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Best Poems Written by Sadat Khan

Below are the all-time best Sadat Khan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Sadat Khan Poem

On My Birthday

It was just a day, and 
I felt, I was snowing
In the great lagoon of fear and fantasy,
I publish my words...
Hoping that,
They would represent 
Me, beyond the measure of life;
And, into the cavity of truth --
Where my pulse ticks clocking.

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

Happy Birthday

I wish I could tell you that 
On the eve you are born;
The needles  are just everywhere,
And they would prick you hard.

I see you are fading, 
Looming motionless in a pool, Parting water 
And hacking your way through 'watery desert'.

I see your tears beaming like beadles --
Droplets of which, soaked in bloody love.

You care just a fig at times,
Give a damn to what people call -- institution;
Anxious at times, fearing of 'ground lost', in home and abroad.

Who then, instilled a germ into the seedbed
And you nourish it in perfect serenity?
You will feed it and let it grow,
Because, the pigmy cells come with a burst of life.

This is how you were born sometime,
Giving your ship a direction;
I wish I could see that joy in your parents' face. 

Yet in every cyclic year, you come round and round 
To remember that Day;
And afterward, in the timeline, you do stay;

And I wish, I could tell you
HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

I Wrote It For You

You told me,
Just to write a poem.

You did not tell me whether
It would be nimble lined,
What meter, what rhyme?

Nor did you tell of the matter --
Of love, fantasy or despair;
Or of friendship, business, or repair. 

Here I write for you
Like some beads on a grass
Just like the dew 

I wrote for you!

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

Drip Drop

Blown with the wind, came I
With Orion, screened from the sight;
Yet with the constellation sighted 
In the glass of life.

By my window, the rowdy wind 
Picks up the pace and funnels the air
In turbid haste.

I, the eye of the storm, saddled
On the morning maze,
Pricked up and pinched with the chill of your gust.

Drip drop, dripping, clinking,clanking
Life's fluid vibe beguiles the 'witches cauldron'
The ominous count of moisture of life
Fizzing up and flowing straight
To the Bay I look 
From my window-pane.

The wind would pick and the wind would fall
The train of flossy images hangs over Bay of Bengal.

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

Saying Vs Doing

So carefree into the nature I pass,
So carefree I roll onto the soft grass.
YOU HAVE TO FEEL THE NATURE IN YOU-
So said my reverened Guru.

As I got older, I  carried those words only in my head.

I saw a nice house beside mine 
A palacial one, patterns so fine
I thought if I had been the owner
In place, I felt, I became 'ower'.

I saw one of my friends 
Holding a pair of beautiful hands;
I felt red with spleen
With envy, I got green.

I saw a man driving a Ferrari,
I couldn't be at all marry;
And I had a heartburn,
Into my heart, that really did turn. 

Now I am aged and torn
And see a child as it is born;
I feel jealous as I have creased skin
I feel like to replace the babe, as beautiful as a bean.

...At long last, I realize

I did not pass the nature into me
Yet affected, I'm there, where lies she;
I bore the words only in my head,
And terribly did I neglect.

What's the use of keeping the words in head
If in practise those do not reflect?

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

Taught In My Codes

Glad you be in grace 
Benumb, in disgrace 
Hearty you be in giving
Broad you be in forgiving.

So much did I hear -
The buzz of moral quotes

Either sung by Gurus or coded in Scripture;
Either floating in the air of practitioners.

Virtue lives in the instincts.
I feel incapacitated in trials and errors,
Exhausted in files of books.

I am rather empty,
rather humble in the dearth of knowledge--
I know - not much;
But I follow - what comes from within --
Thus I mold my life's coding.

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

Dungbeetles and Poverty

"Sir" want me to call something --
A name? 
Well call then what you can.
Am I worth naming "sir" !! call any name.

My mother said, I was blesses by rain water
through our thetchet roof first day I was born,
Caught up with something called 'Pneumonia'.

However, I survived a life --
One that a catfish has (a cat has nine lives);
Or, a dungbeetle.

My father could never feed us well,
Using up the drops of sweat after the pawnbroker.
My mother's tear never dried from her cheeks,
As she kept on fighting with odds bits every single day.
My father poured all his life's rage on the poor little lady everyday --
Bashed, fisted, kicked, lashed, slapped, pulled, drugged
And she died.

Police came and handcuffed him;
I known nothing of him since then.
I just know, when my small little house was subided in Padma (a river) 
Five small children (including me) of my impoverished mother came to the town.

Fance around of Polithin,
A small mosquito net, where other people heaved and paid my aunt;
We were kept out, under the open sky then,
Till the summertime. 

One day I got lost deliberately;
I know nothing of them everafter --
Nor should I try.  

I am a 'rickshawpuller' brother
I neither have a name, nor can remember what my parants gave.
No connection, no memory, no place to live

I came here for easy money;
Pulling the passengers on a steep road, heaving chest heavily
While they are kissing each other on the seat. 
I grin and keep quiet.  

I don't know how old I am, where will I go,
Or, even, why am I created for!
I gamble, smell opium at night and sometimes take girls on road.

Well "Sir", one day my passenger kicked me
For, I charged too much;
Called my mane with many more street-rhymes;
Lastly called me 'dungbeetle' 

He came to the point after long time
With his nimble choppy rhyme
Gave me a name I was looking for 
That goes with ruthless poverty, and the poor.

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

So Glad Am I, Glad Is the Sky

So Glad am I; Glad is the Sky
So glad is the sky today --
The brigades of breezy-spells 
Are on loose.

The wind is witching out
Of the dry pallor,
And giving away to a 'feel'
Grinding in the Onomatapoeia.

A chill-clad nature,
Howling out to me,
And to you. 

So glad is the sky
It's raining now;
It's raining hard.

At your return -
Returns the rain,
Retires the summer sun.

Glad is the sky --
Sending forth the brigades of wind-spells 
To shake 'your' conscience. 

I am awake, so.

Keeping my vigil;
Heard of onomatpioea;
Hailing your turn
From the open balcony,
soaked by the gust of that 'feel'.

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

Title Song

TITLE SONG


In that grinding solitude 
"I Wander Lonely as a Cloud"
Echoing an "Ode on Melancholy"
To my spiritual
"Waste Land".

Doing the "Digging"
On that "Sunne Rising"
breathing a "Valediction Forbidding Mourning" 
 
I fear I am "Gone With the Wind"
Fixing my date
"Crossing the Bar"
Being the "Adonais"
Heading for a
--ROMAN HOLIDAY

Details | Sadat Khan Poem

An Elegy For My Vavi

I can only be sad when you are not,
I can only miss you when you are not,
My heart can simply grunt in long deep sighs --
When you are not here. 

In those university days when I used to melt in nature 
For long hours, and your worries are prominent on your forehead:
Apprehending that I got in unknown troubles;
Apprehending my whims of uncertain nature,
You waited for my return. 

I still kept that memory fresh --
Your beautiful brown eyes, flash of that undiminishing glow of smile,
That innocent care, that unpretentious services
That you rendered in my mealtime;
When I was there in "Ramu Rubber Garden"--
That is still fresh like patel 
That is still sticking to the rose.

What should I call you then? -- my 'rose',
That glows in the first light of slenting sunrays:
You are ever glowing like that sunrise;
You are more than a glow --
You are the round ball, the source of that glow. 

I learnt to enjoy the beauty of the sunrise and sunset,
Over the melting profusion of colours,
Over the crests of the dicudious trees,
Over the valleys of crimson shades--
Because you were that "round ball";
You were the source of life and light in those days.

On your death, I blow bcak and forth like 
A restless gale of wind.

You are, to me, a world of recognitions from the 
Transition of the childhood simplicity into aestehtic eternity.

You are to me, a pure piece of art, an unending tune 
Stretched on the unending timeline. 

I miss you now as you are not;
I miss you because I love you --
Love that graces mankind in beautifully molten sadness.

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