Line Of Control
They come to see us
In the company of winds and rains
Their whispers are heard
Besides the doors
And empty corridors are filled
With the shimmering garments and scented bodies.
Leaping over the walls, slipping down the roofs and sun shades
Walking with voiceless steps like the shadows of clouds
Eyes see them crossing the silence
Of half paved courtyards
Far from reach
Moving towards measureless distances.
The windows yawn with mouth agape
And ponder on that;
Overthrowing the earth, nestled comfortably on its breast
Looking triumphantly towards the sky
These mountains, beyond them
There must be a lake
And birds and nimbus clouds
And thickets of trees running into each other
Uneven grassy plains
Herds of sheep and lonely shepherds
And pathways running far away
There must be some village, some city
Or some other country
Where some other poet (like myself) lives
Writing verses!
Demarcation is easy on parchments
A few dots and lines delimitate
Mountains, rills, streams, sloping grounds
Fields, settlements, jurisdictions, ownerships and regions
Passes and secret paths
Even forts and battlements with rows of iron - clad heads
Can be drawn.
But while pointing out the shadows overstepping the walls
Extending to doors, windows, courtyards
And the silence spread up to the remote recesses of the hearts,
The sun and rain change their hue
On the ground plan.
(Translated from Urdu into English by Prof. Ghulam Jilani Asghar)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Related quotes
Spectrogram Of A Pictorial Poem
The walls have come out of doors
Narrows are the passages, many are the footprints
On the steep rock where the sun lies half reclined
Jumping over one's shadow, falling headlong
Is the ultimate truth, nothing new about it
Dreaming some old dream
Eyes know not how much water has come out
Of their oceanic depths.
It is easy to cross a river
but how difficult it is to find a foothold on its banks.
Passing through the vicinity of human settlements
the pathways of history meander through
Fields, meadows, and vineyards and disappear
in the rise and fall of women.
Before the new crops come in
Weather keeps on changing.
Profound thoughts are for the Elect
and death for all!
Failure to compose a poem
is not the tragedy of the poet
when life is face to face with perpetual death
Death is reduced to a worn out cliché
Watering of the bygone days
yields nothing but heartrending toil.
Before we are discovered in our state of loneliness
from some star beyond our ken
Come! Let's scramble through the portals of the
Decaying buildings manned by enslaved
Souls, whose bodies are wrapped in dust
and bones have turned brittle
And just a gesture from the hand
Will bring them down to their feet.
The birds of clouds
and fluffs of rains
are not far away from the reach of the weather satellite.
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1994.
Translated from Urdu into English by Prof. Ghulam Gilani Asghar.
Copyrights (C) All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Let's Voyage Into The New American House
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.
There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.
There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.
There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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A Village Far Far Away
Far, far away is my village!
Where fireflies of my childhood
Still glow in thick folliage
Of Pipal trees.
My lisping words
As they fell from my lips
Are still alive
On old, bent, dying stairs
Of the long-deserted house!
Like rapiers thrust into silence.
Far, far away is my village!
Where darkness
Spreads its wing before it is evening
Tick-tocking sound of the flour mill
Long flights of birds
Going far, far away
Tinkling bells
All become a single tune
To drown into the dark lake
Of night.
Far, far away is my village!
Where I saw
Dreams of happy days to come
While learning my lessons
In the dim light
Of hurricane lamp.
Far, far away is my village!
Where reflections of my first love
Still linger
Where paths are shrouded
In sadness
And loneliness laced with secret longings
Peoples fields, ponds, the school
And trees herded together.
Far, far away is my village!
Where wind still finds
Its way in moonlit nights
Through silent streets
And sleepy courtyards
Calls for me in silence
And turns back, not finding me.
Wind has the same old habit
The same old routine
But life has trampled me
Under direction-less feet
Of crowds in cities.
(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
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I Am Not Afraid Of Emptiness
i may not have told you, but now i will tell it to you
three times,
girl, i am not afraid of emptiness
the one that walks upon you when you were once this huge
space like a Gothic church with doors like mountains and windows
like continents
the sound of emptiness reverberates like a tin cup
that falls on the iron rails of this room
it fills every nerve that coils upon itself and forms a hand gripping
for waterfalls
it closes the ears and rips every rational entries that your eyes
write in the pages of your journal
it encloses you like a mental jacket of that new patient
at ward 6,
it walls you in like you are a chair inside the congested kitchen
look, who likes the congestion of the spirits?
who likes the choking of the nicks of time?
who likes a light imprisoned in its own flames
burning itself upon itself like a candle consuming both of its ends?
who like the mezzanine filled with letters that you keep
containing love stories of suicide and escape?
look upon your face too crowded with your senses?
it is a forest with trees killing each other for an ounce of light
roots upon roots and leaves upon leaves this world is too crowded
with unraveling thoughts
i am not afraid of emptiness
i like my windows opening all the days of my life
i like doors without locks
stairs without rails, houses without walls and roofs
i live in open space and yes right here inside my heart
i thrive in its empty spaces without the nerves and the veins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Secret To Prosperity!
Wandering clouds not so focused,
For where to rain, it not yet decided,
Running from country to country,
Gathering the seeds that can spray,
People look up for rain, but no clouds,
Bright yellow sun and the blue sky,
The tears of rain in their deepened eyes,
The shopping clouds look down at them,
Clumsy they are and hunger rules them,
The proud clouds with the bounty of water,
Hate these poor people and move quicker,
And there are green mountains with flowers,
The running clouds stop all of a sudden,
For it amazed by the swelling of that woman,
Just start to clear what it stores for many hours,
Heavy rain on the mountain and the river sisters,
Flow down to the civilization, the rich people,
All around, as they know how to save water,
People who are ignorant of importance of forest,
Fell the trees for quick money and luxury,
Those who already felled, know the misery,
The clouds in the sky, know this exactly,
The poor will remain poor, if not sorry,
And to replant the trees quickly.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Life and Nature
I passed through the gates of the city,
The streets were strange and still,
Through the doors of the open churches
The organs were moaning shrill.
Through the doors and the great high windows
I heard the murmur of prayer,
And the sound of their solemn singing
Streamed out on the sunlit air;
A sound of some great burden
That lay on the world's dark breast,
Of the old, and the sick, and the lonely,
And the weary that cried for rest.
I strayed through the midst of the city
Like one distracted or mad.
'Oh, Life! Oh, Life!' I kept saying,
And the very word seemed sad.
I passed through the gates of the city,
And I heard the small birds sing,
I laid me down in the meadows
Afar from the bell-ringing.
In the depth and the bloom of the meadows
I lay on the earth's quiet breast,
The poplar fanned me with shadows,
And the veery sang me to rest.
Blue, blue was the heaven above me,
And the earth green at my feet;
'Oh, Life! Oh, Life!' I kept saying,
And the very word seemed sweet.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Beyond The Veil.....
nothing lives here anymore.
they closed that tiny bookstore,
and the bar on the corner is gone.
the sidewalks swept and empty,
windows covered with dust.
would be lovers ride by radios blaring,
cell phones grafted to their ears.
no one makes love anymore,
masturbation detoxification.
crows hanging on the brick walls,
apartment doors bolted and locked.
caught a meth lab in the church basement,
and they've cut down all the trees.
no one jumps from windows,
babies born in sterile rooms.
tongues lie dormant in desire's mouth,
perfume suffocates the senses.
the threat of rain, everybody scatters,
for fear of getting wet!
cept the old blind man walking his dog,
who sees beyond the veil!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Praying For Emptiness!
walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....
the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....
oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!
the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....
nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Spring's Whisper
Whispers reach with silkened sigh.
Upon spun wings of time they fly ~
through forests tall and stately bound,
across the brown and barren ground.
Hushed within dark wintry night.
Chilled by nature's frosty sight.
Whispers whisper to the sea ~
Upon new winds a change there'll be.
Above the mountains whispers soar,
a whisper now at heaven's door.
Change follows in expectant glee.
Upon new winds a change there'll be.
Through meadows far ~ they whisper long,
breathing breaths of springtime song.
Alas, sweet wisps of warming see.
Upon new winds a change there'll be.
Awakened by the silkened sigh
of whispers softly flying by ~
earth absorbs the sighs like rain
as springtime whispers once again.
Whispers reach with silkened sigh.
Upon spun wings of time they fly,
to spread their whispers ~ o'er land and sea
Upon new winds a change there'll be.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Empty Streets
The town is quiet, empty
Street lights cast shadows
In doorways and windows
Curtains drawn, people sleeping
A night rain is falling fast
Through the amber halos of street lights
Lighting the roads and pathways
There is not a soul to be seen or heard
The parked cars line up colourless
The dull reflection of a shop window
Offers little comfort in passing
A stray cat sits ahead in some shade
Staring intent before running away
Into the empty night gone
What little wind there is, cold
A car passes, unknown passengers
The temporary warming light
Soon gone disappeared
Hand fishing for keys in pockets
Through a door into shade
The empty streets replaced
poem by Matthew Holloway
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That We Have Become Free
we accept
in silence the noise
within us
we embrace all their
arms
kiss them all in the
mouth
we signified love
and give
all the understanding
that we can
muster within the lines
of our palms
and then we look at each
other
without posing any
question at all
we open all doors
and windows
and let the cool wind
come in
and then we smile
to the world beyond us
we welcome
whatever is there
shadows and shapes
and volumes and
weights
they know by now
that we are free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nothing But a Shadow
Here we are walking
yet not talking
silence silence
we've grown apart
yet here we are
walking, but not talking
we are together
yet far apart
silence silence
I watch our shadows
with a sour look
slipping farther apart
This cannot be
what happened to you and me
silence silence
What happened over the summer
you found a job
and we stopped seeing eachother
I wish our shadows would be close again
like when you and me were best friends
silence silence
poem by C.M. Benny
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Where you go
When we finally part ways
I like to see where you escape
From the clutches of my hands
I will follow you
As you go to green, cooler fields
Or to the white cheerful foams of the sea
I shall know
To always follow you
In bliss
If you escape however
And take flight towards the recesses of your heart
And the secret paths of your veins
I will not follow you
Your body now has walls
Impenetrable
I shall be blocked
By the coldness of your heart
There are no doors
Or windows where I can possibly enter
You have shut yourself
With all your skins
Where no white bones can ever be seen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Unnamed Lake
It sleeps among the thousand hills
Where no man ever trod,
And only nature's music fills
The silences of God.
Great mountains tower above its shore,
Green rushes fringe its brim,
And over its breast for evermore
The wanton breezes skim.
Dark clouds that intercept the sun
Go there in Spring to weep,
And there, when Autumn days are done.
White mists lie down to sleep.
Sunrise and sunset crown with gold
The pinks of ageless stone,
Her winds have thundered from of old -
And storms have set their throne.
No echoes of the world afar
Disturb it night or day,
The sun and shadow, moon and star
Pass and repass for aye.
'Twas in the grey of early dawn,
When first the lake we spied,
And fragments of a cloud were drawn
Half down the mountain side.
Along the shore a heron flew,
And from a speck on high,
That hovered in the deepening blue,
We heard the fish-hawk's cry.
Among the cloud-capt solitudes,
No sound the silence broke,
Save when, in whispers down the woods,
The guardian mountains spoke.
Through tangled brush and dewy brake,
Returning whence we came,
We passed in silence, and the lake
We left without a name.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Rat 3
you must have heard about what they are saying.
i say, you have seen shadows cast on the walls of ignorance.
my hands are not birds.
they tell you that they are scissors.
my face does not have gentle eyes
did they tell you that what i have are raging balls of fire?
i have heard what you have heard too
that in my world there lives the eye of the storm
that in my orbit, there is this path that destroys
every passer-by
or even the innocent traveler,
i am tired of all these
shadows and shadows
they have not gone deep inside the oceans of my being
they have not felt the gentleness of my sands at the bottom
they are wrong
but in my silence i do not wish to correct that impression.
i know myself and that is enough
instruction at the gate of Delphi
where Tiresias is waiting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hot As Cold Wax
Hot as cold wax, blue as the sun.
The forgotten tribes running, running, running.
We are the children of deceit.
We are the unborn ambitions
of love-struck demons
who attacked the
village walls.
Calling for help, screaming for help.
Rushing like snails to doom, to doom, to doom.
Racing cars around a track.
Broken shadows that will
never admit their pain.
Their shallow eyes masking
their glancing vibes.
We are the perfectly formed cells
of disintegrating morals.
We are the freshly turned pages
of books left littered
on a library shelf.
The frozen popsicle is melting, melting, melting.
Shifting from down to up, from up to down.
Back and forth, forth and back.
Holding symbols high
as if they could
actually become
alive.
Leaping lies
from a religion.
We are chaste and we fornicate.
We are pure and we destroy.
Hateful windows left open to
let in the insects who
refuse to die.
They jangle the nerves like fire.
Burning, burning, burning the
skin. Burning the eyes.
We cannot see. We cannot feel.
We cannot be all we can be.
We are evil and we are good.
Empty and full.
Hot as cold wax, blue as the sun.
The forgotten tribes running, running, running.
poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt
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Beginning of your story
Keep running, keep running,
Little me,
Until you get to your dream,
That is when truly,
Your life shall have began!
Marching back and forth,
Marching back and forth,
How many times do I have to do this,
Until I've become a adult?
Leaning against these empty walls of mine,
My heart yearns to jump over them,
And run through the fields beyond,
Without a care in the world.
I know I should keep doing what I'm told to,
But the real me is getting so lonely,
So instead I think I'll let it out,
Even if I'm not supposed to.
Keep running, keep running,
Little me,
Until you get to your dream,
It is really easy,
Just keep having faith in yourself.
And someday,
You'll reach the beginning of your story.
poem by Alex McCullough
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mountain View
after the night of love
i sit on the bamboo stair
facing the wide expanse of
mountains before me
beyond the horizon of fog
and smoke from the tiny
houses five hills away
and down the plains the
winding river taking the
usual routes of least resistance
i have seen wild carabaos grazing
white horses running with the
winds and the black birds
flying high seeking their prey
of chicks unprotected by hens.
i am amazed by this macrocosm.
How can some be so greedy amidst
these bounty? Can his hands hold
all the mountains? Can his mouth
drink all the rivers? Can he catch
all the black birds and put them
inside his cage? I know he can't but
i know he will. And that is the reason
why we are here hiding in the bellies
of these big mountains, siding with the
shades of the trees, taking inspiration
from all the stars, the moon and the
boundless sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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