Tag: tribute

• Desert of Solitude

  In this desert of solitude, quivers
  The shadow of your voice,
  The chimera of your touch
  
  A warm breeze rises over the horizon,
  Lifting the dunes into the sky,
  As though God himself turned back the sands of time.
  
  Enveloped in this blanket, my love,
  The burning sun of distance between us, is a mere candle,
  Spilling into dusk’s horizon, akin to a toppled chalice.
  
  Although the chalice has long since dried,
  It is as though the intoxication of our first union has reignited the barren sky,
  And the fireflies are dancing once again.
  
  Such is the fragrance of your memory,
  Sweet jasmine on these winds of solitude.

  This was my interpretation inspired by the Urdu poem: Dasht-e-tanhaayi by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

  May 9, 2024

  grief, hope, longing, Memories, nostalgia, poem, poetry, tribute

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• In time

  The following poem is a tribute to my grandmother, who I unfortunately only got to meet once in my life because she lived in Burma and it was nearly impossible at the time to visit. She passed before I could meet her again..

  Eyes on the departure board
  Tripping on the uneven curb
  Kicked up dust ambles into amber hues of sunset
  It hits me
  As unexpected as the last time
  Yet familiar
  The same swell of feelings, teasing each other, daring each other to unleash all they remember
  In that plume of dust, the curb vanishes
  The phone in my hand morphs into a tattered passport
  The train station dissolves in a blink and I’m now seated, looking over my shoulder at a hazy figure, gradually diminishing from view
  Sweating in the heat of this rusting old car, I wipe my brow, for I must see
  An acrid smell of petrol distracts for a moment; a moment too precious to lose, since the distance will only grow now
  Fighting against the bumpy road, I crane my neck further still
  I can see her hand gently waving, as she takes another weary step into the dust trail left behind.
  The same gentle hand that was a stranger to me not long before this moment
  The same hand that somehow became the safest, warmest and most giving that I can recall
  Her hand
  That had nothing to give me, yet gave me more than I deserved all the same
  Her hand falls to her face, as her face falls into her shoulders
  The weariness of age played it’s part
  Yet there was more to this dejected posture and faltering of steps than my young mind would allow itself to believe
  She knew this was the last goodbye
  Time would not be kind enough to wait for her
  For any of us
  Alas I was naively convinced that time was immaterial
  Just a vessel with man at the helm
  A plane, through which we chose our paths.
  As devoid of purpose as a road with no-one to tread it
  I was mistaken
  The humble warmth of her smile belonged to time, as much as it did to my own memory
  My memories, belonging as much to time as to myself
  For in time they will fade
  The distance between the memory of her and the present will only grow now
  More dust will be kicked up as time moves forward
  The finer details of her face will be lost in the haze; her touch will remain but the texture of her hands will elude me
  Chipped away by the chisel of time; all that will survive is her essence
  The only eternal amidst the flecks of forgotten memories
  Now the dust trail fades, as her silhouette is swallowed by a fast rising sun
  I have to relent and turn away from this abrupt blaze of light
  The sun draws closer and closer until it rushes past my face with a howl and suddenly my train arrives.

  Aug 19, 2016

  Death, experience, grief, Life, Memories, memory, poem, thoughts, tribute

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• False Prophets

  God bless freedom of speech.
  Giving you the freedom to preach,
  breaching barriers of peace, for the agenda you seek.
  With venom in your words, spoken with passion to your herd.
  A barrage of hate 24/7.
  In false hope for a false heaven, standing in no mans land holding an ak47.
  In their ignorance you find bliss.
  As softly as a kiss, you sink in your knife and give it a twist.
  Raising a finger to the sky, spouting lie after lie, leading men women and children to die. Leaving mothers to cry..until the last cry fades in the breeze..
  Until even god is on his knees.
  Cursing his hands for moulding your disease.

  Feb 12, 2015

  peace, peshawar, terror, tribute

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• The shoes with flashing lights

  Mum please
  But they’re so cool
  Look they flash!
  Mum, don’t be so cruel

  You have thirty pounds
  I saw it in that bill
  When you counted out the coppers
  For the lady on the till

  Red lights mum, look!
  Please mum don’t be tight
  I won’t play footie in them
  I won’t let them out of sight

  Mum why do you look sad?
  Is it because you want them too?
  Cheer up mum come on
  You never get me anything new

  I won’t ask for anything else
  Even on my birthday, nothing…
  Yes! Thanks mum your the best
  I knew you were only playing

  Size 3s please
  In white and blue
  No-ones got these
  I’m gonna look well cool

  Hold on
  Why did you put that handbag down?
  You said you saved up for it
  Mum, that’s why we came to town

  Ok, how do I look?
  Mum? Don’t you like them?
  They’re well mint
  That handbag though..
  You’ve wanted that since way back when

  When I wanted the lion king video
  You put the handbag down
  When my bike broke
  You put the handbag down
  That time I wanted Gregg’s
  Again you put the handbag down
  No mum,
  Not this time around

  That handbag is nicer
  It brings out your eyes
  I want to make you smile mum
  You always say it’s ok
  Though you tell me its wrong to lie

  I wish I was that kid again mum
  I wish you never had to lie
  Mum you did so much for us
  Yet we never even tried.

  Sep 24, 2014

  colloquial, experience, memory, mum, tribute

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• Tribute

  A doorway, an opening, a way out
  A place where echoes are lost
  Where the sun kisses the horizon;
  the clouds whisper dreams the breeze carried in
  Where eloquence conveys intricacies with simplicity
  A cave for the coward and podium for the pompous
  Allowing the dreamer to fly, the heartbroken to cry
  and the madman to die.
  The poem.

  Mar 21, 2014

  cheese, poetry, thoughts, tribute, worldpoetryday

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