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Archive for December, 2008

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.

No responses yet

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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Dec 23 2008

The Face of Death

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

What are you, O Death?
Are you the bounty of the unknown?
Or, are you the wisdom of beauty?
When darkness brims over my cup of wine
When twilight follows the shadows of silence
I see you in all colours of days and nights
When the bowl of hunger stokes fire in cry of pains
The frozen mask dismembers all charms
And the streetcar forsakes all desires
You stand by holding your sceptre
Shivering fear and tears melt into the eternal ire
As I see your face painted in veiled mystery
And I know you prophesying the myth of fire of pyre.

Nostalgia of life deepens
Through thick and thin of earthly delights
When I see no light of darkness for a moment’s breath
To rekindle the last wicks of your truth of wisdom.
I know you the unknown of all seasons
As I see you on the heap of beauty of truth
Like the old messiah greeting the pleasures of pains
To uphold the destiny of seven sins and virtues
To the glory of the last testaament of mortal beings.
I know you the inevitable of all smaller things
As I see your face in all splendours of disguises
Fiddling amongst the bones and ashes of ruins
While the empire bears the buren of fear and tears.

O Death! I have seen your face
I know you the unknown of all things
I know you the inevitable of all mortal beings
Yet the quest of long journey gets me nowhere
I come back to you to be born and reborn forever
To know the truth of your beauty
To know the other face of your wisdom
That haunts me to look for your face everywhere.

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Dec 22 2008

Cry My River, Cry

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

Of my prying eyes into something
As ever never there to prospecting anything
Never here to intuiting nothing
The whole river surfing all along
The wafts of butterflying sighs
In waves of crying tears

Cry, river, cry
Cry for me, cry for my mother
My blinking eyes chasing you all along
Prying into the vase of shattering rains
In deluge of deaths unto darkness
Cry for my crying baby
Surfing in a flotilla of its own saliva
Lolling like a grasshopping aqua duct
Into the sagging breasts of the dying valley
Tears of raining waking in empires
Of my beloved smilingly forlorn
As if the delighted light coming close
To the realm of sensing nothing
Whatsoever to remain in defying refuses
Having lost the frozen sanctity
Of uneasy calm in ageing eternity

Cry, river, cry for me
Cry for my smiling mother
Cry for my crying baby
Cry, river, cry for the ageing eternity
To defy the plagues of empire.

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Dec 21 2008

Where Have All The Flowers Gone

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

From time immemorial
How fleshy had been my Mother’s face
in twinkling breezy fragrance
Honeybees giggled in every sunshine
How green was my valley at those times
Frolicking grasshoppers singing lullaby with the butterflies
Caressing my dream in rainbow delight over the sky
And how sweet was my everyday dream leaving the marks of my days and nights
Colours upon colours dancing from flowers to flowers
in rhythmic sways of love and silence, days in and days out
Like a procession of life’s eternal beauty and jay
Like a flight of birds bringing good errands from the yonder wilderness
Where all those birds have gone, where all those flowers gone
As if the ancient rays of wisdom have writhed in withering flicks
Who kissed my Mother’s rosy cheek from God’s spire

Where all those flowers have gone, where all those days gone
When my valleys were green, days were longer than the grey nights
Who loved my valley of green in undulating signs of falling stars
Who charmed my breath and soul in my Mother’s face
in twinkling breezy fragrance days in and days out
Where all those flowers have hidden their faces
in shame and sighs of a selfish giant
in hovering clouds of ensuing darkest seasons
As if the endearing mother has forsaken her world of blessed child
Where has gone my Mother’s twilight delight?

Where all those flowers have gone
Where all those dreams have died in the charming shadows
Flowers were laid strewn in my path to peace and glory
making love in thousand petals with sighs of relief
in moist twilight of drizzling rains from the crying souls
How charming they were in my cherry orchard
How blessings were those days, how brighter those grey nights
always being the truth of beauty and jay for ever
as if the thousand petals have spread their wings over my dreams
How sweet were my dreams at those times
At those times greener was my valley in millions of colours
Flowers blooming and blushing in crowding sunshine
Rivers flowed down my valley of green
Harvest of happiness bloomed in my green pasture
Grazing clouds gathered around the creeping creatures
Voices of colours reborn in thousand flowers
Sounds of tindrum heralding the rise of dawn in my valley
Sweeping sunshine promising the happy return of good harvest
saying all and everything in flowers as ever for ever
colours upon colours worshiping for my Mother’s grace
Where have all those days gone, where all the flowers gone?

When I shook my leg at the hangman’s cry
Mother Gaia’s blessings saved me from grave-digger’s grave
as if to pluck the wonders of the world from the feet of the days and nights
as if to caress the kissing beloved in sighs of happiness
a few drops of rain on smiling dews breaking the womb of the universe
and unborn desires born into the hearts of frolicking flowers
Who flooded over my woes with sage’s voice
Who cared my feelings with the conscience of flowers
If there were no birds to cheer in my tears
if there were no song to sing a lullaby
if there were no flowers to bloom and blush in my days and nights
Who will pluck the wonders of wisdom
who will kiss the feathers of life and death
who will burn the light of eternal fire?

Alas! Those days are out, those nights are no more!
All the flowers have gone to get heaven’s grace for me
All the birds have gone to redeem my dreams
And my dreams remain no more, alas!

Oh, my dear, where have all the flowers gone?
Where have they withered in shame sighs?
Where have they died last time in my cherry orchard?
My Mother knows it all, knows it all
from time immemorial.

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Dec 20 2008

shoot your boots at bush

Published by kayzzaman under Uncategorized Edit This

hey attaboy, how dare you
how you have pulled up the socks
to shoot boots at bush!
the cat has leaped into the tin roof
in fear of blackening his face
the mask has never fallen off the ground -
the mask of gray cloud, bloody boar
which has pulled a long wide bushman’s face
long ago with pitch of dark enmity

let us not stop here, attaboy
let us blacken the whole white empire
with our ageold hatred
it is not the time to love the emperor
to see him naked in spinning yarn
it is time to refresh our ancient memory
it is time to whitewash our black days
it is not the time to forget and forgive
now is the time not to pluck the flowers
now is the time to wage war against war

o attaboy, what have you done
you have moved the earth, shaken the heaven
how dare you, attaboy, how dare you
you have taken a prisoner of conscience
o shoeboy, you have chosen the right face, baby

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