for my mother (1934 – 2008)

Greater Kailash, New Delhi, Early 1070s

for my mother (1934 – 2008)

she left me, with the thoughts of her embrace to warm me, in frigid mornings of tomorrows yet to come.

she left me, with words of tender truths to shroud me, in the coming evenings of stabbing sleet.

she left me, yet she stays within me, in my waking dreams, my restful thoughts.

she stays forever within me,

of me she shall remain an abiding part,

of the love.

the pain.

the tears.

so that we shall never be truly apart …

          _________

My Family – A historical journey through the seasons …

https://afzalmoolla.wordpress.com/2016/01/12/my-family-a-historical-journey-through-the-seasons-2/

on the precipice

​on the precipice.

less than a hundred years ago, the most technologically advanced nation on earth fought two world wars.

in the second of which, a concerted, highly mechanised, and utterly ruthless campaign was orchestrated to kill every man, woman, and child of a specific religious group – 6 million souls perished in that barbaric attempt.

there were tens of millions of dead throughout the world at the end of that world war. 

nuclear weapons were used for the first time to horrendous effect on the people of hiroshima and nagasaki – effects of which are being felt still.

all of this happened during a time of “progress” in the fields of science, technology, medicine, amongst other human endeavours that were hailed as great leaps forward for the human race. 

the ideas of individuality were supressed by the rabid jingoism of nationalism and appeals to baser human emotions. 

robust intellectual discourse was overshadowed by the instilling of fear of the “other”. 

human beings were seen as fodder for the wars that were fought – both cold and military wars. 

this idea of “us” and “them” on a grand scale persisted until less than thirty years ago, and it’s talons are sunk deep within the mindsets of many today.

there is the simplistic nature of political discourse that once again pits “us” versus “them”. 

there is the maniacal jingoism that appeals to the very worst of human emotions. 

the most powerful technology is being usurped by the powerful to keep the weak in “check”.

today, once again, appears to be the age of the demagogue.

the politics of hate and fear is being promulgated by the very powerful against the not-so powerful.

entire races of people are being made scapegoats, entire religions are being vilified, entire ways of life, and of loving are being branded as being “sinful”.

wars of aggression are being waged, human beings once again cannon fodder for the powerful.

people are living under the jackboot of oppression and occupation.

the obscenity of the accruing of personal wealth trumps the needs of the many. 

following the two world wars that were fought less than a hundred years ago, the world came together and said “never again”.

the time is now for those two words to take on a new meaning. 

never again!

I am Man

Us men,

almost always,

men,

myopic, impotent men,

our manliness oozing, seeping,

dripping,

soaking,

in swathes of red,

scarlet blood on infant skin,

hardened,

caked,

dried on cold, dead flesh.

Who am i,

a man,

myopic, impotent,

my swagger puffed on conceit,

my country right or wrong,

my god not yours,

my culture your caste,

tribe, sect, ideology … … …

Who am i ?

a man ?

knitted into,

shared humanity ?

Perhaps ’tis time,

to let this rotten, festering,

glossy, botoxed, tucked, trimmed, diseased skin,

moult,

laying stark this sham,

this theatre,

these lies, the maggots burrowing deep,

into man,

chiselling, smashing,

beheading, hanging,

shooting, bombing, drone-ing, killing, raping, torturing, killing, killing, killing,

excising man,

ripping man out of humanity.

Yes,

i am man.

c a t h a r s i s

catharsis … … …

when he scribbled, he was happy. happy not with a sense of glee or joyfulness, but simply happy. when he scribbled, he was at peace. not with the world, nor with the cruel reality encroaching, he was at peace with himself. when he scribbled, he was whole, not complete in a material sense, he was whole inside. when he scribbled, he cried, not because he was sad, nor sorrowful, he cried because he could. he cried because he could scribble on … … …

Gravitational Waves by Albert Einstein

she smiled, she looked at me, incredulous, her jaw dropped,

” how on earth can you be so sure about that ? ”

well i had to explain, cos’ motion at this velocity cannot be simply stopped,

so i thought, this was the bloke who sported mops of hair, yet dug those close shaves,

so i said to her, i said,

” gravitational waves “

hope 2.0

what are we if not tinder, unable to rekindle the embers,

of hope …

what becomes of us if we stall, if we choose to lay down each time we fall … … …

on parting, saying goodbye … … …

tender words don’t sting, gentle words hardly stab, or jab,

for you and i have walked the paths, together, sharing each other, the magic and the drab,

now though the time may have come to part, i respect you, for you have always been true, a woman of substance, through and through,

and so as we weave and traverse the alleyways of life, looking perhaps for a fresh start,

let us be gentle, kind, tender, to each other, before we depart,

leaving behind memories that don’t tear, feelings that won’t scar,

memories of moments spent together, between the pain and smiles,

and know this, i shall always carry within me, a part of you, however near you are, or far … … …

u n t i t l e d

the sound of rain, on parched earth, coalescing, becoming one in a fragrant embrace.

(sound of soft rain)

the sound of rain, soaking beneath thirsty soil, fusing, joining together, you and i, our unspeakable embrace.

talkin’ why hope is important bluesy-blues … … …

… … … this scribble is about hope, that unweighable weighty word, often bandied about ritually, and thus its message, its voice, may be blunted by repetitive bluster, so i’ll be a-scribblin’ along, with all the gusto i may muster, since we’re talking about hope, without which the human race, us all, all of us, i dare say, would not cope, ’cause imagine an absence of something, can’t put your finger on that feeling feeling, that oftentimes rocks at our souls, leavin’ our minds reelin’, yeah that’s right, but no propagandising today, though with me, at least, i can truly say, were it not for hope, that figment, blister on indifferent fates’ machinations, that belief, that burning in the pit of ones core, gnawing, gnashed teeth muttering, that all this pain too must eventually, pale, and that’s whats a-sometime the reason for us being heartful, and or hale, its hope, raw, deceptive, lyin’, corrosive, rusted but a-shineyed up, yeah that hope that keeps my heart pumping, its that hope that keeps me alive, and its that hope upon which, may all new flowers thrive … … …