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Jan 09 2009

Sabina, A Whore Who Sells Herself

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

Sabina her name
Her man had written off her fortune
Leaving his last will for her to swallow her own days in nights
All alone wandering her long nights to sell her wares
Her only wares of bulging flesh and fading beuty to longing eyes
And sweating bloods in shadows of big men in dark disguise
Nobody knows whether her own man is dead or alive
In this world of filthy riches and sacred sermons
But this unkind world of hers has its way of impeaching her
Of her body of dignity falling flat over the lost sky in shame
And in despair her hungry body taking refuge in the arms of her big men.

Who sells her a morsel of rice?
Who sells sagging her breasts for her only daughter?
Her days are always in quest of nights for her big men
They all come hungry of slaughters’ gaze
Of cardinal lusts and ordinal pleasure of wolves’ prey
An easy prey as always it is in the whorehouse of freedom
She frees herself so dearly, unrepented and unsmattering
As if the nights are her long day closing its wings
Falling head over heel in eagles’ love
Of unrequited sinner more sinned than the God’s gospels
She cares not knowing the pristine flesh putrefying
And blood blowing cold over the hill of her ageing ages.

She sells herself her only freedom
She sells her one and only right to die anytime
She sells her all and everything not to shy anymore
She sells her body only ageing to die
For her only love to feed her breast in a lullaby
As she kisses her smiling crying herself on the sly.

And for her life goes on and on
In the whorehouse of freedom for an eternity
And the days diminishing in nights of darkness at noon
As she lives as long as her bulging flesh spells the slaughter’s gaze
And her nights pay her a bowl of frothing rice
To feed her breast to her only love to pray for none in her lullaby.

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Jan 07 2009

A Face Among The Woods

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

A small face
Of somebody
I have seen
Somewhere else
Wrinkling in space
Of curved time
Among the woods
In bonfire

As time shrinks
Wrinkling and bending
Over the unassuming face
I see the curved space
Smiling in fuzzy wrinkles
Receding back and forth
Wayfaring hardly
Into my indexing eyes
To celebrate the bonfire
Among the woods

And I see the defaced space
Hiding in shy of time
And here it ends once
And for all to see all at once
The reign of time closing
In on the sapphire blue
Of the imperial space
Curved inwardly
Into the womb of the bonfire

Outwardly in vain glory
Of the empire
Reigning in the jungle
Of woods on fire
In spaces of ruing time
Whizzing past
The defaced semblance
That I had seen once
In semlance of sureal dream.

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Jan 03 2009

Walking Into The Woods

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

Into the woods
Of darkness submerged
Fiery embers floating in gossamer
Deep into the wombs of rustling leaves
Fireflies in sparkling darkness
Spilling sweats of blood across my long walk
Into the crosswind of lapsing moments

How much length of moments
I have walked into the rustling leaves
Rustling leaves that lapse in my moments
Of last will breathing in gossamer of my wind
How many times I have counted my years
In days and nights into the fiery woods
The prairie fire never extinguishing
My passion for a long worldly wise walk
In quest of a hermit’s wisdom
Into the deep woods of turning end
That rustles in my walking shadows
In the twilight of the frolicking fireflies

So many times I have thought
To leave behind all my wisdom in my lifeline
And so many times I have asked of myself
Whether I am yet out of the woods
Or still into the woods in my long walk
Forgetting the denied course of justice as ever.

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Jan 01 2009

Sabina, A Whore Who Sells Herself

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

Sabina her name
Her man had written off her fortune
Leaving his last will for her to swallow her own days in nights
All alone wandering her long nights to sell her wares
Her only wares of bulging flesh and fading beuty to longing eyes
And sweating bloods in shadows of big men in dark disguise
Nobody knows whether her own man is dead or alive
In this world of filthy riches and sacred sermons
But this unkind world of hers has its way of impeaching her
Of her body of dignity falling flat over the lost sky in shame
And in despair her hungry body taking refuge in the arms of her big men.

Who sells her a morsel of rice?
Who sells sagging her breasts for her only daughter?
Her days are always in quest of nights for her big men
They all come hungry of slaughters’ gaze
Of cardinal lusts and ordinal pleasure of wolves’ prey
An easy prey as always it is in the whorehouse of freedom
She frees herself so dearly, unrepented and unsmattering
As if the nights are her long day closing its wings
Falling head over heel in eagles’ love
Of unrequited sinner more sinned than the God’s gospels
She cares not knowing the pristine flesh putrefying
And blood blowing cold over the hill of her ageing ages.

She sells herself her only freedom
She sells her one and only right to die anytime
She sells her all and everything not to shy anymore
She sells her body only ageing to die
For her only love to feed her breast in a lullaby
As she kisses her smiling crying herself on the sly.

And for her life goes on and on
In the whorehouse of freedom for an eternity
And the days diminishing in nights of darkness at noon
As she lives as long as her bulging flesh spells the slaughter’s gaze
And her nights pay her a bowl of frothing rice
To feed her breast to her only love to pray for none in her lullaby.

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Dec 31 2008

All For Her

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

All for her
It is all too near
Vastness meeting the depth of the sky
In chiroscura of life and death
It is all for her
The beginning is yet to begin
And the end comes to an end
Gracefully
Far too near the rising sun
It is all for her that nothing lapses
In twinkling delight of sombre darkness
Flashing moments passing slowly by
Space creating a niche
For her abiding soulfulness
In the seventh heaven
Of cries and whisper
In lilting colours and jilting desire
It is only for her
To disbelieve the belief of nowhereness.

Apocalypse now or never
Like rhythmic desire it soars high
Like smelling solace it dissolves
In mystic rhapsody
For her it is eternity for ever
To overcome the instinctive sins
Of the seventh seal
Far from the madding clouds
Too near to the earthly creatures
It coasts along the valley
Of death, desire and melancholy
And nothingness to wholeness
Of the universal design
Nothing to extinguish her
Nothing to throttle her soprnic psalms
As if it is all too clear in lapses of moments
For her to decide the way
To the way of life’s eternal journey
The journey that ends nowhere
And that begins at the end ancient deluge.

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Dec 28 2008

Someday, Of Some Truths and Lies

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

Someday
It is nothing
In a sub-zero point
Baring its breath
Like a grizzly bear
In sweltering summer
Someday it is all
For nothing
For a gruelling love
Fizzling out
In crystalline truth
Committing nothing
To the surreal surprise

The truth
Elusive as the firefly
Metamorphosing
Into a shadow
Of a crusader
Like the grasshopper
In a daze
Of all suspenses

A beacon of light
Proliferating
On the precipice
Of the Bastille castle
In prolific chaos
Of suspended freedom
As if to carry home
The cruelty
Of truths and lies
In diurnal reality
Chopping and changing
Into something
Never
To be smiling
Upon nothing
Short of a straighter face

Someday it is all chaos
Truths belittling truths
Of all jejune lies
To carry home
The cruelty
Of dueling love
Something for nothing
Someday
It is all like
What happens
To be wordless
Existence
Metamorphosing
Everything
Into nothing
And nothingness

Someday
It is like saying
Nothing
And no one seems
To be the truth
Of anything
In a metamorphosis
Of truths into lies.

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Dec 27 2008

A Thing You Love To Hate!

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

That was like Holy Roman Empire - metaphorically neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire in essence. And there was no Gibbon to tell the world the truth of the rise and fall of Soviet Empire. The Soviet Empire collapsed under its burdens of unholy catastrophes that had inflicted the communistic system since it very inception as a prodigal son giving way to its unceremonious fall from the utopian heaven. And the very utopia remained as it was to be. Whatever was to happen to the Soviet system was destined to happen in the long rThe problem is that communists never listen to the voices of wisdom of others nor they dare to bare their hearts to others. As if they are the messiahs of their own fate. Yet they never get wiser as they do not have the right kind of ideological flexibility to see the light in truer wisdom. The lack of flexibility of listening to others or of learning from the mistakes in democratic persuasions gives rise to a kind of theocratic resoluteness which is historically the leitmotif of fascistic trends of authoritarian rule - kind of muzzling and usurping the people’s voices with resounding power over the democratic norms and practices.

And in equal measure the communist regime stemmed the flow of libertarian politics of equality and humanity. Equality is supposed to be the mainstay of the political philosophy of communism which is sweet nothings without the democratic coverage over the various cross sections of the people. Matter-of-factly speaking, democracy is nothing if political power is not duly distributed among the people. That was why Trotsky said that “Communism needs democracy like the human body needs oxygen.” Marx too vouched for democracy as a way to communism. Shunning the way of democracy, idealistic concept of ‘democratic centralism’ in favour of ‘proletarian dictatorship’ was practised by the Leninist school of communism.

The concept of ‘democratic centralism’ vis-à-vis ‘proletarian dictatorship’ became the de facto fulcrum of an aggressively centralised power of a single-party government where fewer and fewer people have any say in the decision-making policies - both in the government and economic productivity. As like a reductio ad absurdum, ‘democratic centralism’ turned out to be the be all and end all of partisan politics of a single-party mandate. So in ‘democratic centralism’, there is no democracy but centralism and in ‘proletarian dictatorship’, there is only dictatorship of the single-party mandate.

Rosa Luxemberg vehemently criticised Lenin’s single party theory which in the long run created a monolithic cultural ethos blocking all avenues of plurality. Lack of plurality is a divine way to political dictatorship and despotism followed in the Stalinist era and later in Mao’s China. Mao talked big of thousand flowers blooming but that never bloomed in terms of collective bargaining practices applied to everyday life. The basic essence of union philosophy is bound to fizzle out if the essence of plurality is at a stake from a broad spectrum of democracy and human values.

Monolithicity never allows diversity to excel in unity of people. The grand idea of all men being equal and of equal worth cannot trespass the individual ambitions and creative faculties lock, stock and barrel and it does not mean that rights to freedom of being ‘unequal’ should be kept in abeyance in the name being ‘equal’ amongst the equals - this cannot hold good in reductive reasons of ‘democratic centralism’ under the aegies of so-called ‘proletarian dictatorship’. conniving at the potential danger of some people being ‘more equals’ than the others. Who are those ‘more equals’? The ‘more equals’ are those people who have some axe to grind in the communistic system itself. History points to that very conspicuously.

Moreover, all these ideas taken together incorporate all inclusive social engineering that implicitly says that all ideas and behaviours have exclusively equal merits and as such all doctrines of indidualism and divergent views are set aside for a supposedly collective interests. But have collective interests been meted out measure for measure? The pet idea of collective interests are sacrificed when it intends to serve the interests of an oligarchy which is a chosen few - the chosen few are always at a hierarchical position to dictate power from top to below without furthering the cause of the collective. The collective remains as faceless as ever bellowing the clichés propounded by the oligarchy of chosen few who are over and above the collective.

The collective as it were are the others taking royalty and giving loyalty unequivocally for a historically determined society. But how and why is it historically determined? Is the course of human progression historically determined? If it is so, then the evolutionary theory could be nothing but a coincidence of historical metaphor and a repetition of history itself albeit more of functional nuances. Evolution of humankind may have some merits as historical facts but in no way it is historically pre-ordained, rather it is struggle for existence that has chartered the way of human progression - man (homo sapiens) has become Homo economicus (economic man) from Homo faver (labouring man) through protracted struggle for existence - a regenerative case of being to becoming.

Being to becoming cannot be historically determined. When Marx said that capitalist society would become communist via socialism, he merely used it most metaphorically, on good faith and all of a sudden. But in communist officialdom, historical determinism has assumed such a dizzying proportion that everywhere in their protocol and manifesto it is used ad nauseum to camouflage their authoritarian design. And Marx was never conscious of that authoritarian design. But he had to realise it afterwards when he sarcastically said, “Thank God, I am not a Marxist!” And Marxist he never was.

Communism as envisioned by Karl Marx philosophically a libertarian and humanitarian idea. It is a political philosophy that can show the humanity the way to liberty with bread and butter. But Marx made some basic flaws while he conceptualised his theory. He assessed the mankind more in a materialistic worldviews. The materialistic worldviews provokes to see the world of men juxtaposed amongst natural consequences and worldly weal and woes merely in a mechanistic parlance where the subtle nuances between man and matter dissolve altogether for nothing. On the premises of materialistic worldviews lie the problems of communism. And basing on this premise, later exponents of Marxism dare to vulgarise the concepts of communism to such an extent that capitalism with all its malevolent designs get the chance to settle the scores with human cries and whispers.

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Dec 26 2008

Who Is God?

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

(I am not a religious person and I do not believe in God. Keeping these views in mind, I have written quite a few number of poems on God and religion. This is one such.)

Who is God?
Asks the dead ghost
Beheaded
In mystic guise
Darkly
As if to brave
The howling wind
The macabre shadow
Walks past the archangel
Unknowingly
In sombre disguise.

The shadow asks
The bemused archangel
Where is to find the Almighty
In sight of God?
The dead old shadow
Of the ghost
Resurrected never
To be wise more
Eyelids hoisted high
In Nirvana mudra
Unknowingly
Up upon
The left and right
Of the seventh heaven.

The bemused God
High and dry
Leaves his home and hearth
Praying to the unknown
Unknowingly
To save his face
From the hiding archangel.

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Dec 26 2008

Who Is God?

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

(I am not a religious person and I do not believe in God. Keeping these views in mind, I have written quite a few number of poems on God and religion. This is one such.)

Who is God?
Asks the dead ghost
Beheaded
In mystic guise
Darkly
As if to brave
The howling wind
The macabre shadow
Walks past the archangel
Unknowingly
In sombre disguise.

The shadow asks
The bemused archangel
Where is to find the Almighty
In sight of God?
The dead old shadow
Of the ghost
Resurrected never
To be wise more
Eyelids hoisted high
In Nirvana mudra
Unknowingly
Up upon
The left and right
Of the seventh heaven.

The bemused God
High and dry
Leaves his home and hearth
Praying to the unknown
Unknowingly
To save his face
From the hiding archangel.

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Dec 25 2008

Are You Home, Jesus?

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

Alone in the graying daekness
Are you home swelling merry in welling eyes
Just to bless the purple feathers
Not spelling more doom for the all fluttering souls?

Out of the window
Into the unwatching darkness
I see you, your very face
Not more than a just straight human life
Strangled and crucified, unarmed
In booming light of the last supper in the Holy Grail
The crossbone faces of Judas
Grimacing you and all in lethal wizardry
Undoing the light left undone by you

Let me give you words
I will sing merry in welling eyes, too
I will wear my demasked faces
In dashing light, yet unborn to measure you
To unburn the unholy marble embers
Of graying darkness, thickening through the winds
In macabre peace of violence, oh my Jesus

Let there be light, Jesus
Let there be true light in darkness
Are you listening, oh my Jesus
Are you home? Are you listening?

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