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Ashfaq Bakali Poem
I hear Christmas is coming,
Santa songs people are humming.
Crazy days and cuddly nights,
Joy and love, fairy lights.
Hushed tones, mindless giggles
resound,sweet memories, curious glances
all around.
Yes, I hear Christmas is coming.
Can you hear the festive drumming?
Soon roast turkeys will sizzle in the oven,
puddings and dundee cakes eaten by the
ton.
Munching on piles of dried fruits and
cookies,
and women will be exchanging juicy
recipes.
Christmas will forever remain a gem
as a special boy was born in Bethlehem.
Yup, I hear Christmas is coming,
dancing with guitars strumming.
Baubles and bright lights dangling from
trees,
children coming out of grottos with
freebies.
It's this festival that teaches giving.
Do some good deeds while you're living.
In Heaven Jesus is praying for our
survival,
I'm sure He is hasty for His arrival.
Ho! Ho! Ho! I hear Christmas is coming.
It is time for redeeming.
Folks on the streets are dancing and
singing,
Even the grumpy ones seem to be
enjoying.
Christmas miracles touch all mankind.
Grouches become givers, selfish become
kind.
No reasons for sadness, no excuses for
failing,
the spirit of Christmas heals the ailing.
It's true Christmas is coming.
The joyous fever is just resuming.
In everyone is seen childhood innocence.
Intimacy and charity is common for once.
Chocolate coins and Advent calenders are
in vogue,
Visits are frequent to a Church or
Synagogue.
Everyone joins in to celebrate Christmas.
They have waited for this day with
eagerness.
Chanting in the air, Christmas is coming.
Let's see what this Christmas will bring
Copyright © Ashfaq Bakali | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Ashfaq Bakali Poem
Cold, lonely, long nights
endless hours before dawn.
The flickering candle in the night,
brings up yawn after yawn.
I know I want some sleep
but the hill I'm climbing is steep.
Each and every limb of my body,
creaking, screaming, protesting,
composed into an ill-tuned melody.
Dejected, I'm down, kneeling.
Every night seeing same nightmares,
every day plagued with scares.
People see me covered in blood stains,
little do they know, I too have aches and
pains.
The only music is the gunfire sound,
and I dance when the bullets pound.
How long can I hold on,
now my patience has gone.
I'm getting on the next bus
because
I wanna go home for Christmas.
Memories of me and her
lying beside the fireplace.
It's a wet, windy December,
everything moving at slow pace.
Two lovers in a tight embrace,
my eyes glued to her face.
Wishing the night can stay forever,
and these moments leave us never.
No words spoken at all,
her kiss just says it all.
I wanna live that life again,
leave the stench of dust and drain.
Sick and tired of bombs and tanks,
can't bear the same silly pranks.
I wanna ditch the ugly uniform,
I've had enough of this storm.
Now I will leave all this fuss
because
I wanna go home for Christmas.
I've killed humans like chickens,
after every slaying my blood thickens.
Corpses are lying all around me,
these bloody scenes no longer astound
me.
I know from history that war never ends,
I dread soon I will be left with no friends.
My mom is crying every hour of the day,
and my dad's hair have all turned grey.
I hear my kid is living like an orphan,
and my once-bubbly wife is now quiet as
a nun.
I wish someone could stop this war,
end the game of blood and gore.
We've seen countries amBushed, many
others under attacks,
Will we ever stop rulers from being
maniacs?
I'm not waiting for answers
because
I wanna go home for Christmas.
One day I will be lying dead in a ditch.
Those in authority will play the role of an
ostrich.
A memorial will be erected long after I die.
My wife will receive my medal and a
shoulder to cry.
Her tears will be dried but the scars will
remain.
Someone will replace me on some
unknown terrain.
And if I survive I will come back with
PTSD,
Or lying helplessly on the bed as an
amputee.
But before all this happens,
I'm calling the missus
because
I wanna go home for Christmas.
I'll tell her
"Honey, I'm coming home for Christmas,
Never gonna go back to the trenches"
PTSD: Post traumatic stress disorder
Copyright © Ashfaq Bakali | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Ashfaq Bakali Poem
I am lying on the bed with abscess in my
rear
and wrapped in white clouds of fear.
The nurse was flashing an animated smile
but I am sombre like I am on a trial.
I see her as an angel of death in her gown
I fear in the 'red devil' I will drown.
Having chemotherapy, radiation and then
tamoxifen,
I want to ask God, 'what is my sin?'
Outside, the sun is shining
but inside, I am whining.
The leafy trees are dancing in the breeze,
and me going, 'Help me Oh! God, please'.
Clusters of hair falling on my hands,
deep in the gorge my confidence lands.
My breast, my hair, my jolly banter,
robbed by the invisible thief called cancer.
I wonder what is this thing called cancer,
cutting, slicing into human flesh like a
butcher.
Debilitating, decimating, injecting
exhaustion,
deadly effect has this treatment potion.
In the mirror I see a bald, fat-chested
woman,
my stocky body makes me look like an
ancient Roman.
How have I changed unbelievably from a
gorgeous damsel,
my long locks and lovely looks made
many a man mental.
That was yesterday when cancer gave me
the scars,
today I believe that only when its dark, you
see the stars.
No more am I afraid of the dreaded 'c'
I am standing tall and erect like a tree.
I have now resolved that I will continue
fighting,
each and every cell in my body is rioting,
Death stares me in the face, but in vain,
because I am dying to live again, live
again.
Today my vision is clear and I am looking
ahead,
I am not the type to give up and stay in
bed.
I have defeated cancer and know that
anyone can,
Even 'cancer' itself contains the word
'can'.
Copyright © Ashfaq Bakali | Year Posted 2013
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