Amir Khusrao

Amir Khusrao was a great mystical sufi poet who was born in India in 1253 and lived until 1325. Here is his Wikipedia Page.

Here is a couplet of his that I particularly enjoy:

Khusrau darya prem ka, ulti wa ki dhaar,
Jo utra so doob gaya, jo dooba so paar.

TRANSLATION

Oh Khusrao, the river of love

Runs in strange directions.

One who jumps into it drowns,

And the one who drowns, gets across.

Smiling For No Reason

Last night at around 1 AM, because of my irregular sleep patterns, I was wide awake once again when I should have been lost in the valley below. I put on some jazz and found some amount of calm. The playlist came then to "My Favourite Things" by John Coltrane and I found myself swaying and smiling for no reason. I picked up a pen and some stuff wrote itself off the waves. I'm not sure I even had any control, other than holding the pen. Coltrane's sax swayed my pen and etched a few random words. As the piece picked up pace I grew a bit too content, and as a result grew restless. I got up and did as many sit-ups I could and then push ups. Working out to John Coltrane, I'm not sure how many people do that...

The poem;

A peace reigns,
Undisturbed by the blood on the knife,
The rhythm of the fan blows till I notice it.


Before I know it, I'm swaying and smiling for no reason. I need to do this more often. If people can kill for no reason, why do we find it so hard to love for no reason?

Nothing At All

There goes the world,
thinking of dirt,
below beyond lies the grave,
the grave of grief and sorrow,
of a life taken by half,
life's,
on a planet not ours,
with a power not theirs,
How long
long long people have,
gone without knowing,
Nothing at all
nothing at all
nothing at all.

Say it to me,
just so that I know its not true,
So that I know its not just me,
My knife says yes,
while my smile doesn't know and,
my heart doesn't tell,
the coffee speaks to me,
in enchanted somnambulistic waves of sweet rhymes
mixed with dark delight
'Oh man you've gone living,
too long knowing,
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all.

Its hard to believe,
that scars ever fade,
'What a queen' cry,
the damned peoples,
whose fathers were
buried with her shit,
now all I see are,
tattooed gangsters,
niggering the matrix,
of pop-culture and,
the white world,
culture thou hast lived,
too long knowing,
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all.

The slide has rusted,
the swing chain now pinches,
my fingers with the past,
and my smile slowly,
fades away as I chance,
upon my happy scar,
the one with the parallel fate,
I taste the gravel, the dust upon the sweet stones
O where has the earth gone?
crying out, I ask the birds,
who look at me with tired eyes,
they're saying,
"Oh man, we've flown too far,
saying,
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all."

Birds and beasts will,
taste the flowers,
but me and you are twisted,
in half-broken shards of plastic glass
riding on euphoric rides of rapid gravity
on pink ponies dressed with fancy lights
and polka dots,
that look at the sun and the moon,
and go round and round,
and round and round,
we go in cosmic circles till,
alas we meet our past,
and our legs find the empty feeling,
to kick the teeth out of the smile,
that destiny grins,
bitter-sweet numbers predict your end,
the mark on your face is bright, glowing,
Its hurt too long,
meaning
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all.

The fires awake from their green embers,
just to burn out and desert this damned land,
they're telling me,
"O man we don't know about you,
but we've burnt too long,
knowing Nothing at all."
©AtBp

Untitled

People will find no solace,

In the virtues they possess,

The sin that lingers on,

Will kill dandelions like the storm,

No life to live,

No love to give,

The original sin, lingers on.

Untitled

Shine with hedonism,

O beautiful love,

there is more to the eye,

than meets the world.

Fire is no substitute,

for food,

but it offers,

a way out for the deathly destitute.

The Fire-House Of Blues

This is going to be my first post of 2008.
..............

THE FIRE-HOUSE OF BLUES

23-24^th January, 2008.

The tears keep calling,

They’re building up on the other side,

Knocking my eyes out,

The curtains can’t block the light.

When one drop does fall, it lets out a deluge,

Through the crevice that it seeps from,

I see the fire house of blues,

I let myself out to dry but am interrupted by the yellow storm.

I walk through the banks of death,

The water too black to flow,

His body lies there stagnant; the only thing moving is the flame, from which he bled,

I turn away from the land of dearth; I feel a thousand hands,

Fire is no substitute for the high and hungry canine.

I look past the trench and find a flag that still finds reason to flutter,

The wind has forgotten, so have the birds,

The dogs that never knew are now waking up to the blur,

A fortress built by the wood, to protect the pantheon inside,

The woods protect as the flames destroy,

The resistance is now fast falling,

The fortress cracks and the deluge escapes from the crevice, a witness to the gore

I can’t see his face anymore,

I squint my eyes to catch a glimpse,

But beneath the destruction the giant has escaped,

To the land of the emerald sky and the sapphire fate,

Maybe one day we’ll all crash into the elements of hate.

The flames fly around, leaving their ember homes,

They kiss and burn all those who doubt their fire,

A river of grief runs in front of me,

A sea of men behind me,

Line up to plunge in the darkness,

One day I will have to take they dive and look at the devils feet.

There were five when I begun,

And now a billion more stare to the sun,

Their feet covered by tar,

Unable to move, their eyes long for the lone gun,

Fire and water, earth and sky.

Ether and life. Rock and Roll,

Reggae and blues, is now my home.

The blood stops at my chest,

Devoid of power, my face is white with spirits,

The hawks over head,

As the greatest element,

That of blood,

Turns to dust,

The colourless heart draped in a saffron gold,

With the green blood flowing through the lives that glowed.

It’s me, my god and my ghost from now on,

The skies of life don’t see seem too bleak to try,

The hawk blocking the sun will find reason to fly,

The sun seems stretched,

The moon seems flawed,

The sky seems close,

Even chickens try to fly,

The fear within me is whether there is a reason to try.

©AtBp

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