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Best Poems Written by Mahmood Bakkash

Below are the all-time best Mahmood Bakkash poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Take Me Where?

Take me home

Where the sunsets are golden
And God’s gossamer curtains ripple between the mountain tops

Where the seas are clear as the sky above
And the waters tickle the shoreline

Take me home

Where the food is simple
And tastes all the better

Where the cabs run for cheap
And smell a little funny

Take me home

Where childhood was magical
And to this day feels like a dream

Where make-believe was the truth 
And the future did not exist


Take me home

Where the nights never end
And laughter is our language

Where I drown in myself
And moonlight shines behind my eyes

Take me home…
I’ve lost my way

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A Lady Called the Sea

Once upon a forgotten age
Before the land fell into rage
A maiden sat upon a throne
A throne carved of coral stone
She wove a spell upon the seas
A spell carried by the breeze
That shall forever linger to
Protect her realm from beasts like you

And so the seas and winds revealed
Their guardians of foam and thunder
Tossing sand and rock asunder
They were to be the maiden’s shield
Yet still you sought to raid and plunder
Through her fields of awe and wonder

You beckoned the gods of heat and steel
And dove into the depths surreal
Useless were the guardians against
The legions of the iron crest

Then came that fateful morning
When the line of guardians was broken
And of the maiden survived one token
A single soul that’s trapped in mourning
A lonesome soul that chants and sings
Of what our senseless greed can bring

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Lost (I - Ii)

Part I – The Journey of Reminiscence

How often have I traversed
The lonely depths of my soul? It seems
Near an eternity since I’ve
Felt something…real
Perhaps everything is truly gone,
Perhaps I am the one that ceased to exist…
I do not know… Can anyone ever truly know?

I remember … Light

I remember … Joy
I remember … Anger
I remember … Might
I remember … Innocence
I remember … Love
I remember … Angels

But wait… I see something…
Is it really there?
Could it possibly be …?

Light …

O Cruel Fate! Why must this be?
Such pain in losing one’s existence does
One face, but why must I face it
Ever so endlessly?
My mind retreats to old times – my past
Such infantile ignorance I lived in…
Is this any better though?

Perhaps…
                    This vast nothingness that
Overwhelms me sheds but a single ray of light…

Light burns…

Purge me…
Purge me…
Purge me…


Part II – Torments of the Soul

Lament not for my darkest rest for it
Is not as it may seem…
Forever in this darkness I dream…
I dream of all that is good
I dream of all that is wicked
I dream of all that was
And all that ever will be…

I remember the Moon
I remember the Abyss
I remember the Night
I remember the Dreams
I remember the Years

A blind man in a dark room
An insight of forlorn grief

Will I ever truly see light?
What is light? What is dark?
Can I remember? Have I forgotten?

What is this in my palm? Such warmth…
It tingles with such spirited joy…
It is not fading…
It is getting stronger…
Or am I fading?

Perhaps…
Perhaps…
Perhaps…

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The Sap Turns To Amber

From dry wooden cracks
Seeps the elixir of life
Oozing out of its earthy shell
It crawls upon the outer walls
Of its once eternal prison

It flows and covers
Encompasses and drowns all
Preserving death within its clarity
All else seems insignificant and weak
Thus it perishes before the creeping nectar from within

The elements awaken
And let loose upon the forgotten and the lost
Time passes and clouds pass by
Frayed by the undying winds

The Sap Turns to Amber

Carries within its crystal the tales of an era
Trapped now in golden glass
Forever preserved, yet still forgotten

So the amber in our hearts preserves
Our defeats and triumphs
Within its recesses

Only the foolish are captivated by the luster
And only the wise see through to its core

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A World of Ants

Follow your brothers.

Individuality,

Imaginary.

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Danae

As the clock hands move,
Even a single raindrop
Can conquer mountains.

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Butterfly Wings

Reach through the glass to where
A thousand suns ripple in the rivers of your hair



Reach through the glass to where
A garden of roses blooms in a moon beneath your eyes


Reach through the glass to where
Earthquakes resounding chaos reside in your quivering lips

Reach through the glass
	As my clouds begin to roll away
To where my raindrops danced on the tongues of gods bowing at my feet voracious starving
dogs quenchless and subservient ignorant and blind as their worlds crumble and fall and
every ancient star and dancing horse in the night sky collide with the invisible walls of
futility and I trample on all and nothing in a spiraling cataract of silver water and a
silken spray on a butterfly’s wing fluttering the childhood fields of yesteryear and
evermore forever young in brilliant dance immortalized in wheat and dirt and wind and rain
and I stand defiant!


To where my fingertips can reach no further. Butterfly wings in fields of concrete.

Bland.

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Silverwing

If I achieve nothing else, if all that I have worked for is for naught, I can die happy
knowing that I have lived through my soul instead of forcing my soul to live through me.


The roots of this tree are tied to clouds
No earth and no stone can hold on in their simplicity
To the amber leaves and glittering branches
That shelter the silverwing faeries of my mind

In the distance, there is the sparkle of amber

Count the clouds, slowly rolling
Dropping tears from the crescents in your eyes
Slowly drowning the ignorance

Let the rivers flood
Tear down the concrete walls
Sealing innocence and blocking its light
Let the clouds collide
Bathing us in their flashes of truth
Drowning out the sounds of hate with their beautiful confusion
And let the mountains bow
To the silverwing faeries of the mind

Below, the ants swarm
Marching to the rhythm of the ticking timepiece
Melting in the August sun

Pile the rubble
Up the hill
Down the hill

The rhythmic footfall carves a trench
Deeper into the earth
Till the softness eclipses the sun

Above, there is only sky
No dawn to the East
No dusk to the West
But in the distance, there is the sparkle of Amber

A golden twinkle against the pale blue
A humble light that can shatter mountains
Dancing on an eternal horizon, growing and fading
Its touch as gentle as a ripple
Caressing the shores of my soul

In the palm of my hand, there is my sparkle of amber

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'man' - Part I

See, I try to make sure my facial hair is
symmetrical on both sides of my face.
It’s not. I know it’s not. You may not be able to tell, but it’s not.

I don’t get much chest hair on the right
side, but there quite a bit on the left, so I just end up shaving it all off
because, well, who wants one hairy peck?

I switched to boxers in the 7th grade
because my high school actually had changing rooms, and I figured briefs were
embarrassing.

I’ve never hit anybody outside of a martial
arts class, and even then it was mostly me getting hit. Well, that’s a lie. I
punched my friend when I was three because he pulled my sister’s hair. I still
feel bad about that. Also I don’t know martial arts.

I don’t like to hurt people or kill things;
I’ll follow a spider around forever with a napkin or a box just so I can carry
it outside. This one time I accidentally drowned a daddy-long-legs and it
ruined my whole damn day.

I like to feel things. I like that I’m so
easily moved by other people’s suffering; that I have to bite the inside of my
cheek in the movie theater just to keep it together sometimes, but I don’t like
that I feel the need to keep it together.

I am... a man. Am I?

Who sets the beat to which I must
Align my gait, my stance, my stride?

Who draws the lines of should and shouldn’t?
These lines embedded in my grandfather’s
forehead
As he furrows his brow to scold my
shoulder-length hair

See, I come from a land of chivalry
Where all men are (men men men men manly men
men men)
Where gender roles are rooted in fear and
insecurity
And every man is a threat because I am not a
man without a leash on my woman

How low must this bladed pendulum swing?
How long my beard? How trimmed my hair?
How unchecked must my rage go?
How low must this pendulum swing?
No, how low must my scrotum hang?

See, I come from a line of angry men
Old and hard, with saddened eyes
Men of principle and veracity
Traders, merchants and builders.

But see, I come from a line of free-spirited
women
Socialites, teachers and artists
Who look their best and speak their minds
And hardly age at all

I am not a creature of honor
Shame brings with it the comfort of my own
fallibility
I am not a creature of honor
I am not a creature of lineage or conquest

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The Advice of a Poet

Open your eyes…
See the world for what it is

Breathe…
Do not let the lies deceive you

Rise…
Let your heart be your guide


Open your eyes…


Have no fear…
Let your eyes find beauty

Soar…