No vertigos and no more spinning please

A heart that’s filled up like being buried alive |
“Occupational hazards” that slowly poison you |

Bruises getting sourer than
an astronaut’s vertigo |
Bruises are left to be unhealed |

Sorry, Doctor! Your medicine isn’t working

Looking so sipped off and drained
Devoid of any humanity’s stain

Thinking of drowning down

the system that’s already dead and down |
We haven’t heard from them longtime and again |
But please let me take a more cautious,

loyal approach to you all over again |
A slow poisoning of carbide, formalin

to finally having pure, clean cyani

dical mayhem… |

No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
Peace with myself at last |
Peace with myself at last |

This is my final epitaph | my choking heartache |

No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more surprises please |

But still what a wonderful feelings I had I remember now |

Such a wonderful heavenly bliss it was |


No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |

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Where is the peace?

Where is the peace?

Where is the calmness?

Where is the patriotism?

Where is the freedom?

Where is the fire?

Where is the hope?

Where is the bravery?

Where is the unconditional love?

Where is the honesty?

Where is the self-cleansing?

Where is the passion?

Where is the salvation of soul?

Where is the enlightenment?

Where is the truth?

Here, colors of rainbow

prettier than anywhere

Here, I see angels shaking hands

say how is it going

Here, human count human

as a human

Here, children can be children

adults can also be children, sometime

O people, people, people

can you see it?

can you feel it?

It’s all inside us!

A Poet’s Epilogue, Monologue Or Soliloquy…

A poet’s mind is like the ever-changing mother earth

Always shaping or taking a new silhouette!

His thoughts must wander

like starting from a water source or a river

But the sea – is it’s destiny –

where it belongs or perishes!

The way you see it through a glass or vice versa…

like a free-falling fountain!!

A poet’s heart is like terra-cott

a or pottery!

it can be seen as a clay hill

the way you mould its heart & soul

is the way that you see it through your mind or vice versa…

like building something unique, ingenious thing

that nobody has ever dared

 to build that way!!

My Delicate Pleasure…

In daily life, I have a propensity to do many usual chores that bring me elation, contentment which I call the little things in life. I would just faint to paint all of them here. I like to trot in the morning; I have no intentions of doing it professionally but for the sake of my prolonged existence, well-being. I like to sprint two miles or so every day. Besides, I like to game on, on a pure entertainment basis. I play both computer & physical games. I am akin to traveling a lot – mainly to out of the ordinary places at home & abroad. The above mentioned things are my outdoor pleasures.

Now, let’s look at my indoor activities. Of all my pleasures, I still like reading most. I always like to read whenever I get the chance to squeeze out some quality time from life! I get fulfillment when I listen to a piece of music or a song. I prefer listening to music to song. I like it most when I sing a song to my soul! I like poetry-recitation especially the poems of Alexander Selkirk, some of T.S Eliot & quite a few of R. Frost but mostly I like to recite my own poems. I get great pleasure when I do something for my own family not necessarily money-wise but by intellectual means! If I am of any help to them, I always try to do that job with utmost concentration, sincerity & honesty.

Well! I do travel occasionally! I am more comfy to be known as a soul-traveler or soul-searching introvert who loves to travel inside the soul!

On a trip to some out-of-the-ordinary places at home & abroad, I discovered a term to describe what I sometimes seek in: flanerie. Googling the term, I learned that it has no precise English equivalent but only suggests aimless strolling through unknown territory. I quote Balzac here ,”To stroll is to vegetate, to flaneur is to live.”

In 19th century Paris, the term flanerie was made popular by poet Baudelaire. It’s been explored by others since. I haven’t absorbed much of that quitely, but from my own maturity, I guess that many a flaneur — despite carrying an aura of detachment — still secretly seeks adventure. If not real, then at least through the eyes of the soul!!!

 

 

                                                    Rashidul Islam © 2009.

 

The Corpse, Its Heart & Soul

You are only interested in my outer shield

But you know – there is a heart indoors

And also a soul – that you do not want to understand

As you always say – Just blame it on the genes!

You have not got the time to look inside your mind

You have not quite got the time to open your essence!

From cradle to the grave,

You always want to own my defense,

You mark it; you name it as you wish it to be

one of your earthly possessions!

But let me clarify this – I am not you or whom that you imagine,

You all blame it on the complexity of the human race,

You even try to knot your mind with mine

whom had I never seen, judged or acknowledged!

Like merely a game, you cut off a piece of my skin

and in a fake philosophical way say

that it is another dimension of mine,

Although I always vehemently deny

that, My soul always wants to pronounce

that – you have made my life agony,

You have made my life busy in a false

way, you have never allowed me to imagine

even about what my heart says – about myself

& God, let alone about my essence;

In this day of perfect climate,

You are stealthily putting my corpse in another cradle,

Anyway, I only want to say that

My shell is all yours, you have all

consumed it! My mind goes with the shell as a bonus gift!

But my soul! That is all

I have got! Got to get away with it!!

Rashidul Islam © 2009.