In our measure of the passing time,
Curious circles fill the counted days—
Numbered moments scarred by transiting light,
The heaven’s moguls bruise our joy and blight,
And give, and take, and measure what we mean.
Time, indifferent, measures us; it loops
Around the heaven’s span and grids the world.
Saturn still stutters—constant sorrow speaks—
Today recedes into tomorrow’s loss;
Yet clocks in circles go, and we pay cost.
O god of time, your circles go and go,
Returning slow, then turning wingèd, fast—
They come, they go—there’s time enough for love.
Meanwhile I scan the horizon with my mind,
And seek the curve of her Belt of Venus—fire—
A circumference of sunset reds that span
The sky; on sight she’s timeless, swaying slow,
A pendulum—its fixed foot steady—rings
My day; her pulse keeps measure as it swings.
And in night’s sanctuary, as we roll
On sweat-slippery fields of red-ochre bliss,
We kiss the kiss that turns and kisses back.
Then, as I watch her breathing come to rest,
Time stops—
and takes my breath away.
Used books were sold each semester.
Los Angeles City College bookstore, and
California State University, Long Beach ...
They, too, sold used books.
I've been in possession of some -
Students felt fortunate stumbling on the right one,
For some classes commenced without certain books -
"Liberation Theology" was one such book-
I'd already own a copy signed by Dr. Cornell West
He spoke at Dr. Maulana Karenga's center one Sunday.
The point I want to make is:
Some used books held handwritten notes-
Students left their marks on pages of time.
And as the years passed, I formed a habit -
That habit told me not to borrow library books.
Why? I read, and like breeze with leaves, I twiddle words.
To deface another person's property... how trifling.
And so, I'd browse Barnes & Noble, and
Thrift stores housing books I would purchase and cherish.
For I know countless poems will come to mind
For I have seen haiku moments in my travels,
For when I die, find me on pages of time.
*
The transiting sun shines deceptively,
spreads spectrum in the chameleon sky,
the masked faces of ingenious craft,
walk you enticed on blind garden path.
In the dense night of broken dreams,
you don’t hear their footfall of silence.
Their sneaky eyes probe to consume,
as masks dissolve in depth of darkness.
In the desolate domain of feral fright,
under the ebony sky on murky ground,
the creatures of the night prowl around,
stalking the haunted who can’t hide.
The nightriders slither from wilderness,
unmasked, they morph into demons.
Unsuspecting predators on the hunt,
as sinister sly animals of evil they lurk.
With arcane acumen of trickster devils,
as sordid silhouettes of menace they crawl
stealthily into the quintessence of your life,
suck the seraphic ambrosia of your soul.
__________________
June 10, 2022
Contest : Creatures Of The Night
Sponsored by : Julia Ward
Essential first is love enablement,
transiting to unity consciousness,
presence vibrant in tranquil contentment,
magnetised thus in joyous blissfulness,
cognisant and entwined with That oneness,
after which we fully reflect God’s light,
discerning the truth by spherical sight,
aligned at all times with His supreme will,
as bliss currents heighten rapture delight,
soul dancing with joy, as voids within fill.
14-February-2022
The Sushumna central funnel aglow
When polarities fuse in stillness slow
Upon divine union renewing within
Manifesting a blissful ignition
Ineffable joy in our heart thus grows
As the mist of bliss in our pores burrows
In feeling so believing, then we know
As the magnetic throb within brightens
The Sushumna
Transiting through a spacial calm mellow
Enlivened by the soma nectar flow
Ego receded, our body lightens
Far distanced from the outer worldly din
The staff of power, which radiates glow:
The Sushumna
24-December-2020
Love
graded,
joy bubbling,
then transiting,
on heart opening,
to empathy spacial;
it’s outpouring radial.
In time we get to compassion;
warmth of love steadily outpouring,
with vibrant bliss within thus pulsating.
Over time, something within falls away.
Inner silence becomes our mainstay.
Hollowed form pure and pristine,
exists to live the love dream,
as joy within does stream,
an invite to merge
in the bliss surge,
radiant,
aglow,
here.
21-October-2020
Materiality of form an asset, imbibing & assimilating divine energy at a cognisable rate of vibration, enabling surfing the waves of bliss electricity by transiting from form to formlessness whilst in form. The waves which rise & fall, steadying to a humming purr, a tranquil peaceful expansive joy ever present. Boundaries between void & manifestation blur.
Haunting hum of Ohm
Within heart our spacial dome
Tranquil bliss at home
26-August-2020
Under the spectrum of chameleon sky
the transiting sun shines deceptively
on the masked faces of ingenious craft,
walk you enticed on blind garden path.
In the dense night of broken dreams
you don’t hear their footfall of silence.
Their sneaky eyes probe to consume
as masks dissolve in depth of darkness.
In the desolate domain of ineptitude
under the ebony sky on murky ground
the nocturnal animals prowl around,
stalking the haunted who can’t hide.
The nightriders slither from the wilds,
unmasked they morph to feral demons.
Unsuspecting predators on the hunt,
sinister sly creatures of menace lurk.
With arcane acumen of trickster devils
as sordid silhouettes of evil they creep
stealthily onto quintessence of your life,
sip the seraphic ambrosia of your soul.
Posted : February 27, 2020
June 16, 2020
Contest : Strand No 800
Sponsor : Brian Strand
She wore that cotton dress to deal with the heat.
Double takes came often as we walked along the street.
I tried to keep up with her stroll,
She's always one step ahead of me.
At the station I paid the toll,
She took the seat with the most to see.
I would follow her anywhere,
anywhere but backwards.
She's someone to confide in with,
with even my last words.
No mean for all,
even a single fear
How decent guy trap
silently in love,
O’er this anthology
might we be hear,
Might you with me
and I with you be in
love,
And end to begin,
and beginning to
initiation,
We are resurrected
again and start in
love,
Lo and beheld, if
you come
illuminatingly my
dear,
As autumn swerve to
spring in love,
Your tawny white
tint was transiting
fair,
As sprinkling,
happens silently
from clouds in love,
May our defamed love
recover without
smear,
Oh the world not
easy to apprehend
scorching in love,
O’er a love tale and
passion full of
tears,
In return I died and
die each span in
love,
And If I am
authoritative in a
decision of this
gear,
Make it grow towards
heaven dwelling, in
love,
Last but not least
this year,
A lanky man can rime
thousand poems in
love,
And Shahid is not a
replica of
Shakespeare Lear,
Won’t forget at all
if betrayed in love.
Shahid Hussain
Chouhdry
in our measure of time
there are curious circles filling our days,
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights,
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight,
that give or take away --
the indifference of time that measures man,
in cycles round 'bout heavens span,
meted out in lines that grid the world
in constant sorrow, Saturn stuttered,
disappearing today in some further loss of tomorrow,
yet we also know that ticking clocks in circles go,
'til time enough for love is lost to reasons chains and at what cost;
the God of Time in cycles go, around, about, a-circling slow, fast re-turned,
they come, they go, there's time enough for love you know.
though I spend my time,
scanning the horizon with my mind's eye,
seeking the curve of her Venus belt,
a circumference of sunset reds spanning the sky, she is on the face of it,
a timeless piece, a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway,
a clock that circumscribes my day,
and in the sanctity of the night, rolling
on a sweat-slippery field of red-ocher bliss and
kissing with the same kiss, it's just then
as I watch her rest,
time stops
and takes my breath away
in our measure of time
there are curious circles filling our days,
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights,
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight,
that give or take away --
the indifference of time that measures man,
in cycles round 'bout heavens span,
meted out in lines that grid the world
in constant sorrow, Saturn stuttered,
disappearing today in some further loss of tomorrow,
yet we also know that ticking clocks in circles go,
'til time enough for love is lost to reasons chains and at what cost;
the Gods of Time in cycles go, a-round, a-bout, a-turning slow,
fast re-turned, they come, they go,
there's time enough, for love you know.
though I spend my time,
circling the horizon with my mind's eye,
seeking the curve of her Venus belt,
a circumference of sunset reds,
surrounding the sky, she is on the face of it,
a timeless piece, a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway,
a clock that circumscribes my day,
and in every second of my nights,
a tick to my tock that ne'er quits
nor ever is passe'
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