poetry

I’ve been writing a lot over the last years on the events in Iran. I’ve tried carefully, meticulously to paint a true picture of events their from afar. By doing this I’ve had the pleasure of making friends and meeting many Iranian Americans in the Chicago area and around the world. I’ll be reading some poems in support of the green movement at some

The Psyche of a gay Muslim By Bashir Al-hamim for my friend

I first saw him and was struck by his soulful eyes, he a round melancholy face
He wore an 80’s porn star style moustache back in the 50’s
He was the silent type never talking always observing the world
He was a fierce man of passion; we loved but never committed the act of love with me
He was afraid he’d burn in hell for being true to himself
He was drinking Coco in Paris when I first saw him, ahh those round brown lips
I think back to that moment and repeat to myself on how beautiful he was
Once a year for forty years we met in this small musty smelling café and loved
He was a poet of sorts a fellow truly never at home in this world
For years we always stayed in a damp cold hotel, for years I begged him to hold me for years he refused, but he did love me thou he never spoke the words
When we first met he was a chain smoking fool with suicidal thoughts

Pop poetry –black coffee (a experimental piece of poetry)
I tried to erase you from my memory by drinking away pain
I tried cry you away from my heart but the blood of are love was to red to be thinned
I washed temporally the warmth of your embrace in the arms of loose and wild woman but my dreams allow me no rest this love transcends all the jealousy, bickering and insecurity like eternal sunshine.
I am ever the dreamer I sincerely believe if we could spend a dream vacation or sleepless night together you’d see as I do. A night talking, walking, philosophizing and falling in love again drinking espresso while laughing in a small café.
In my eyes all the passion and longing of zealot like before sunet .

Where do I go from here?
My dreams are shattered, my heart in ruins.
The glowing shell of my life has fallen away, revealing a core of pain and despair.
Seated in the rubble of love gone wrong, I stare at nothing, waiting for vision.

What shall I dream for myself?
I dare not imagine, it seems beyond me.
The grey days of my soul are mocked by the relentless continuance of existence.
Tears abate themselves in eyes viewing horrors too pale to speak of.

When will my miracles arrive?
I watch the heavens, half dreading the sight.

Update: News reports and his family attest that he is still alive but struggling. Please keep him in your prayers. [09:34 Pacific Time.]

... so said Faiz Ahmed Faiz, probably the most popular poet of revolution in the latter half of the 20th century in South Asia; Pakistan, India, and particularly on the Left.

Salaam and Greetings of Peace:

I have posted a true story of my Out of Body experience on the Darvish blog. To those interested, here is a link:
http://darvish.wordpress.com/2007/10/21/my-out-of-body-experience-a-true...

Ya Haqq,

Irving

Uncertainty Paradox -- a nice poem from the mysticsaint / Inspirations and Creative Thoughts / Sadiq Alam blog.

Relatedly, one of my favorite ideas of late is the "I.O.U." of existence.  Everything--a theory, a map, a self--is either Incomplete Or Uncertain.  The more data you accept, the less coherent you are.  The more internally consistent you are, the more data you have to ignore. 

When I am strong, you resent me
When I am weak you torment me
Just who am I supposed to be
So you'll stay in love with me?
When I know, you despise me
When I don't know, you deride me
Am I such a mistake to you
That there's nothing that I can do?
I've played dumb to placate you
Hoping you won't see right through
To my need to go and do
Everything you won't or can't do

So I'm hanging up the lights for Eid
Lights you will never see, like my tears