Letters: War And World

This letter might be the last one I’ll ever write, for I don’t know if I’ll survive the next day, there has been a heavy fighting going on for the last three days, we’ve lost hundreds of our soldiers, and its far or less the same numbers on the other side. Last night when I was sleeping, I got a dream, there was I, you, dad, brother and everybody else, sitting together having supper, it was so good seeing you yesterday mom, your hair has turned Grey now, and kiddo is getting fat everyday. Life here is not what I thought it would be like, it just goes on and on and on, you just keep counting the days, and if you are good at numbers, you’ll remember which day of the month it is.

Sometimes you feel guilty, you walk across the street with a gun in your hand, and all you see is fear, dread, distress, and anxiety in the people’s eyes. You try going close to them, you feel like explaining them, that you won’t hurt them, then you step back, because you know, they are not going to trust you, your credentials are full of blemishes, and no cream in this world, can help it wiped out.

When I see children in the street playing, and laughing I go in this dreamland of mine, here in my world, no one grows old, no one gets hurt, no one cries, no one beats any body else, there is no competition, there is no suffering, there are no rules, but then again, when I open my eyes, all I see is feets surrounding me, blood dripping on me, and in that shattered moments of my life, I try to reconcile myself, reassure myself, that this will come to an end. Oe day, this will come to an end.

I have made a lot of friends here since I have arrived, they are good, nice boys, some just out of college, some with an ambition in their lives, some just out here for adventure, and some are patriotic towards what they call their mother or father land; it varies among many, people who’ve lost their mother call it mother land, and people who’ve lost their father, call it their father land, and for some its nobody’s land. What do I call it? Huh! I don’t know, I’ve never thought of calling it anything, though I can give what ever name I want, it just didn’t come in my mind.

I want to tell you about this river that flows next to the bunker that I stayed many months ago, this river, it had some mysterious impact on me, some kind of divine I should say, everyday I used to wake up, and would go near this river, I would lay in its womb, and I felt here is someone, far away from my land, which cares about me, which caresses me, even my tears used to vanish in this river, it used to console me in the most distressing time of my life. I always used to think about you, when ever I was near this river, I thought god had made this river only for me, so that I didn’t become weak thinking about you in front of this unknown, unseen enemy that I was fighting day in, and day out.

I have learn’t a lot in this war, learn’t things that I never thought were part of this world, I have seen death walking, rolling, crawling and jumping in every side of this war. Above me, below me, beside me, just everywhere. This world is a broken glass; a big broken glass, some pieces stick together, because they have fallen next to each other, and some don’t because they are far-off. And it is these far-off pieces that quarrel between each other to gain the hold on the smaller pieces of glass, but ironically there is no one, who fights, or who likes to fight to join all the pieces together, because that is ha ha ha impossible. It is impossible not because I am pessimistic, but because it is the reality. Man is a contentious being, always keeps fighting, thats his nature, thats the way he is, thats the way he is made, there is nothing he/she can do about it. But thats not good, right ma. Because that destroys everything which comes in between it. You, me everybody in this world, and I think, willingly or unwillingly we are all part of this game. Oh god, I am becoming a philosopher, probably a mad man.

I am going to sleep now ma, I don’t know where I’ll wake up, this world or the next, heaven or the other side, I always tried to be a good human being, I still think I am one, but there is also another part in me which tells the opposite, God only knows, I don’t. But one thing I do know is, war is bloody, its no good, kills people, innocent and guilty alike. One day you sleep, and when you open your eyes, all you see is Horror, Horror, Horror.

Note: This letter is a combination of words out of my imagination. I have never seen a war except on television, but i can imagine this is what a person feels like.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Middle Earth

I know this place deep some where in the steep jungles,
right in the middle of this earth,
there is serenity, peace, love and all the things that you have only heard about,
there are people here just like us, but they don’t carry no greed, there are no selfish,
or any other thing, that you and I don’t want to be.
What else do I tell you about this place,
there is a river which flows and kisses every street corner,
if you are thirsty, all you have to do is bend your knees,
there are grannies sitting in every lane, serving you whatever you wish.
I know this place deep some where in the steep jungles,
right in middle of this earth,
If you want to see morning you need to open your eyes,
and you want to see night and take a nap, just close your eyes,
You can sit on your dromedaries, walk on the sand dunes,
or you can just sail across the seas; and no fear of sting rays,
you can enjoy the life just like the good old days,
no horror stories, no noise of the highway lorries,
oh god, there is a place deep in the steep jungles, that I know about,
and its right in the middle of this earth.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

School Bell Love

The memory of you my love,
makes me cry out in rain, and arrests me into the oblivion of pain.
Its been so many days that I have seen you,
all I imagined was you, and your lovely smile,
that smile that captured me to you,
that smile which brought daffodils in a drought filled land.
Today you are somewhere far from me,
you are married and you have a kid,
but in those days, we were kids ourselves,
seeing each other, without even knowing it.
I should have told you that I love you,
but I couldn’t, for I thought you didn’t,
I was wrong, yes I was,
but you could’ve told me that you love me,
but I think even you felt the same about me.
Now after so many years,
after so many winters and many more springs,
I saw your child near the same place I first saw you,
here I was searching for the sign of our love;
no sign found,
but all I could see was this kid of yours,
I thought I should hug this kid, which I have done,
I could feel you in him.
The school bells of our school has started ringing again,
I am going away now, far away from you,
away without even meeting you,
because now your are someone’s wife,
I think he loves you more than I do,
and I am sure you are happy.
Happy you be,
I’ll only pray.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Farewell To My Friend

Yesterday morning when I got up,
I found my only friend dead in its tiny bed.
My only friend in this whole world.
Tears rolling down my eyes,
I buried my beloved little friend,
its funeral attended only by me,
because like me, I was the only friend he had.
I don’t know if I’ll see him again,
probably in heaven when I meet the same fate,
or probably in the other place, which I am even frightened to mention.
What a world, what kind of beings,
no one even noticed him dying,
no one even bothered to ask about him,
no one even cared to say, ‘goodbye.’
People die, people are born,
thousands, millions, and billions since god created this world,
but the world moves, no one cares for anyones departure for more than a few days.
But to my friend I write,
take good care now that you are alone,
don’t worry about me,
In winters I’ll clad myself in your warm memories,
and in summer, I’ll lie naked with your moving stories,
oh my friend, take good care now that you are alone,
don’t worry about me,
I’ll fight this world,
and everything that is against me,
but you, you my friend don’t go out in cold weather, or else you’ll fall ill,
now that you are alone, there is no one to take care of you,
so wear warm clothes, eat well, sleep well, take a long walk everyday.
And don’t worry about me,
I am doing well.
Now that you are alone, take good care,
good bye now, my dear friend.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Life And Death

When the day breaks and the sun sets down,
I ask myself am I still alive,
am I still breathing,
am I still capable of living another day.
Everyday, every night, every time when there is a new moon,
every time I see the stars sparking in full magnificence,
I ask myself the same question.
Life and death is so inseparable,
death walks along everywhere you go,
death is a part of life,
death is just another phase of life,
a new beginning, just like a new moon,
but is it as bright and as peaceful as a new moon,
or does it also has the blemishes and heat of the everyday noon,
I don’t know, may be never will,
all I need is a peaceful day,
get up in the morning,
don’t hear no sad news, eat, laugh, talk,
and then in the end go to bed,
and even if I get up dead,
I all need is a peaceful afterlife.
An everlasting,
a never ending.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Good Bye, Michael Jackson

At The World’s End

The shimmering rays of sun eclipsed the white dying moon,
I waked up one early morning,
realising that I had come too far from my home,
all the doors to my return had been closed,
all I could see was some light entering my room from a tiny hole,
I followed it till the last,
until I reached my journey’s end,
there was no way of looking back,
I walked, I jumped, I sailed,
and there I was at last,
for I knew there is a hope even in a dead man’s rope.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Something Of My Own

I know that I am an unknown,
but don’t take away from me the known.
I walk amidst people unnoticed,
but just don’t leave my body to rot, if I am found dead.
People might scorn at my face, for what I am,
but don’t paint my face that I don’t recognize myself.
I cloth myself in full,
so that nothing can pale my brightened skin,
but don’t skin me out when I am asleep,
because I don’t want people to run away to see a mortal body with bloody bones.
I have tried to explain myself about this rancour world,
but its hard to convince even if its your own soul.
Today I am here, about tomorrow I am not so sure,
who knows what would happen, I am no Nostradamus,
I am no soothsayer, wandering and telling people about their coming days,
let me be who am I,
I am, though unknown,
I am something of my own.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Note: The above image is a stencil work by Banksy.

Where Is The Poet?

Where is the poet?
Where is the poet?
Sometimes he is sleeping without taking rest,
sometimes he is walking without getting stressed,
sometimes he opens his eyes and sees nothing,
sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines everything.

Where is the poet?
Where is the poet?
He longs for the love he knows he’ll never get,
he’s captured and put to test in the capital of Tibet,
he cries out of pain, even though he knows everyones deaf,
he turns page after page, though there is nothing left.

Where is the poet?
Where is the poet?
He’s on the mountain of quagmire,
suffering from insomnia, he sees on him, only cannon fire.
He thinks of jumping and running away from it,
but there is no way he can find his liberty chit.

Where is the poet?
Where is the poet?
His wounds seems to be very deep,
his compound of happiness is in a paradoxical sleep,
his eyes weary, his ruffled hair muffles dreary,
yet he walks everyday in the green landscape prairie.
My friend,
here is the poet,
here is the poet.

© Shaik Zakeer Hussain 2009

Poetic Picture 1

I am a Rolling Stone