A rainless window and I
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
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
WIDGETIZE
Kimberly # 25. June 2009, 01:12
B. Mazumder # 25. June 2009, 01:15
Anonymous # 25. June 2009, 14:03
I commented on this in the poetry forum. I've only read it three times thus far but it gets better - and even more new, somehow - each time. Show this to everyone you love - or even merely like!
B. Mazumder # 25. June 2009, 16:09
It's an honor to know my poem is worth reading thrice! Thanks. Really.
AND i feel honored to have a reader like you.
Anonymous # 11. July 2009, 16:53
amar kase beshi bosssssssssssssssssss lagse.tor kobita porte porte most of the tym eta hoi j ami oi duniyai chole jai.tui parosh.kobita otota bujhi na.but eta bossss.
B. Mazumder # 11. July 2009, 16:59
Anonymous # 12. July 2009, 01:32
Anonymous # 12. July 2009, 01:31
Anonymous writes:
It's high time that you got married!
the poem is nicely worded and revolves around a semi-romantic-spiritual theme!
mazHur
B. Mazumder # 12. July 2009, 08:36
Why why why why why WHY in the wise wide world?!
Kimberly # 12. July 2009, 09:11
Anonymous # 12. July 2009, 13:02
Wow! I must say. wat a poem! u may try publishing it somewhere, for instance, "Rising Star", so that u can it with others.
B. Mazumder # 13. July 2009, 04:22
Anonymous # 13. July 2009, 09:13
wow. i loved reading this. i always knew that you were brilliant with words and this piece of poem certainly does reflect that. brilliant! keep writing!
Fahima Al Farabi # 19. July 2009, 14:49
Bhalo thakis.
B. Mazumder # 19. July 2009, 15:42
Special note to kobi farabi: I want you to read Between Drops, I know you'll be able to appreciate it. That one gave me the kind of satisfaction I look for after writing a poem. Ei blog ei pabi.
Thanks bole choto korbo na. Bhalo thak.
Fahima Al Farabi # 20. July 2009, 15:50
B. Mazumder # 21. July 2009, 17:56
Fahima Al Farabi # 23. July 2009, 13:25
B. Mazumder # 23. July 2009, 14:18
Fahima Al Farabi # 23. July 2009, 16:19
B. Mazumder # 24. July 2009, 06:52
Fahima Al Farabi # 27. July 2009, 08:06
B. Mazumder # 27. July 2009, 15:14
And yes, life is ironic!