Various Poems

Unwilling Now!
I have put my heart on a leash.
It can`t get away, no matter how hard it tries.
Being tied up for so long, poor thing has gotten used to being alone.
It has suffered so many times, seen various seasons, nonchalantly.
Drop dead romantic as it was once but no more.
It has been played by, laughed upon, but it has always cried.
Through the trials and tribulations it learned...
It learned to live on its own, alone and deprived.
Now it cringes from the sight of love.
Sometimes it laughs and sometimes it cries and bleeds.
And at times it doesn`t understand what real life means.
It dreams and makes sandcastles on a stormy beach.
Not a little light of love buried in a dungeon`s cell.
Yet at other times it`s cold and doesn`t come under the spell.
Wolfs barge in every now and then and scratch the wounds.
They bleed again and heal after a short while.
My heart has learned a filthy lesson.
Now is free to go anywhere, but it doesn`t and I wonder why?
I think I am all it has amounted, don`t need love ever more.
From ``My Life , My Love``
By Ali KC (1983-XxXx)

Dearest Aamir :

What a great blend from the wide spectrum of `feelings` .....

Don`t laugh, but Home (How To Make One) reminded me of Martha Stewart .... lol ....

Loved simplicity, and dreams ....
Dreams took me down memory lane ..... when my toddler who was a very picky eater then, would leave his ` last niwalla ` i would say to him .... ` yeh becharra roi`eye ga `.... yes vegetables have feelings :)


You`ll make a great tabeeb !!

Lots of love ,
sa:)

Chowk-staff: this is a nice surprise. Thank you for being so kind.

Ana: thanks! Glad you liked them. As Chowkstaff mentioned these are old poems written a while ago. Actually, I wrote Purgatory on the plane back from TO last year and there`s an interesting anecdote associated with it.
Whenever I`m travelling, or moving through airports, I always have a whole lot of ideas buzzing through my head. Maybe it`s the perception of displacement or all those different travellers from all over the world opening up worlds of possibilities or whatever; it`s busy up there! So when I get on to the plane I take the (barf)bag they put in the pouch in front of you and jot down whatever I`m thinking. So anyways, I got on the plane and having settled into my seat, pulled out the bag and started scrawling all over, oblivious to my neighbour. Shortly, the man got up and pulled out a writing pad from his bags and handed it to me to write on. He said his name was Joseph and that he always had ideas at the most unusual places so he carried this pad with him. I introduced myself and mentioned that I was a medical student. ``Oh you`re a doctor then?``
``Well, yes, I suppose.`` ``Do you know what a Dupuytren`s contracture is?`` ``Yes.`` ``Ok, Dr Ansari, what`s special about the surgery performed for a Dupuytren`s contracture?`` I didn`t know and told him so. ``It`s the only orthopedic procedure in which they perform both a fasciotomy and a fasciectomy. Here look,`` and he showed me his hands, which had been operated on for the contracture. ``They often call me in, to sit in exams for doctors!``
Joseph was (is) a remarkable man. He spoke of his travels (he`d been around the world and was particularly fond of sailing) and his cooking (if you were given a choice of ten people to ask to dinner one night, who would you ask?) and of course, poetry. He was extraordinarily well read and, well, was just such a pleasure to talk to.
One thing I`ll never forget: when we landed at Dubai, he told me that even though he was an atheist, and didn`t generally believe in God, the distance we had just covered from Toronto all the way to Dubai, was huge and that we had done it so safely, it meant something. I saw him genuflect solemnly to himself.

roz: muchos gracias. Btw, Arain? Conspiracy? What are you talking man?

hamid sahab: as Bob Dylan says, ``baby, you got no brains to hide.`` I`d be useless on that comittee. Thanks anyways.

temporal: dhaniyavaad, shastri-ji! Aaj kal ik kathin samasya ke main uljha hua hoon; kripya praathna kariya ga.

aamir, enjoyed reading your poems...especially liked `dreams` and `home`!

t: if onions could chowk? heh :) roz and you can enjoy watching your onions `chowk` and fall in love..i`ll stick to eating mine..gobble gobble

That was a whiff of fresh fragrant air in this noisy cocophony of strong positions and beliefs on Chowk.

Your poetry really sets a scene where the rain drops are falling from a leaf on by one. It is quiet and cool. Light misty breeze shaking the new buds. One has a low blood pressure and is at peace with oneslf.

Just a thought - are there any ``Gay`` onions?

Aamir - pls forgive me if I dont comment on your poetry. Kya karen poetry goes over my head but your story to Ana is what makes coming to chowk worthwhile.
maybe someday poems will make sense.

sobia:


Baagh Main Hungami Ijlaas

aao bachcho bagh chalaiN, baagh chalian
kuch ghoomaiN, ga’aiN aur tafrih karaiN
arey wahaN dekho woh shore kaisa?
bhindi bhee hay, baigun bhee, pyaz bhee
sabziyouN ka mushaira ho goya
sub ko yehi rog thaa kay yeh aadmi
bhook ko apni mitanay kay lyay
ain aalam-e-shabab main oonki jaan
aag say, kabhi oobaltay paani say
aur kabhi kachcha hee khaa jatay haiN
yeh mard-aurat zaat dil walay kahaaN
gar dil hota to hassaaas na hotay?
srif pait ki bhook hay meh`wur inka
jaaNwar kha’aye aur sabzi phul kha’aye
kabhi tou aadmi aadmi ko kha’aye!

sabziyouN ki yeh katha`aiN sunn kar
meh-we hairaan raha buhat daire tuk
laikin jub ghalba bhook ka hu’a
kabaab kay saath pyaz bhee kha gaya!

...t


ps: bspnd away from familiar haunts (and of course focused shopping;))

Aamir: the mithais in my system will make me say things far too sweet for you to digest :) I do need a doc, though...haan, again...

Eik aur baat....kripya karke aap Hindi mein bolney ka prayatna mat kariye, woh bhi temporal ke saath jinka gyan iss kathin bhaasha ke baare mein aur bhi kum hai :)

For the first time I have seen a barf bag that could be potentially misused so blatantly...I mean suppose there was a shortage of bags and someone needed it urgently and you being a good soul offered the one scrawled with your words...and then someone goes puke-puke into it?? Kitnee tauheen hotee lafsaun ki....okok...antibios ka kamaal, so pliss escoos....you know what I would have said about the poems na?

nazarhayatkhan:
Don`t know about onions, but peas are definitely gay...all in one pod, eik ke peechey eik...btw, any specific reason for the query. Just curious.

ferzi:
LOL. tum bhi kamaal ki batein karti ho...ek dum chikaaas!

ik roz kya hua
lagi thi bhook be inteha
bas chohla diya jala
tha pateeli meiN na pyaz, na ghee, na chicken
yaani thi khali
aisay meiN ik churi ki pyasi nigah neiN
dekha jo pyaz ko
jo paRa hua tha pateeli ke aass pass
chuRi ka pyar dekh kay ghabra gaya pyaz
patti patti kaamp uthi
adrak say yeh na dekha gaya
aankh moond li
mirchaiN bhi ro paReN
ab bhi kitchen meiN hoti hae jalfrezi jab tayyar
ro ro kay pyaz duhai deta hae baar baar
qat`l peh aamada say kabhi na karna pyar