Beneath the laminated heavens built for you and I,
memories in turn of century cylinders are lost and
passing by. They beckon with a wail and personal applause
Inviting you to join, before the day withdraws.
Ignore the early stations, lost in their vignettes -
A reservoir of gemini left purling in its wake,
the scent of east-side lobster served well past its date,
daylight wasting in a condo twice sublet,
and elderflower friends that you have never MET.
Depart at Bowery and look for me -
where excess steam exhales forgotten memories
whispered out by cafes turned to sensory
bazaars, and dissipates among avowals left undone
by boys preoccupied by counting stars, not suns.
Exhausting spirits in proportion to their zinfandel -
Until you wander back by east-side locking doors,
past sleeping cats in midnight grocery stores,
at last to sunken homes with tortoise shells
to sleep beneath the echoes of farewells.
You make me think of a city
of spires and minarets
suspended in the purple
focus of a dusk
that seals the bitter bargains
of sinister bazaars
where gems and crystals mingle
the clatter of their light
with dizzying aromas
of saffron, incense, mint,
where silks as pale as moonlight
and red as blood on snow
and blue as desert noons
stain the heavy breeze
that falls through crumbling alleys
and stirs the scented curtains
of richly cushioned chambers
where lacquer, brass, and jade
receive helpless blossoms
of indolence and passion,
while from the far horizon,
beyond the groaning spars
that throw a crazed lattice
across the dying sky,
startled gulls reiterate
their clean, remote despair.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hark, Hallow Dark my dear pal, Titans Mars
rally Martian stars, tag team game Play--Card
Black, Naturals -- rare place reason, Blackguard
quandary, battlescarred, halt? Pass? Have cigars?
Smart-aleck, hmm! facial--compact, boxcars,
ugh! gawdawful. Beauty Triathalon,
He'll be back straightaway, mayhaps papers?
Your facial pasted atop Front page! Bazaars
trains, sidecars, racecars, famous! Alas, Shawn,
lad go faraway places, imagine!
Wanted to ... look balanced, thats it, smart-like
Cameras I take it! Fair and Square, dawn
speaking of that man, time has no passion
I want you meet mama, familylike
all device features are described in the manual,
but we are still unruly in the streets,
I needed to know a lot more about fractions
that hide between the numbers one and two,
measure the exact extent of each shadow in the sky of life
and really understand why we are lost here,
shopping endlessly in the bazaars,
acquiring picturesque items
to decorate the porch of our posterity,
as if we foresaw our descendants and,
wanting to impress them,
we would put an elephant bibelot on the sideboard of pain,
a postmodern armchair next to the stairs for nothing
and further back,
the opaque mirror of our confused, painful,
almost unnecessary existence.
Businesses now all
Turning to dull
All Professions
Hanging on death bell
Beggars in bazaars not keen
No giving hands seen
World’s oldest business begging
Not well that too now doing
Eid vacation is over
Come, come to me
Bring a star
Pink, purple, red, white, black… star
As your wish
You can bring a love shape star
Fifty three lanes through Fifty two bazaars
Familiar to us
Bad odor to good
It's our Mars
Come with the violet star
Come to TSC, DU
Our love will be eternal intact
As the fragrance of populous discover!
- Tuesday, June 11, 2019 Chattogram
The wind is too frail to carry across oceans
the echoes of distant bells,
too wayward to traverse the wild plains
to deliver wolves’ howls
and the hoots of owls,
too headstrong not to tussle with the storms
it passes, and thus lose its cargo
of muezzins’ calls and mermaids’ coos.
Jungles are jumbled with passages from rooftop
saxophonists’ solos,
valleys brim with the arias
it spirited away from piazzas,
and dropped heedless along the way.
The perfumes of rare books and hidden brooks
are lost too,
as are the aromas of faraway bazaars,
stranded on city streets,
harassed by exhaust fumes.
Snowflakes languishing in deserts,
petals flailing in glaciers,
the vibrations from a hundred fandangos,
the thunder of a million migrating hooves,
all were by the wind misplaced before
they could be deposited through my window.
To find them, I must travel forth.
One day I will go to Cordoba
Walk along the old cobbled streets
And hear the echoes
From many centuries ago
When the Muslims ruled Iberia
I will see the colourful flowing robes
Or white against the dazzling sun
Endless gardens of symmetry
Exotic flowers, fountains, cascading waterfalls
Cordoba enters my soul
The scent of spices and sweet perfumes
Will waft from the bazaars
The scientists, physicians, poets
Alive with thought, buzzing with ideas, vibrant
A new, tolerant, exciting way of life
An amalgamation of people, religions, languages
That is how we worked best
Lived at our best
How I yearn for that Cordoba
REVELRY
Our settlements these days identify
With blooming darkness
Velvety petals have turned
Into prickly thorns
Patches of blood adore pathways
As on a canvas, random brushes
Of seasoned painters do
Invisibility has helped cover
Umbilical cord that nourishes
Flourishing bazaars
Which, by the way, claim
To be self-styled pillar
Of our vibrant democracy
‘Whether you do, don’t or the way vote
Has no inkling with
Your doomed prosperity’ they say,
‘Your voluptuous appetite for smoke,
Not whims of bazaar
Has rendered mill-chimneys crestfallen’
You can die of hunger, sorry!
But you won’t ever be deprived
Of revelry,
Our settlements guarantee these days!
Chilly breeze
Punctuates our stroll;
Morning conversations
~~~~~~~~~
Hand in hand
Here we go;
Chinatown bazaars
~~~~~~~~~
Flavours and mix
Savoury delicacies;
Soft ice cream trip
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku moments
Bamboo trees arch;
Aqua moon floats
~~~~~~~~~
Sad notes
Lover's letter;
August goodbye
~~~~~~~~~
No need to fuss
No more worries;
Dead and gone
~~~~~~~~~
Write words
Cite speech;
Words on water
~~~~~~~~~
Listen well
The wind tells;
A coldness swells
~~~~~~~~~
Morning news
More people dead;
China saga
~~~~~~~~~
Dementia slays
Loss of great voice;
No more concerts
~~~~~~~~~
Sit calmly now
Here on the verge;
Wait upon words
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
21 August 2015
Singapore
Change fills the air,
Here as we stroll;
Imprints and fares,
Noisy trades poll;
Ancient affairs,
Tales of China;
Old alleys bare,
Wild agendas;
Note the bazaars,
Treats on the streets;
A kindred star,
Lanes that now greet;
Explore quaint food,
Sense ample good.
Leon Enriquez
29 October 2014
Singapore
Singapore tryst
Old times bordering;
Restored trade regime
Old Chinatown alleys
Winding streets await;
Takeaway souvenirs
Buzzing bazaars
Colourful wares shout;
Attractions ply
Smith Street
Chinatown circuit;
Oriental stuff
Strange name
Telok Ayer Street?
Meaningful glimpses
This Chinese temple
Tourists assemble;
Photo snapshots
Old men playing
Chinese chess;
Stone table forum
Street vendors
Crafts and wares;
Brisk commotion
Somnolent sunset
After light drizzle;
Swamp of human faces
Lost in the crowd
Two tiny specks
Seeking ***** bargains
Tucked in a corner
This awkward shoppe;
Viagra and company
Loud music blasts
Accompany footsteps;
Curiosity in-transit
Sea of faces
Mini United Nations;
Cosmopolitan nuances
Old shop houses
Clusters of modern comforts;
Brisk eateries
Chinese medical tonics
Healthy equilibrium;
Discerning aphrodisiacs
Feel the pulse
Crowd en passant;
Curious eyes feast
Bumpy movement
Feet gravitate;
Looking and searching
So much to see
Discover again;
That long-lost find!
Leon Enriquez
15 Apr 2014
Singapore
A Cup Of Tea
A cup of tea is a gift unique
In every cup it stands supreme
In restaurants, hotels, bazaars and homes
It’s a great dose for relaxing bones
Historical demand from ancient times
Light and strong always served by host
A cup of tea makes people close
In a friendship circle like petals of rose
A cup of tea has great respect
In every season, it’s always best
In making warm and giving rest
A cup of tea comes always first
Tea parties are an old tradition
But generation to generation
It’s always in fashion
A cup of tea is the Queen of cups
I like to serve it with cream rolls and buns
With chicken roast, cookies and crunches
Samosas, Kababs and finger chips
When stress compelled
And your mind obsessed
When anxiety brings
Those unwanted thoughts
Take a cup
Of herbal tea
Charming and sweet spell of magic
It will cast on your mind
Then your mind will no more be lost
In miserable, awful and uninvited thoughts.
Poetess S. Nadia Azam Shah Bukhari
All Rights Reserved
Are your eyes the green of a shamrock's leaf,
or your nose the tide that comes and runs?
Is your skin the plains of pearls and perplexities,
your hair the curtain to a rainforest peace?
Could be your ears the caverns where rarities dwell,
and your shoulders belfries that will never ring?
May your chest be a wound that never swells,
and your heart be the silence that learns how to sing
Is your hand a ten-minute first-light,
your fingers the fleeting moment that stays?
Might your arms ensphere the the broken, the evil, the cold,
bring what ends, for sure, to the prelude, alright?
Your legs and feet, perhaps, lucid dreams and strange fools,
with bizarres and bazaars, eccentricities galore,
Playing with colors, creatures, the cosmos, the rules,
that no matter duration, leave invocation for more?
Your mind calculates, creates, contemplates, is there,
But without You, none of these could ever, ever be.
For without the green of a shamrock's leaf,
the vastest of woodlands would seem nothing but bare.
potatopancakes with sourcream
their taste is much more than a dream
summer brings bazaars and pancakes
along with ice cream and milkshakes
spring will be here with no delay
and then there's the summer of play
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