STICKY POST
Tuesday, 30. October 2007, 20:23:45
W E L C O M E
This blog is maintained --though not on a regular basis-- for saving my almost-poems, farrago-articles, and sometimes just gibberish-about-nothing-in-particular!
Hope you enjoy it.
Scroll down to see the most recent posts.
Thursday, 25. June 2009, 01:10:20
A rainless window. And I,
indifferent, parsed the night,
absently twined the wind at ease
between my fingers tracing
the city silhouettes. Contoured
a new night in this newfound
canvas.
Wings
of dormant birds are beating low.
The mind is slow.
The speed of this hand
perpetual in its want to wipe off
the sacrilege of far-off neon-lights--
surly outlanders of the night.
With the wind the voice
of a waif whose night it is
comes in a slow, broken song.
I know the child, I know
the passerby who cut him off.
I know the city’s skyline divides
the night,
this night I don’t know, can’t remember.
It must rain tonight.
For me to write it must.
Wash this window off its obscenities,
off the cities and off their lights
of filths, and flashes, and flames.
Where is the love in this?
Where are the Persian poets
of love? One can only wake up
in muslin mornings and feel Hafez gaze
at a similar silken air,
twining the same wind
in knowing fingers.
And mornings become
of memories of tombstones…
you, who is cast away
from man and sanctioned company
you, who here must assay
Love: this be your sanctuary.
And it must rain this dawn.
For me to live it must.
The city must hang
in the camera obscura,
the moon a mere fresco
in a moonspurned room.
- Symphony[/ALIGN=]
Monday, 1. June 2009, 18:49:41
I havent ever faced plagiarism of THIS level and at THIS rate!
Please take some time to read this post and curse that blasted site (mentioned in the post below):
http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=44455
Since I havent written/posted much lately, only 1-2 of my poems have been copied (though it hurts to say "only" since all my poems are equally precious to me if not to anyone else, but most LitNet poets are confronting a much bigger horror unfortunately). But these people who post in LitNet are all respectable writers and I admire all their poems as they are outstanding in their quality and eloquence. The horrifying thing is that the admin of that site who has this plagiarising user (it looks like the user's just an rss) is not co-operating at all and it doesnt look like he is at all bothered, they actually seem to be enjoying this since their site has an increased amount of views now that this issue came up!
The kid in me is shouting out loud- "it's a BAD BAD world out there!"
Symphony
Tuesday, 12. May 2009, 07:13:48
When you think of it for a long time it really is funny. Funny how at the end of the day you are left with none but yourself in that greyly evening rain. No one to wait for, no one to blame, not even a whit of tear in your cheeks to prove the agony inside. Just the funny feeling. The touch of a sneer in your lips. Just the overwhelming solitude. Just you and your shamed, sneered-at, self. Funny how you are the reason the evening is grey and the dreams green and the eyes black. Funny how we all are reasons for our own evening rains. The evenings go in “just-another” dreams that never came true. And you are left with the heavy guilt of having ever dreamt such dreams.
And it is only at the end of the rain, at the first gold touch of twilight, that you see. The angels never come.
Symphony
11 May, '09
Wednesday, 29. April 2009, 17:08:40
I have started taking classes on french basics. Unfortunately I wont have the time to go for the classes once this A-1 level is over, but still I want to get the slightest taste of the language. So please, if you speak french or just know an interesting word, be kind to drop a word or two with the meaning! That way I'll learn a word, and as I've always said- a word's a world!
Symphony
P.S.
And hey, i'm just a beginner, so if you write in french, please remember to give the english translation too!
Thursday, 23. April 2009, 19:01:52
summer, summer of minds, poem, thoughts
This morning the mornings awoke--
up again with their tangerine suns they’re here.
Suddenly the summer’s in my bones--
a tint of red, a hint of gold
the days of mangoes and punctuated green
the smell of flowers through metal labyrinths
the summer of minds and juice-a-holic tongues.
This morning the poetry returned
for you touched the brim with salt and said
it makes a Turkish swig.Symphony
23 April 'o9
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