Sometimes

This is sooo beautiful... reading this felt like stepping into a cool shaded room from the heat of the sun... excellent imagery... `dances drunk in the wide, limitless air`... I love that.

Thank you for sharing.

Now this poetry has some intellectual merit.

Aamir:
You make the small world seem large enough to entrap us...and be captured by us.

``Kaunpley phir phoont aaye shaakh par kehna usey
woh na samjha hai na samjheyga magar kehna usey....

Riss rahaa hai khoon lub pe magar hanstey rahe...``

there is a forest in every seed...then why it is that only sometimes the world seems so small?

i like the allusion ``The jagged edges of broken memory /Cutting sharp slits into the soul``. it reminds me of my own piece and thus my inspiration...here`s to being on the same wavelength :)

This is what I think.

Some writing is jagged or stilted, with sharp ends and parts that are slightly malformed, which jut out misshapen. It contains some reason and worth, and can be admired, but it seems at odds, unsettled. It has value, but just feels slightly off balance, either slightly underweight, or slightly overweight.

Some writing is like a stone you pick up from the ground which feels light, even though it is heavy. It feels smooth and correct in your hand, like the pebbles you find beside rivers and streams when they are flowing low; it has gravity and shape and is perfect for what it is. Nothing could be added or taken away, and you keep it in your pocket because you know it is a valuable thing, natural, seamless.

Sometimes you read a poem. It zings about in your head and settles its images and purpose into your brain, and the poet’s eye brings his moment, epiphany or observation to you, and it is a feature of perfection like that river stone, its rhythm is sound. It has PERFECT GRAVITY, and there is nothing to be said or added.

So I won’t say a thing.


-h-

Nice depressing poem Aamir.

Give my regards to naee bhabi. Thanks.

harpo:

;)

Heck, I thought I had understood the poem...but harpreet tells us something profound in three big paras and two cryptic add-on bonus sentences....the last one being, ``So I won`t say a thing``...and then temporal winks at That!

Will the poet please do some moderating here before I forget the purpose of the poem? Aamir, iss baar apun ko thank you-wank you se kaam nahin chalega. Kucchh bhejaa ladaao aur light maaro apna chakaas sher-ber par.

Aamir, a beautiful poem indeed...and sometime that`s all we can do, drunk in the wide limitless air notwithstanding...

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Anuradha, Urstruly, Khadija, rozaiba, Godot, cipram: thank you for your appreciation. I`m truly glad you enjoyed the poem.

harpreet: this isn`t the first time your comment`s possessed greater poetic merit than the actual poem itself. won`t pretend to understand what it means, but knowing you (and your skill as a writer), thank you for being so kind.

t: :o)

Farzana: ok no thanks thanks but i think so the poem, it should be let to speak for itself. as for harpo`s comments, you mean you don`t understand either!

Aamir what is it that you lament with these lines,

``The jagged edges of broken memory

Cutting sharp slits into the soul. ``

somehow these lines mean one thing - nostalgia and we all know what this does...

on the other hand `broken edges of a jagged memory` has a more blood curdling echo which fits in well with the next line allues to the slitting of the soul -

It was good.

Aamir

Nothing has greater merit than your poems mate.

In my convoluted way I was trying to say that your work is natural and contained and is seamless...it is the product of a true poetic sensibility, unlike a lot of poetry you read, which seems stilted and forced.

They are perfect in their weighting and gravity.

The first line of this one is tremendous.

{{Sometimes the world seems so small

You could trap it in a seed.}}

-h-

nice one,but the world which seems so small SOMETIMES is perhaps only at times,one of the`The jagged edges of broken memory,Cutting sharp slits into the soul.`,otherwise its too LARGE tht it fits all the malicious frivolities.

san

I think his toaster blew up in his face in the morning which is why he wrote it.

Aamir: I let the poem speak, now I want you to... this is izzat ka sawaal. And what is this about some toaster blowing in your face? Aakhir iss marz ki dawaa kya hai? Or is it that after reading poems people start hallucinating about the poet`s state of mind? You lucky bloke.

People...

This is why I hate poetry. A silly ode to old underpants can be interpreted as an attack on molvis or a eulogy to a stray dog. A guy writes about his pained toes and everyone else has laughably different things to say about it.

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

...depressing but at the same time uplifting...great stuff as usual, aamir...

good one, aamir :-)

#17 by zeeshanmahmud

surely no one compels you to read poetry if you hate it so much... let those who enjoy and appreciate it do so... there is no need to insult either the author or his readers...

Harpreet: yaara, now that I understand, I`m not just a little embarassed. Really glad you like my work. Thank you.

bharatvaasi, bug, semipreciousme, Sobia: thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.

Farzana: the poem was written during a period of personal sadness. How you choose to read it, though, and what you gain from it, are entirely dependent on you. I just hope it`s good enough to reflect a variety of metaphors, and some insight.

Zeeshan: actually, you`re close. it was about my pet canary running away with the neighbourhood kawwa.

I liked the first two lines and then I started scratching my head to see what the poem was about. Now you say that it is because your canary ran away with your neighbourhood kawwa. Could you please explain the link to a poetically challenged person?

Sometime my pet canary seems so small

When perched next to the neighbouring kawwa

Weeks pass before you notice

That you stopped feeding it seeds

Hungry, silently, it’s tasted the sunlight

Into its rumbling tummy, and now dances

Drunk in the great cage above.

And sometimes, it’s all we can do

To keep reading between the lines

As we frantically make sense of the poem

Off the pages strewn across the ground,

The jagged edges of broken paper cutters

Cutting sharp slits into the soul.


This for the benefit of those who wondered what the connection between the canary and the kawwa was. Enjoy the poem folks don`t dissect it. But seriously dactar babu loved this one and especially the last line (which you notice have not been mutilated in my silly take).

mittar-jee: was going to say that the canary ruse was only a pigment of my imagination until friend Subroto here went ahead and painted a whole, rather wicked, poem out of it. :o)

Subroto: hilarious! thank you . . . by the way you owe me some more stories! (Winnie, if you`re reading this. . .)

Aamir:
Apologies if I ended up baiting you for an explanation. For one who steadfastly believes that words, at least creative words, speak for themselves, it was just one of those silly moments. Blame it on jetlag :)

PS: But the fact that you are the one person on Chowk who contributes only poetry, there is the occasional thought that perhaps an interesting dialogue could be had. Without entering or prying into the ``personal sadness``.

Be well,
F

Dr. Ansari -- sorry for -- ``Weeks pass before you notice`` -- as usual great poem --

btw are you doing rotation in surgery?.....:-)

Hasan sahab: no, I`m not doing a rotation in surgery. But yes, the drudgery is comparable. ;-) Thank you for your kind words.

buhat zaberdast..n thats the true word that

Sometimes the world seems so small

You could trap it in a seed.

gr8 amir ansari...u wrote nicely..