A very long time ago I was invited to the BBC Midlands studio, for the Asian Network’s regular featured spot on Story-time.   This was after having spent 13 years of writing poetry and only sharing it privately with very close friends; I had eventually decided at the age of 28 that I should finally assert and express my private persona as a writer  by  sharing my poetry publicly.   However,  the trouble was, I was very shy whenever I did.   Although my poetry performances had always been very timid, even slightly embarrassing,  I continued to push myself to do them for just over one whole year – because I always believed that my work was good and that it deserved to get heard.   On the other hand,  I just couldn’t ever get over exposing myself so openly as my work has always been so-honestly-about my emotions… Despite this overwhelming coyness, I somehow  got this slot on BBC Radio along with a few other interviews on air etc. thanks to the writers group that I worked with, who were kind enough to have recommended and gently pushed me forward.

I kept  this particular set of recordings for over three years now, knowing full well how to share them…but it has took me this long,  because I hated the way I stammered, stuttered and struggled to get all my words out.   Although those who know me personally would most probably agree that confidence, maybe arrogance or even obnoxiousness  have never been  short-coming  to my character… but in terms of sharing my poems out loud…it’s still so difficult.

Listening to this recording today over 3 years later, I realise now that I really haven’t changed much…and that I still feel embarrassed about this thing people seem to call talent! I still feel awkward, yet desperate to express my inner soul  without revealing all the hurt  and mistrust that wells inside me.  I still stutter and stammer when I get nervous. I still doubt my ability as an Artist but yet I still feel an incessant need to share my creations – because contrary to my very own disbelief – I still believe that I have been blessed in a funny way with quite a useless gift … I would have preferred it if I could sing – but beggars cannot be choosers and I have to learn to be grateful for what I have – but if something has changed since this recording, it’s that this gift is no longer about me, me, me, but it’s about what it’s like to be human and I really do want to share my experience because I need to know if others feel the same way.

I hope that you like the poetry by Najma Hush on Phosphorecsecnce1001, but why on earth, I had called my poetry site “Mycupoverflows.com” back then I will never understand…and then to openly broadcast myself live on air, to a nation that thrives on innuendos, tut.

Finally – here it is…because if you don’t share your love and work today… you just might die tomorrow keeping it in your heart forever.

Once upon a time there was a young man called Mikado who had a room that had nothing in it. This room was almost empty, except for the four walls that linked it to its four corners, and the ceiling which sealed it off from the sky above; with a floor to stand, sit and walk on, it had one door as entrance and exit,as well as a window that let in lots of light.

This room was often left alone, but a day finally came that Mikado decided to visit the empty room…

**************************

As Mikado stood at the door to turn its handle, he felt a strong force push and it opened.  To his delightful surprise, Mikado could see gold bursting out from underneath the door as it flung wide open, pouring out into the entrance, literally at his feet. He was amazed to look up into the otherwise empty room to see it was flooded with golden coins, fine jewels and delicate riches all shining brightly from the light that was illuminating from the window. As it sparkled upon all the golden contents of all his new pride and possessions – his eyes lit up, his jaw dropped and his heart began to beat at an incredible pace because he could hardly believe his eyes – How did he feel?  Ecstatic! – Overjoyed!

He waded in to take a swim in all his newly found glory.  With a great big beaming smile on his face, so bright, he splashed about and turned in the multitude of his wealth. He filled the golden coins into his fists and swung his arms high in the air, releasing his grasp – looking up to see them flying high in the sky and then closed his eyes to feel them rain gently back down on his head. He stood there up to his chest in treasure,  wafting and bathing in it – until his delight turned into tears – he started to weep crying tears of joy, praising God for the miracle that he had been blessed with – whilst laughing hysterically, because he still couldn’t believe his luck.

But as time passed and the minutes become hours, accumulating into nights with the dawn fading away again into daze… he had started to change;  Mikado had begun to ask himself, “How long will it be until I find this room empty?”

“I really don’t know!” He said to himself, “I don’t want to just waste it….It’s so precious. It’s priceless and invaluable and so, I would really like to spend it wisely. But, what do I do with it…?”  Mikado sank deeper and further into his own thoughts, “There is just too much of it. I just don’t know what to do with it…”

Thus more time passed, which bloomed into weeks, carrying on into months…and then  drifting away endlessly into golden skies of honey. And all this time, the room remained empty except for the golden sunlight that illuminated the sparkling riches by day, which became a silver ocean of treasure in the moonlight by the diamond night. But he no longer found delight nor satisfaction in this.  Instead it had became a burden for him – too heavy to bear.

He found it difficult to trust people – he began to think they were only after him for his wealth and so he became introverted. His thoughts lay primarily with protecting his treasure as he stood guard at the door to the empty room. He never went inside any more. He always stood outside and watched the marvel of the glowing light that penetrated the hallway from the little gap beneath the door. As he stood there like this, time watched him and sighed deeply hard – but he just couldn’t open it.  He was afraid that the glare of the light would leave him blind. It had become too bright for him.  “What do I do with it? Oh God, what do I do with it?”

And yet, the more  time that left him behind where his stance had become grounded; the more time he had to walk through the passages of his past, as it dissolved him into a sea filled with flaming coloured coral…and the burning sky above that he could see from beneath the surface of the sea – it seemed to him- to be filled with his sweet childhood memories.  And then, when Mikado put his hand on the silence of the boat, what could he hear?  Boom-Boom-Boom!  His own heart beating and the sound of the waves coming to snatch his soul, as he lay down to be washed away like the sand, by what was flowing over and inside of  him.

Coral Skies

And then finally, the day did  arrive,  when Mikado remembered how he had found the treasure.  He thought back to how he had waded in fearlessly and thanked God for what he had.

At last, that’s when Mikado decided what he had to do. That’s when it all became so clear…too clear to laugh or to cry – but instead to say out loud, “How could I not see this in the first place?” All those years I spent not knowing what to do with it;  All that time I spent alone protecting what was never mine to keep? How could I think it could ever end, when I could never see where it had come from in the first place? Now, who can I ask to take it all back, when nobody had ever given it to me? ”

That’s when Mikado realised that he had only ever had a glimpse of the treasure, but had actually never known what to do with it; when all he ever had to do was accept it. And that’s when he began to realise, who he was, who he had become and what he really wanted to be. He could now see that he was nothing but empty except for the treasure that poured out from inside him every time he opened the door. And that’s when he rushed with courage to fling the door open again after all those years. But when he did, he could no longer see the treasure. The only things that were still there were, the four walls, the ceiling, the floor, the door in which he was stood and the window. Now he could see that this room was still empty and the only thing that filled this empty space was light. There had never been any gold, any riches, any jewells- it had always just been the light – The light is all it was! Similarly to before this fool, Mikado fell to his knees again and cried praise to God for showing him what was real and what was not. And that was when he left his den to take to the streets.

He had bare feet and was only partially robed when away he went to the high hills, singing at the top of his lungs wherever he went .  His songs asking everybody, what they were waking up to do, why were they doing the same things, at the same time, everyday?

“Stop! Come out of your houses and come with me,”  He Cried ” For I have seen the emptiness and light!” And he began to roam in the streets like a lunatic – singing songs begging,  people to have no shame for what they are.

Quite often the nosey Kings of Caves will look out of their windows to see where this commotion is coming from. This singing, screaming, voice out from on the streets sending them an SOS. But you see – they can’t ever see Mikado and so they may never know what all this noise is about – and so they would rather all go back to their T.V’s, turn the volume up really high, until they can’t hear the wretched voice of that crazy lunatic – who claims that he has seen the light.

But what should Mikado to do?  Should he stop singing ?

Lunatic

Desdemona's Death Song

He’s not going to leave me alone tonight,

Because I’m hungry!

He’ll put out the light when I’ve put out the light,

Because he known’s I’m hungry.

He won’t give up this place tonight,

Won’t whisper softly to me when he takes away my life,

Because I’m hungry!

He say’s “No, I won’t leave this lion’s den,

I won’t give up my crown for niether mice nor men

I’ll keep up my stance and my vigilance,

Be you alive or be you dead,

I won’t leave this fiery dragons den,

Because I know I’m Hungry.”

No, because I’m hungry!

Because I’m Hungry!

Le Lion Amoureux

As my glory lies naked and empty before him,

This dark infidel won’t leave this place of worship sacred,

Because I am insatiable!

And as my hunger rises inside of me

Like the shadow that slips between the sun,

I am neither here nor there, yet I am seen as one,

Like a flower, who deflowered and then became a nun,

I am sorry I am unable to bear you your sons,

Can you look at me, as I weep for all the sins I’ve done?

Because I am like you, but no one is like the one I’ve loved or long.

But he say’s “NO! I won’t leave tonight till I’ve had my share,

I won’t divide, distract or even let you  dare!”

But  Sweet Sir, why don’t you spare me tonight for another night,

When I am always at His Majesty’s service for murder and delight?

Because he has already left me behind – a widowed bride,

As he sleeps softly beneath the milky body of his mistress dear,

Please excuse me, I must undress and take a shower in my tears…

Because he won’t leave me alone tonight,

He’ll put out the light and then put out the light,

And he won’t even whisper to me softly or wish me a goodnight,

As he creeps up to me slowly to take away my last breath of  life,

Because I’m hungry, because I’m hungry, because I’m hungry!

The One

I. All I know is that we made love for countless nights,
But I have only spent some sour days with you.
Still, I can forgive you everything,
Anything that you do,
Have done or will do because,
I would not have loved you as much,
Had it not been for this sin in the first place.

II. “I love you.”
Remember how I would say that,
“You were the only one I ever loved before we even met;
For all of beauty and imperfections sake,
I’ve died and gone to heaven a maid,
Because I’ve always been in love with you.”
But I thought I had set my love free?
I thought I had set it free?
Oh, how I thought my love was free?
Sadly until I recall it was you
Yes you, who had let go of me…

III. Who are you?
When they tell me off and say,
“You had better stop crying now
Because every time you shed you’re tears,
The clouds ease off and the dark sky clears.”
But I love you and so I say,
“I would rather it be heavy with black clouds
Than to waste the rain and have mercy shower upon my soul!”
“Why should the sky bear the burden?” they pry.
“Because I am a loaded landfill of emotion,” I reply.
But even then, only some of them,
Understand how it feels to be in love with you.

IV. Who are you?
Because, I would rather it be murder
By mine own hands than to ever let you go again;
If I should catch you in my arms my friend,
I’d annihilate both our lives,
Just to be alone in limbo with this love,
When you be like the Divine-like-God above;
Yes! You that has always been here with me
Yet, how could it be….
You’re the one that I’ve been waiting for?

The Long-time Longing

Your love is like the thorn,
On the stem of a rose that once was red,
For it has survived much longer,
Than what I had laid to rest,
But it still hurts…
…Nevertheless may God bless,
All the tears that well inside mine heart,
And all my soul that has bled,
When all the nights I’ve laid awake,
To tred the past to trace those days,
To live those moments more,
Right up until that wretched hour and place,
When away we both fled…
And then once again…
I die once again,
A thousand deaths,
Which are a one-thousand times more blessed,
Because my Love – your love is like the thorn,
On the stem of a rose that once was red,
I know it will survive much longer,
Than what you have laid to rest,
But it still hurts…oh how it still hurts…

Beauty is as Beauty Does

A scent as pure as sex and sin,
Can you smell the musk in this gust of wind?
For my eyes are baptism,
oh…but I am filth!

Dark Angel’s wings be heavy with grace -
They’ll crown my glory my disgrace -
But answering me mine embrace…
…come whole into my arms…
For though my soul be full and bright,
(I know) t’is not yet filled with light;
For all those night’s that were filled with craze,
Those which I spent awake in bitter daze
And oh MY GOD – He heard my prayers;

Oh how now do I curse their damn infernal days,
Yes, they who filled me with lust for their fucking praise -
But how now do I know as I stand amazed,
Beauty is, as Beauty does,
Oh, how now fucking phantoms…
Of illusion and faith?!

It came from the distance -
Like a fast train that slows down,
A hundred miles before the arrival of its destination,
So as not to crash and burn.
It came through reflection;
Running it over again in my mind,
For why had it disturbed me so…?
It came like a long drawn out, droning voice
That had bounced back from the moon,
Or perhaps voyaged from the farthest galaxy,
Many too many light years away…
…and it made me wonder
as it asked me the same question
…again and again;

what must he have thought (of himself)
when he cut off his right ear?

Reference:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-portraits_by_Vincent_van_Gogh

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2009/may/04/vincent-van-gogh-ear

If life be like a tempest,
Then set this monster free,
For if it were not for all his voodoo,
I’d still be locked inside a tree.
But if mine heart of magic,
Were to burst out onto thee,
Thous’t could not withstand the fury,
of this fearful raging sea.
Though thou doth look and hook just like a man,
Yet still a magician be;
I have seen you sail that rotten carcass boat
That bought you home to glee.
Then I dare you life be the man again,
Which your mother did bare and brand and name,
Stare into the eye of the storm, the blitz, the bang and flames;
I dare you again to be something more than Caliban,
Without a wink or blink by Prospero’s hand,
Dare you to dream of not sky, sea or land,
I beg you Sir to set Miranda free,
And let her come and live the dream with me!”

Reference:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miranda_%28The_Tempest%29

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tempest

http://www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com/pictures/miranda-tempest-1916

Better for her that t’was only for one night,
She illuminated darkness with what His Majesty delights.
Even though this flame was extinguished before dawn,
When His Highness commanded, “have her entombed in a brick wall!”
But, t’is better she had a story like Scheherazade,
For more than one-thousand-and-one lips to impart,
To have it broken than – say – to never have a heart,
So, t’is better the savage woe thou hath cried,
To sleep and then – to die and dream again -
About a thousand deaths more by thine lovers eyes!
That’s why t’is better I say, she were buried alive,
- even if it were only to be his Queen for a night -
Than never to have loved or lived at all.

Reference:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anarkali

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scheherazade

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madhubala

There was once a castle upon a cloudy chamber,
Within it lived a Princess along with a Gate Keeper,
The Princess was both darkness and light in nature,
For she possessed a lover’s temper pro and opposing her.

Her kingdom was furnished upon just one thought,
For the Keeper told her of an allotment the King had bought…
Our King’s garden flaunts feral and fertile fruits,
That burst with ambrosia from bosoms’ and boon.

This emerald green surrounded by a ten foot fence of thorny rose-bush,
Lay protected behind a great gate against a raid or ambush.
Its privacy was guarded by one man’s vigilance,
Who betrayed the King’s secret’s to his curious mistress,
Poor love – she could not sleep within such a distance,
Lay awake in bed dreaming of this garden’s magnificence.

The King knew all about – yet so much he did endure,
Some might say – how much of this does he enjoy?
To keep his slave and mistress locked up in ignorance,
For all to see, you can never predict a King’s intentions,
(Nor contradict the true King’s Divine interventions).

And thus – our King set the date for his entertainment,
The time had come to test the faith of his maid and servant…

* * *

He bid the night to sky and the moon spread a sheet of diamonds,
He blew a mighty magic breath of atmospheric light and ambience,
Oh on that special night, the alluring scent of His musky incense,
Oh how he drew the hour nearer of madness, lust and incest,

The castle shook, from cranny to nook in an ecstatic way of violence…

The Keeper rose ablaze – as if in flames grasped the key to unlock the gate,
The Princess swift, as if struck by lightning rudely wide awake,
Not a moment too soon, like the speed of light moved in a mighty haste,
She ran took a stand in the doorway in all her grand demure and grace.

He protested, “Princess, Awake! Lest your inhibitions do depart,
Avant – you wretched wench, the time has come for us to part! ”

“No Sir, the time is now, let’s make this moment last,
Truth transpires treason when we listen to our truthful hearts!”

He sang, “My Dear, my heart, my life are both inanimate,
A picture of reason conditioned by both love and hate,
It is written my destiny lies at His golden gate.”

“You should have thought of that, before His secret’s you betrayed!”

He begged her “This is not the way to do things… please be gone… now go away!
Your place is in this castle and it is here that you must stay,
The moment I had tasted wine I’d forgotten what was right,
By divulging the secret of His garden – I wronged not twice, but thrice!”

At this the Princess became overwhelmed with tears,
“Here I stand before you I have abandoned all my fears,
Sat within this castle – listened to your fairy tales – for over twenty years,
Now I do not betray myself – No! I betray nothing but my pride,
Nor do I beg your pardon sir, for love to come in this disguise!
The only sin I have commit is my faith in you (who sold me cheap),
But my hope in you makes my love stronger than your disbelief,
And now you wish to leave me here to turn into a heap of dust?
Oh how I wish I was nothing but a dusty rug,
For I’d rather choose to lay down at your feet and die,
Than to never hear an empty promise or another one of your lies,
Of how you’d take me to this garden to see with mine own eyes,
All of the King’s wonder that he has made you hide,
But now the time has finally come, why do you despise?
And ask all of my desire to go against my desires rise?
How dare you begin to question what is wrong and what is right,
I demand you Gate Keeper, take me to the Garden with you tonight!”

Upon hearing this, the Keeper ceased to think another thought,
Her words of love made him forget his prevailing master’s wrath,
“The King is dead; long live the King for I cannot begin to ponder,
Your words make me forget the fear and furiousness of thunder,
Your greed, your lust, your passion are my tender nourishment,
Woman, you’ll be the death of me! My prize and punishment!
Don’t sell yourself less than your worth – neither Gold nor Iron rust,
You are the ash remaining from this log that burnt into dusty husk.
The King told me I am the seed of Adam and Eve’s love,
He told me that I was created from a smidgen of Himself,
Then why must I be torn between my reason and my lust?
How can I know the truth – that may be love – that which we trust?
Come what may, come with me you Wench,
To the garden we both must rush….!

After these powerful words of truth had been spoken,
It seemed as though a potent spell had been broken,
As he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the castle walls,
An evoked adrenalin enticed and groped them with much force,
It was as though their fears had escaped and eloped,
And they began to run through private gullies and public roads,
Yes, they both ran barefoot and were just partially robed,
Wrapped in rapture for the scent of His Gardens Rose.

The moon shone upon the Keeper’s fine features and his eyes flashed,
The wild wind rushed through the dark tresses of his fair lass,
As our bonny child kept up beside her beaux who ran so fast,
With heels so swift that swam through air like sailors masts…

They blistered through the forests like a swarm of bees,
Bedraggled the fields full of buttercups butterflies and poppies,
But curiously the King’s garden was nowhere to be seen!
And who can blame them if they could not sustain such questing energy,
For no woman or man can remain forever in such a blissful rhapsody
Having pursed His gate for so long and with such a curious ecstasy,
They had run and run until they had run out of hope eventually!

Alas in such a state of frenzy and in such circumstance as these,
They finally lost their breath were overcome with guilt and grief,
They’d gone astray and found the shores of despondent disbelief,
Had reached a halt at despair’s pier but still came no relief.
For they could not believe themselves nor could they conceive,
More plausible it seems sometimes to drown self deceit…

And thus the waves of woe snatched them and drew them in at length,
Until they could not comprehend themselves or this oceanic depth,
That seemed to burst forth from their hearts and out from within their breasts,
And as they sank deeper into what seemed to be their watery death,
They drifted further far apart and deeper into a desolate mesh.
T’was then that she commenced to plea in an appeal of prayer,
To He for whom the bells do ring and bring us to our knees to pray.
“Too the One that engulfs me here in this restless place;
For foolishly following His whim and fancying His grace?
When his Beloveds secrets, my lover refused refrain,
He reclined like Sampson when by Delilah’s hand he slain.
Though He told my lover of the secret garden,
And of what is in each heart of bride and maiden,
He gave him a key but took away his sight,
Took away his strength and all his might,

But now I surrender on to your path and I swear by my lover’s name,
Truly it has been fidelity that has led us to this grief and great dismay,
But it is the King that leads the day to night and ends the night with the light of day.
Through all my sins only You can transpire us into a transcendent phase,
For I am still with my desire for love and a glimpse of my Lovers face,
So reveal my love to me why have you ,
When I can feel him absorbed inside me submerged in his tears?”

And as she prayed her prayers transmit and they had been received,
The keeper in his private lock was struck by her hope and fell at ease,
He found the strength to judge that he maybe drenched in love,
He cried out bellow him and he called up to above,

“Oh my Beloved, no matter how far the distance you’ve voyaged,
Or how long it’s been since the age you drifted far apart,
Oh how I’ve longed your absence since,
Your Soul remains in mine own heart.

Oh dear Beloved, no matter if you own an Empire East,
Nor how you conquered all your Kingdom and Quest,
Oh how I’ve missed your absence since,
Your Soul lingers in mine own breast.

Oh my Beloved wither do you wander,
I wilt away here as I wonder
How long will your journey take?
I still hope for you and wait”

And so they took it upon themselves to search within the boggy place,
For a little glimmer like phosphorous or a glint of phosphorescent glaze,
Yes it was the King, to whom they did sing Halleluiah hymns of praise,
For it was Him, who did them bring, to where lovers go insane,
For here it is here where he intends to keep them immersed in His faith,
For surely He is the expanding sea of all who are His hopeful slaves!

Echo and Narcissus

Dear Sir: To you who it may concern;

Reference: Water Lilly

Should you choose to read about my private affairs,

These are not my secret rhymes these are my lonesome prayers.

The first cut was deeper than this wound you  slashed across my nape,

Now I do bleed within this fire – though I may bleed in muted rage,

Oh how I do wish this bloody ambush would burn me into an early grave.

For when this passion lit up my loins, my soul, my nights, my days,

You remained untouched by music that set my life ablaze!
And since I’ve scoured the earth and seen a thing more than 10×2,

I vouchsafe Sir, to teach you more about the world that’s left me blue.

Though you may insist you know me better – but I may never know you,

But I vouchsafe Sir, I know myself better than you may never know who!

So read on Dear Sir, should you dare to read what I deem to be the truth…

Whilst blasphemy – my biggest sin – transformed me into a saint,

Through heresy I lost my religion – which gave me back my faith.

T’was then that I declared all of my mistakes – confessed all of my disgrace,

T’was then I fell upon my knees – began to weep and pray;

“My dear Lord, if this is what you do desire, then I do except my fate!”

Whilst all the while – you Dear Sir- you did avert your gaze,

You lay by the pond – looked upon yourself – became amazed,

You cried out to the water “Do not despise me in this way,

For I am the only lonely one, whom they all do love in vain!”
Without recognizing this picture of perfection…

Why, you did fall in love with your own reflection,

And ever since, you have become a Water Lilly of self obsession,

I am but your echo or else silent in any other kind of expression,

Yes, I am the master (not of myself) but of my own self destruction,

I have become nothing more than the repercussion of your addiction.
And in my yearning only I know who I am and who I am alone,

For ‘We’ are Two who come as One, but ‘You’ and ‘I’ are on our own.

Though I used to live all by myself before you took me into your home,

Only God knows how I feel when I lay by your side a stranger who is unknown…

(…Alone…Alone…Alone…)

Well maybe loneliness is a gift from God – for who is he, to whom joy is well conveyed?

Or maybe I am lost and loneliness is just my imaginary maze,

And you let me torture myself because we are both stuck in our own ways,

But how long can we forgive each other for the way that you and I behave?
It is this hollow which makes me raise my hands to the sky and cry,

“I beg you dear Lord, tell me when will I be satisfied?

When it’s not your absence but your presence that veils my eyes,

Yes I know he is only human, yet it feels like it’s You, who lives by my side,

But only death can bring us closer so I pray that I may die,

For if my love is near me, then why do I sit here in disguise?”
Should any of the above concern you Dear Sir,

Having read about my private thoughts and learnt about my craze,

Remember I do not share my secret rhymes, I share with you my prayers!

Should you wish to discuss anything further or to throw my love away…

I wish you ten thousand sleepless nights and uneasy days.

Yours Sincerely,

Ms Helplessly Confused and Dazed.

Reference:

http://www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com/pictures/echo-narcissus-1903/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Echo_and_Narcissus

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissus_%28mythology%29

Swimming in a golden Chardonnay Jacuzzi,

Sweetness of sin, maybe the colour of strawberries,

For your lips to as appear they do before me.

As you become intoxicated  through this dazzling glass,

Enchanted Garden, I pray you let this hour pass!

Oh my beauty, bare not all your flesh nor beauty,

For I promise those lips will not be the first or last;

To test and taste my overflowing faith this fast.

Though I shake the chalice – I make it bubble and boil,

This champagne ocean tipples with trouble and toil,

When it sees the Oyster reveal,

Its twenty-nine precious pearls…

Rid me tradition, of your rituals routine glory,

In defence your acceptance exempts me from independence,

Therefore tomorrow will be spent in defiant waste,

Uncertainly for I do repent, my farther and fore did make mistakes

And within the meantime in riots their children were betrayed!

Lamenting is the land its roots and all fruits from human toil,

Silver is the thread of tradition spun to warrant man his share of soil,

And affected are the sons of Adam whose blood must flow after it does boil.

Never does he fear the flash of lightening when it does fall and burn,

Determined by the reason for existence his self he exerts,

This display of pride separates him form his brothers side,

Riots persist the peoples party resists, against all of man’s lies.

Anoint this war traditions cause and man’s decline,

Disbelief or strong belief means nothing to the end of sin or crime,

Inevitably- for I am the seed my father in my mother did sow,

This defiance can never change what of myself I already know,

It is the weight of these airs and graces that I bear with shame,

On and on tradition is spun until better sons I am able to raise,

No, none the wiser am I, that to my boy I will explain,

Selfish desire of my heritage I wish for him to claim.

When the stilt skin giants came out and painted their faces,

The Square filled with creepy clowns, tobacco grime and haters,

Which made poor Alice turn away and run,

Giving credence to the thought that she could evade,

This entire circus which had her dreams betrayed.

Longing for silent tranquillity…

…finally she saw a path, the way to became unseen…

When the seen became peace and reason  turned to obscene…

A glade appeared from beyond the view

And so young Alice entered through to this avenue.

She walked into a forest in multi-colour and bloom

With prickling nettles, fern and fallen trunks,

Where the floral wilderness of spring, sprang and sprung.

As she ran up the hill towards the gate,

To rest under the trees that lend their shade,

A strange force suddenly…A Pull…A Push of Gravity,

Inclined from up above and declined somewhere from beneath!

It was the spirit of the forest who came with a frosty reception,

And pulled her down towards his grave of obsessions…

What could little Alice do but fall further into the deep?

Deeper and deeper she fell for hours…

Until she ached so much and longed to sleep,

She fell and fell and fell but still she found no release,

Neither could she see the piece of the same drunken sky,

That she had fallen from as once she had dreamt…

* * *

* * *

But now to  disbelief – for she has fallen until she has reached,

A thorny bush grown to the size for only butterflies to breeze,

Here is a spiky site – sore for eyes  – a solitary retreat!

- And one that poor little Alice didn’t get to see,

Before she went crashing through it,

  As it tore her flesh, tickling unconscious her soul,

It pulled her in whipped and slashed her more…

So further deep she dived squealing and squirming,

Shrieking as the sharp thistles pierced her skin.

Her white apron corrupted – bearing the stains of blood,

The same colour as the rose-bud that blooms into love,

She blossomed as she fell inside the cruel bush of stabbing barb,

And was crowned with thorns by the Spirit

As Princess Alice soon to be the Queen of Hearts…

Until at last it seemed she  had arrived

At the place she had left behind

And there in between she was trapped

within a landscape of a  sliding hill…

- Below and above a slope of trees

 as she fell further again into the rolling deep…

She sang a song insane,

(And it goes something like,)

“Is this what I suffered and sought for all my  pain,

Where are you my Beloved,

When you are closer than my jugular vein?

I came to this place – I thought you would be here!

But instead why do you bring me to my knees in fear?

Is this how you show your jealousy to an old friend,

 When she has been alone with you and kept it good till no end?

Now if I be your Lover then at least help me to endure the same,

And if I should die in this jungle, then let me die saying your name,

I swear my Love to you and dance upon the thorns in your garden,

Forgive me this,

my frenzied bliss,

fevering pretences ardent!”

Her eyes bulging like big balloons,

she begin to lick her wounds,

A dry mouth panting and body

sweating like a beastly fool,

Like a wise buffoon,

as light as an ant and as loyal as a dog,

She  reached her final end and back against all odds,

She then survived and died survived again a thousand times,

For just one glimpse or a glimmer of the Ghostly Guide,

Who knew she had to sacrifice her pride,

Before dear Alice became again in Loves thorns entwined.

I have reached and climaxed in the final act,

Upon this stage where fiction imitates my life for fact,

I know I am – yet I know – that I am not,

Maybe I am the star the astronomer forgot,

I am the light that burns by the sunlight of day,

And then again at night, when I kneel down to pray;

Yes it is true I spend all of my time alone,

And Yes – I have lost my senses since He left home,

And oh how I would do most anything – Yet I do nothing at all!

How can I occupy my time, with the ways of the vacant?

Who search for freedom, in fickle insignificance?

Who cannot sustain a thought for longer than a second?

Tell me of what they will know, of the pain I have suffered?

Crushing and craving with memories of Him,

When He is further than my finger to the dimple in His chin,

The world is within its boudoir of starry chambers,

Alike all the planets as Earths charming neighbours,

For He whom the Galaxies, the Universe; to Whom I and Love belong…

My obsessions, my sins are neither an atom nor a bomb,

Yet love’s mysteries have been absorbed by my intelligence,

Which persists to test my Freedom, Strength, Reason and Patience.

Each night my friend I travel further than this earth,

To meet my Friend’s soul upon the Astral hearth,

My dear friend, I feel Him near,

And say His name for all the world to hear,

The vibrating air sighs to say, how drunk we both are,

For the universe to have folded and revealed its heart,

For our intoxication to have sought this very far?!

But these ways are not ways of this world,

For all the Drunkards here residing – whom I know,

Are all stingy with the vine they grow,

So it is better to have an absent friend I find,

Preoccupied with things that satisfy their mind,

Yes It is better to have -Than to not have – too tight a hold,

When all your friend’s keep all their door’s firmly closed!

How do you think it weather’s in another’s life,

With days of friends and friends of friends – spend them at your side,

Watching by and by all of recent times and how they fly,

Bid me fare thee well my friend and friends of friends – goodbye and bye!

But before I go tell me good friends – why should I pretend,

When I know where good friendship begins and where it ends?

It is not visible in this invisible world You and I see,

Where You and I are One there is no I in We.

It begins where I end, and You begin again,

When You and I are free – I promise You, We will be friends!

You are nothing like the love I left in Rome,

Who I set free as so far away wild to roam,

I myself, I withered from my Monkey throne,

And wondered in the jungle where hyena’s home.

Now to the truth- if truth be known- still I know too little,

But that my faith is worth dust – neither a farthing nor nickel,

The truth is, sunshine shines, inside my belly,

I feed myself, my love, my lonely Nelly,

I know not the truth, from fact or fiction,

All I know is that I have more than one addiction,

I sum my life, a bag of bones and bugs so lazy,

I slept on my throne, a bed of thorns and daisies,

But still adultery is whatever you bite into your heart,

If your love is dirty, there will be no purity in your art!

Though love is cheap unlike the art of love making -

But if it cracks the hearts of glass

- Who can perfect the art of their heart breaking?

When in this world – this golden lake of nothingness,

I exist in nothing more than God can Bless,

If he created all this bliss and called it nothingness,

Then why much more than this of myself can I express,

Of what I seem to call my God forsaken existence?

For Gods sake, what is Self, and self sacrifice,

When I live not in Me yet my life does suffice?

Then where does the Self draw the line,

Between the Sane and Insanity?

For I love myself, but I know myself – she does not love me!

This curiosity will be the death of my eloquence,

Because the only negligence in this world ,

Is the language of our intelligence!

But please pardon me, as once again I persist…

I am nothing; in nothingness do I exist,

In every passing moment of inertia and bliss,

The empty echo of every passing hour flickers away,

I cannot recall how fast nothing unfolds my days,

And within this gassy concoction of elements,

There again whips the crack- Yes the restraint of my emotions,

Though I try hard not to slip or slack…

Nothing comes from nothing – it’s always tit for tat!

I fight with nothingness to save my pride,

A high price to pay for my life in demise,

With nothing left I realise it’s too late to be free,

My love annihilated my existence before nothingness took me!

Of the dusty husk in the thirsty waters…

But still there comes no rain

As she whispers the name….

….of her dead daughters…

Lost in sweet memories of June,

The Refugee sleeps within her Cocoon

Oh, what a skill in darkness and doom,

And as the souls betwixt neither here nor there,

Like a haunted wind caress and blow a mess her hair,

But when again she does look back at them to stare,

She fears to gaze, the homely graze

The native land that set her loose and bare.

Perpetuity may pass  in her thoughts as he wonders,

How could she have mistook a perfect home for other blunders?

But then when the light will finally break from her heart asunder,

How she will ache to leave this home,

Yet, stay here much, much longer.

Because hope and peril can toil with your pain,

When you regret the ones who leave behind their names…

And even still as the Refugees rain harder on  British land,

Does the memory of English  heritage dry like ashes into sand?

For I know she fools herself it was heart ache

- from the day that land left her man dead!

But her heart is frozen still, as she tries to find the will

…to forgive that land and forget.

“‘Then if He be without aught but His Perfection’s,
Then why did He make me with my Imperfections,
And pray, how doth one apply for Divine Interventions?’

When the essence of existence is sin pray doth tell,
And all in Awe of Lord – end well,
Then let not the fruits of worship go untasted,
But how does on stop food for thought from going wasted?

Detached from the Spirit I connect to this World,
Where every breath of life cries more… More…MORE…
…but then when every pulse of city goes to sleep…
…that is when every poet’s eyes begin to weep….

Become puritan, when impurities become pregnant,
With a lust entitled Murder, Justice or Freedom!
But justice is dead in (America and) England!
When I have to fight, to become an animal with an addiction!

My addictions become, goals, my goals, become my houses,
‘We hope that one day, we may, build Golden Palaces…’

When the greatest sign of Love is a White Marbled Pavilion,
Then what’s worth ‘My Blood, My Religion, or My Opinion?’

Who am I to judge History, Treason or Genius?
When I inflict myself to Masses, Saints, and Trinions?”

]]> http://phosphorescence1001.wordpress.com/2008/04/29/i-want-a-hero/feed/ 0 phosphorescence1001 http://phosphorescence1001.wordpress.com/2008/04/28/his-majestic-voice/ http://phosphorescence1001.wordpress.com/2008/04/28/his-majestic-voice/#comments Mon, 28 Apr 2008 23:07:44 +0000 Najma Hush http://phosphorescence1001.wordpress.com/?p=144 ]]>

Saint David: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David

I heard a voice he sang a sacred tune,
He played the harp and hearts to drunken moon,
He sang so well he pleased the Lord,
Divinity charmed and chimed his chords,
The seventh heavens began to plead and pledge,
A space for this Angel – even the Angels wept!
For this boys soul was so truly blessed,
But the world bewildered with unrest – it detests!
It destroys what it can not unravel, touch or taste.

Voraciously blind he knew not were he crept,
Between the heavens or the streets that bled,
Between white sheets, both crisp and wet,
Where sleeps too close for comfort…
T’was there he slept!

He drowned in Dream Rivers too deep,
And sank before he had time to repent.
Though he did fast and pray a pious Vesta,
The Angels still feared his soul would fester…
…But his voice was like you and I have cried,

Like when you first heard how young Scotty had died,
I hear back then even Old furry sang the blues,
Upon being stricken by the sad and grievous news.
Whilst down and out in Memphis Tennessee,
His voice carried down the river of Mississippi.

But it was just one song I heard him play…

No, I never got to meet him,
But I still felt his pain;
Like when one feels,
When one’s love is lost,
And one with earth like many particles of dust,

Slipping between the fingers of love and lust,
But we all are human, and all humans must rust,
Then all that man is worth is
That in which he trusts.

He trusted no-one, but God and himself,
For no ocean is too deep enough to delve.
And then when the Dark Angel came to draw his breath,
He left this world with nothing, and little regrets,
No, he did not cry for the loss of his life,
For he may have lost a mistress,
But he had gained a wife;

He’d found his home
When he’d gone astray his path,
Upon a drunken evening of lovers past,
But this story doth not end here my friends,

For t’is a true lover’s story and truth hath no end.

Reference:

King David

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David

Jeff Buckley

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeff_Buckley

http://jeffbuckley.com/

So forgive me my Fair Angel Dust,

I fall full of fright and dread,

For all good things must come to an end.

 Sometimes I feel I fear freedom…

For then where would my soul go,

For familiarities contempt to grow?

But then I fear when I feel grounded,

When I begin to fear I feel elated,

I feel I fear for goodness sake,

Maybe I fear for I fear disgrace,

I must confess I fear the human race,

Even the God forsaken rat race,

I feel I have no distinctive part,

I fear Literature, Poetry and even Art,

I fear I might fall out, I fear I may fall in,

I fear I will be kicked in a ready bloody shin,

I fear one day I’ll begin to scream,

When there’s no high hills to climb nor towering trees,

I feel I fear you my God, I feel I fear your World,

I feel I fear nothing but life – For I fear myself alone!