without the drink

 

trickling down, a droplet of absurdity
parenthesis entity — that is me
I am a creature sublime to oddities
artefacts can behold me and I beholden
the seas of chaos, calamity and serenity;

surprised aren’t you when my mouth glides
on tongue and I produce a kiss of words
in sobriety, I mated with soberness and it was
sombre, there is a seriousness in the sexiness
of some abstinence and some less inhibitions (a hybrid)
I am caught in tongues, who are not carcera to cheeks

it feels in the midst of conversations I am the phantom
I do not glow with the iridescence of being high
yet I am a novelty of loosened limbs and tongue
without the bottle — I am still an engaged firefly of sorts

trying to talk to everyone … —

Dreamforce’s ‘Women’s Innovation’ panel is why we should stop babying female CEOs

When offered the opportunity to attend a woman-focused panel at a major event, my sanity-defense sensors begin to fly. It’s true that I believe that female

Source: Dreamforce’s ‘Women’s Innovation’ panel is why we should stop babying female CEOs

Mary Oliver on How Differences Bring Couples Closer Together | Brain Pickings

“All of it, the differences and the maverick uprisings, are part of the richness of life. If you are too much like myself, what shall I learn of you, or you of me?”

Source: Mary Oliver on How Differences Bring Couples Closer Together | Brain Pickings

Brain pickings is one of my favourite sites. Maybe I will not always agree with everything being sad but I appreciate the amount of reading, organising and work being done. I also now like that the site has seemingly gotten a redesign. Looks great 😉

In this topic I both agree and disagree. Yet, my position is not aggressive rather it is something I can say that you need both similarities and differences, a sort of equanimity, a equity, a balance that work for you guys. Too much similarity becomes coercive and codependent or insecure at times. Too much difference becomes othering and all the consequences related to that but this line that is capitalised in the beginning:

“All of it, the differences and the maverick uprisings, are part of the richness of life. If you are too much like myself, what shall I learn of you, or you of me?”

I totally agree with that. It is great to know that you are being challenged and learning from the other person and synchronizing your own talents too and they too benefit from doing that.

1st Eid without my Father

from Eid to Eden — I nurtured a song that was both a vigil, an explosion of prayers like
stardusts and moon-crescent globes all appearing in a wave, in a cool yet warm succulent slice
— this is the first Ramadan where I fasted and feasted without my familial Father; always spearheading
the sojourn of the ordinary and splendid like a perfect kaleidoscope; dancing and twirling more lucid and sane
than celluloid crackers but knowing great Western films and histories of Bengal and its cinematic prose, like tongue-buds ready to
erupt in flavours. The crescent moon are the lashes of a sigh I know that  the orb around is a miniature of my eye. I love you Abbu —
I will miss you till I know death maybe then you will be there helping me know the prose of my own last sigh.▬

vowels

learning about the syntax, the basic units of affection
pitch perfect  from the beginning of beginnings
you are one of my root languages
we adhere to a shared topography

learning about shadows and silhouettes from you
the inner light they radiate; the aura of things blended in darkness
non-sequestered from good: a vocabulary esoteric but also mainstream
calling you “Dad” is a populist thing — how funny it is, how ironic, that words
can marginalise, limit and go beyond the very anatomy of their morphologies…

you are Dad-fixed, a biological marker, a genetic code that won’t be adverbed away,
a phenotype inheritance; a structural will you weaved subconsciously into my bones and I
did so too…we are like a chess board incomplete with each other…

and maybe the theatre of sky and the amphitheatre of the soil cannot encompass you
because I cannot always encompass you; we are both a wind we breathed and exhaled,
inhaled again like a mountain ridge path. I know that what we had is irreplaceable because it is
a womb participation; you did carry me for nine months by constantly caring about Mom.

and this ribcage will have a bird that sings; a song so plainly beautiful, for it is you and me
Father and  Daughter always and I don’t think a bird like that will stop singing, anytime soon
we will have our oceans and our swimming in them, we will have our sunset afternoons, drinking
tea in them and knowing that warmth is always catalysed by warm company. As you once spoke:
” A candle doesn’t lose its fire by lighting  up another.”

and I wonder which constellations you have lit up, lightened up and now also light in
this inward astronomical that you also know me in, lit up in me with paternal, pure, parental
love. I know how to love also from you. Love is a dedication. Love is both the spine, tail and the brain
with the heart; I cannot repay you for such vowels…

— I love you Abbu

 

____________________________________________________________________

The companion piece with Mari Sanchez Cayuso’s “Consonants“. Both are poems grieving our Fathers and showing our love to them. My Abbu passed away on the 24th, February, 2015 at around 5.00-5.30pm. I miss him every single day. I love you Abbu very much. May Allah Almighty always make you happy.

an overabundance of scarcities

Sometimes, I do not wish to be  so energetic
it’s a flavour I do not think can  understandably  keep up with the  wide rooms  of the  world that prefer their camphor and marijuana and cannabis — the world that prefers its weight of gold to be a
perfect pitch of somnambulism.

I am a rockety, rocking chair that is unable to seize the day
because I am over a cliff that has transposed itself into  a  life
the pendulous cliff with its vertiginous gums and precipitous skin
has rubbed me raw as  a cold shower where water droplets become teeth — I have invested in energy, but was told to conserve for the sake of society which nimbly used bastardized fuel  but kept my own
into fossils  — I am  calcified in living and mating with boredom. ..

…now boredom is  a word that is quite crude and raw and primordial evi; lapses into tongues and calamity, into divides
into savage topographies; its nuanced with a nothingness that
has nullified the potency of seeds. It is the cocktail  of grievances
yet it is consumed at happy hours. Only a miracle embedded in consciousness can seemingly know its severance. Yet deliverance
is a scary thing for many. Once you  are exposed to the boredom disease its  syphilis  kills the joy in you.

I want to be happy
yet I am told happiness means excursions
and if all of  us hate that
told to be safe and treat the home as your favourite mauseoleum
then happiness is an energy feels unhappy to be had.▬

fighting and fight

tiddles of my expectations; ruptured like glass within glass, an imploding babushka-vortex
teeming is my rhythm of depression, like a knife that knows butter, knows the meat
sabotages the flesh, the artery, the blinking electrical impulses of a thing it corners as refuse
— it’s  my heart you bloody, selfish cancerous tumour that looks like an organic part of me
who refuses to shelter and instead makes bridges by my splintered bones; you capsized me
tore me from limb to node yet you refuse my simple, basic right to speak…you will now taste
my armageddon you tattered porcelain who preaches facetious causes I will cause you writhe
and rattle as the serpent you are — your apocalypse is not only salvation; I will know my sanctum
pure when you are purged from the altars of my consciousnesses;  my soul’s cathedral will know chimes.▬

Sometimes, suddenly…ceased…

You know somethings are bound to be finite, temporal and it looks at clockwise and anti-clockwise as intrinsically as a phoenix’s life cycle.  It is still hard to imagine why you were so invested in something when the investment, maybe not fiscal or economically measured as in with better libra scales on feelings, but pain is somethings not reductionist or reducible. A reduction of pain and hurt may mean something adverse but it may also mean that you are not knowing how to feel.

Nobody really coaches us on life’s relationship progress; it can go either way, have forks, have no forks, be a forked tongue  that swallows you whole or poisons you with preferences not your own. Even if someone tells you societal expectations and ideals the idyllic may say that it is a cheap whore at times and that it cannot be used over and over.

I am gaining unnecessary frustration due to unavoidable circumstances: I gaining fatigue.  My sleep is now more on an attenuated contract and my waking hours  has some episodic, fails that act like a dick. This has much to do with exploitative behaviourisms of people and also my inability to cut and cauterize parasitic leeches or even vampiric fangs. I am a bit confused at how to abandon someone/something without much blood-loss on both ends. It is like a war but not really; it is more like an impasse that reaches a rock and other rocks to me, and I am thinking am I wrong or rather do I love wrongly?

I love with an insatibale honesty. That is me. I love a bit more  freely than freedom in social etiquette usually allows; this is anything forcefully annoying but it is intense and desires a healthy proximity.  It knows when it is not wanted. It does not make pursuing stalking. It allows a chance of dialogue and if that dialogue is rejected it retracts and attempts to dissolve into fumes. It does not force and does not want to be forced.  I love and try to love with respect and allowances in eccentricities, introversions, extroversions, excesses or even strictness in personalities. My courtesy or voluminable honesty is not appreciated or returned. It is target of ostracization and suspect of “bad taste” or even “overeagerness” that is soon mellowed down by whatever attitude or straight-up hostile  badgering or ignorance/being ignored.

I have felt teary, genuinely upset when I felt slighted/ been slighted for no reason other than communicating an authentic interest in being friends or even by my flaws/mistakes which I earnestly apologised for. Truth is that people want all matters of understanding and appropriation from me but wish to castrate my identity, personhood and existence as a human being. No I am nobody’s saint nor do I have sainthood or masquerade piety on a golden plate with a silver spoon sticking out of  my tongue and mouth. I just notice that the amount of effort I put in even basic comments/conversations is not even met halfway by many people be this acquaintance or most people who claim to be my friends.

They will cajole me and claim that as I am their friend  or even communicating with them I am under some unspoken but legal obligation to give them the time of day, understanding, looking at things from their perspective, etcetera, etceteras, et all of the bullshit committee. Yet when it comes to me they can think they are entitled to bare their fangs, reach out and bite me with accusations or assumptions of my behaviour. If I acted out of their terms of polite homicide I am in for witnessing them spin shit on a fan.

I am genuinely emotionally, mentally and psychologically fatigued by this bullshit, self-absorbed attitude by many I see and interact with nowadays.

Truthfully, I am becoming inept or even devoid of feeling secure or even  comfortable of my own emotions/feelings because of those kinds of people. Decidedly I have conceded to be a bit nonplussed but this is not defeat or acknowledgement to their crapola yellow spined endeavours. This is just me breathing a sigh as a sign that game is on.

If you do not like someone or think you are better think again. Also ignoring someone shows fully that you are incapable of saying what you really think thus it is a coward’s vitamin pack. If you are constantly abusive and selfish it shows that your dictionary or vernacular is only filled with rust and germs out of some neanderthal skull-plate.

Me being sad is not a sign of you gaining self-importance. Me being sad is me being human. Me thinking of you as human and myself as human. It is me finally calling you out on your high pedestal bullshit and  liberating my human right to be appreciated and respected.

isolation in quotes

what do “I” call myself? — a labyrinthine thinker, late bloomer prodigy,
a colloquial slut, a porn actor/actrice, a menagerie of moods, a glass fountain,
a granite slab of boredom, an equanimous person, likely to succeed/fail, tagger of
facebook slogans or pages, popular only in staying unpopular, a blood cycle, a sperm
cycle, a gestation of uneasy testosterones or a nest of comfy oestrogen — what am I?

asking is imperative; you cannot be classes you have to be a class, not a binomial variant,
but a simultaneous crack-whore who can easily be cancelled linear-wise and not charted
in graphs — and the graphs all mounted highs and lows like some floppy or quick erectile tissue
bounded by some bondage mechanism easily quacking or nervously fretting — yeah our so-called
civilized world transcribes to the sexual all too quickly yet will not transcribe to intimacy or a
reproduction of kisses because to the mythical layman fucking is as easy than typing 2+2=1

we are isolated by so much wave and wires — first by seas and mountains now the technical metaphors
of technology; it;s easy to build walls you just need crude, undisciplined yet disciplined, refined geometry:
we learn math in isolation was not Alice there telling the Queen that for to her a jabberwocky is a parable
not a persistent lover of existence. We learn languages in isolation, fruit of needs are supposedly tasted and
tested in a bedroom — when have we so easily conquered all human instincts and personality checks and put
them airtight into a bottle as though everything and anything was masturbation. If I am vulgar you were vulgar
by lacking vulgarity by never breaching or broaching subjects that could make me spill my coffee but be grateful
I had sipped and dined with you in a natural state — and by natural state I do not easily picture you in your
birthday suit happily playing the flute of your clitoral-erection or playing drums with your bosom-chest…yet
you want me to easily think that — when I am flawed will you not know my flaw and tell me so why wither
it as a flaccid beam of self-denial — yeah, I talked all innuendo-like; it’s a language we all easily adopt too
though I think millions never adapt nor else we wouldn’t cry in tissue papers hoping it was the tender skin of
a lover…

why are all our information and acts and knowledges isolated; even with modern precepts of civilization
we love playing colonial pipes, steal the lands of many, decrepit the food and bones of the different,
make outsiders more than insiders and treat wealth the money as though it was a concubine that gave us
all the frenzies our heart desired — we are training ourselves to think heights are step-ladders and all binaries
are trusted celebrities though we all aspire some balance in ourselves. When did we become consumers?  Merely
eaters? Not inventors or hunters or gatherers or builders? — Is only the daft eating the way f the world? Are we only
engineers of a time-stinking buffet or rather a potpourri of so many essences and open to the architecture of the many?
Should we not rinse our tongues and teeth to the palpable instead of the vacuous? I ask myself questions, even dumb stupid
ones that are trivial and exhaustive but only because I think I was born to be hunter not predator or prey. But a gatherer
of immutable gems parasailing in a mutable universe… the scents and dotages of those exquisite structures with their
non-structure and flexible narrations have made me both weep and be teem with adrenalin. I do not think the deforestation
of the mind with conformed categories can easily help. Core beliefs are beautiful but they inhabit more ample space than we
give them credit for; our bones are calcium arranged as leaves of variables…how lovely was this trail of stones and bread…

and because I have these thoughts I may be isolated called mad by peers and hated by equals in class, birth, jobs, counter tables
for I did not drink coffee with cream and sugar but wanted to try a honeyed mix and that made a different in the tongue-nectare
made me mongrel to the refined and I do not know what more I could do — did I not also taste that coffee republic, nod to a placebo,
in the world of narcotics and so much medicinal shots. When I meet others who liked coffee and tea like me would we recognize
each other skins, meats and marrows or has the narrow cubicles sealed that kiss? Wonder if isolation is the new economy of trade…▬