways of streets,
Colorful dresses, color filled faces,
Oh’ they flocked like the flamingos in oasis.

Then there were men out there for the exploits,
Tall men, short men, muscular men, and big bellied men,
Some men walked hand in hand looking at other men,
Many men stayed as far away from those men.

The battle lines were formed,
Inside the mostly dark clubs and bars,
In the flashing lights one can find,
The moving shapes of dancing dames.

Empty bottles crashed into trash,
Minds left every normalcy anyone known,
Beauties became more beautiful,
Rest of the womanhood earned, compliments undeserved.

Time at its pace moved,
But for many time ran away fast,
When blinking lights died and bright light birthed,
Many ladies yearned to be beauties of any drunken man.

All left with one or the other,
Some women left with women who looked like men,
Many men left flexing muscles or caressing bellies,
And time stood perplexed not knowing the passing era.

From the corner of the bar he slowly walked,
Out into the spring night where the wind gained strength,
A smile stretched cheek to cheek, back at him all smiled
Some women from the speeding cars in disappointment waved.

When alone in the alley, away from crowds,
His own mind filled with a wonderful face,
Danced in the happiness of a conquerer,
And step by step through dark he moved.

Still a kiss upon his lips he missed,
And the wind brought the drizzles from heavens,
When drizzles fell he too felt a kiss,
None he saw deserved to give to a wonderful soul.