Sonnet

So here I am, I’ve found that slice of time
When I said what I said; I freeze it dry
And step toward its body laced with crime
To analyze the what, how, when and why.
It looks quite innocent from where I am,
A figure cloaked in camphor-scented lies,
So I get closer till the fog of glamor
Lifts, revealing all my tongue devised.
Its face glows bright, a blinding flaring red,
Its hands are raised, upturned without a care,
I look for smile but find a smirk instead,
And cringe to see the maggots in its hair.
I let time roll to crush its nasty head
And plan apologies for what I said.

Remember always: they’ll be watching you,
So watch yourself and be a bit afraid;
Injustice has a way of falling through
And dragging with it all who give it aid.
So think before you act if think you can;
It is a way to take a matter through
The stages of a formidable plan
And most importantly, do think of you.
For once a plan is executed, know
The livelihoods and lives that it enslaves
All come together as a hammer’s blow
On tyrant bodies writhing in their graves.
The angels watching, waiting, never tire
To drag the hands of tyrants into fire.

You cannot hope to be one free of pain
While pain is all around you and within
Where heart repeats perpetual refrain
To punctuate the story you are in.
But let your hope lay down its weary head
Upon the breast of prayer wont to rise
On wings of love sincere when they’re spread
To meet the wind. With tear-moistened eyes,
Go swim around that ever-fading star
Of life, and in your faithful orbit stay
That in the darkness whence you seem afar
You rise and fall, and rise to show the way.
It only bodes despair when you have lost
The solemn will to hope at any cost.

The first, when tragedy befalls a soul
Through sudden death or grievous injury,
Through feeling quite a measure less than whole
When comes the hurtful loss of dignity.
The second, when a soul is drenched in praise
With all its humbleness exposed as wealth
That in its terribly intricate ways
It attributes all greatness to itself.
The third, when heedlessness sets heart on fire
And pours despair abundantly as fuel
But then the inward eye, it drowns desire
And sends its soothing waters up to cool.
This is the day, now is the time to cry
To let your love return and cool your eye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We like So Much so much; let me explain.
Some nights we cuddle up as dad and tot
And let the rhyme and flexible refrain
To captivate us for the time we’ve got.
Mom’s cool, and although Auntie Bibba rocks,
It’s Uncle Didi, Nannie and Gran-Gran
We love: the lingo Cousin Kay-Kay talks,
Big Cousin Ross, and Daddy who’s THE MAN.
“Again!” I dodge the sleepy tot’s protest
And send the book to shelf with skillful toss,
Distracting him with “Who do you like best?”
He flashes toothy grin, “Big Cousin Ross.”
So much is such an entertaining book
By Helen Oxenbury and Trish Cooke.

Another Friday here, there’s nothing new
But words of hate and death and plans to kill
All justifiable by parties who
Have pawned their souls to execute their will
Who measure justice, let oppression rain
Who ought to love their neighbors, want them dead
Who swore submission, fight for petty gain
Who long for peace, burn children still in bed
It’s time we turned to where our faiths still stand
Abandon feeling good about our states
Because if feeling good is all we’ve planned
Then we have crystallized our rotten fates
Humanity, all, at a banquet rests
Let’s eat what’s served and spare the other guests

I enter where the cries of children sound
And therein dwell until they die away,
Where mothers’ soft embraces can’t be found
And fathers’ mighty hands may hold no sway;
And though my anger swells, I have no leave
To act till comes to pass the death of time,
But well I see the the stricken when they grieve
And well I study souls that fashion crime.
My day will come, and when it comes, the damned
Will find their fettered souls within my clasp
When all their hands had wrought, their necks, shall brand,
And naught may ‘scape their lips but wretched gasp.
I weigh, withhold, withdraw to watch and wait
For when the cold inversion seals their fate.
– – – – – – – – – –
Even the lowest angel forms are an intelligent force to reckon with. They are sworn to justice, unwavering, serving only Al-Muntaqim. 

Preserve us, Ya Rahmaan, in Your Love and Mercy.

I guarantee you do not need a cellphone,
A bag of fries, unopened can of pop,
A passenger behind you raising hell, drone
About your driving with no plan to stop;
A toddler trying hard to lose his harness
Or children crying out to have their say
Mixed in with whines complaining of the farness
Of wherever you’re headed to this day.
You do not need these things to be distracted
Although they’re bound to help without a doubt,
If you won’t rest until your life’s impacted
By injury that glamorizes gout,
Just tell yourself that you’re distraction-free,
Then watch yourself distract you totally.

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This truly is intended as a public service message. (The cynical tone is deliberate but NOT meant to make light of the matter.)

• Distracted driving is a hazard
• Thoughts can distract just as much as anything else
• Don’t let your guard down
• Focus on what matters!

Is happiness some quarry we pursue
Embedded in material desires?
When did it cease to be a part of you
And turn into an object that requires
Pursuing? Is our devolution done?
Do we exert ourselves from dawn till night
That we may travel miles to find the sun
Then swim a sea of gadgets for delight?
I understand that leisure must be earned
But let there not be madness in such earning
Before we find our minds and bodies burned
For such pursuit has elements of burning.
How odd to be pursuing what is found
With us if only we would look around.

– – –
How happy are you in your pursuit of happiness?
– Sh. Amin Kholwadia