Showing posts from September, 2004

My son died for a lie

Dear Readers, I don't know how Tony Blair sleeps at night? So many unnecessary deaths of British, American and Iraqi soldiers and freedom fighters along with Italians, Polish, Ukranian and other troops from other nations. Did they have to die? And for what cause? A mother knows the truth. And a grieving mother knows the pain what many others like her, Iraqi mothers and American mothers are going through losing their loved ones and they feel helpless. A grieving mother asks, " These poor boys are being sent to Iraq to die for this government's lies. Where are the chemical and nuclear weapons they were supposed to be looking for? And if the war was about upholding the UN, why has the UN secretary general now said it is unlawful? Blair hasn't answered that either." Blair can't answer it. Only more distractions, more polished hyperboles will be given to the public to save his seat and also to keep this sick "establishment" going, and who would w

Sentenced to Be Raped

Mukhtaran Bibi, a Pakistani woman whom a tribal council sentenced to be gang-raped. Dear Readers, There is nothing to be stunned about reading this news, though many of us who do not have the slightest idea on what the earth going on in distant place like Meerwala, may feel completely aghast reading how this type of utterly disgraceful event can occur in a world that boast repeatedly of its glorifying civilization. The world is so much anxious in fighting the "terrorists" who spread fear by their grotesque form of violence mostly against the innocent civilians. But there are other more deadly forms of oppressions seemingly going on for centuries, even more, in so many parts of our world, so many innocent women, men and children are suffering and dying everyday from that criminal aggressions and violence and the economic suppressions, even the governments, the law enforcement agencies in those parts of our globe just look the other way. Read the following: "In Jun

I Will Die A Stranger -- a Poem

I Will Die A Stranger By Mahbubul Karim (Sohel) September 28, 2004 I will die a stranger away from family, friends and foes in a land where no body knows my name, nobody cares I will die a stranger on a day when hurricane will rush from Pacific, maybe from Atlantic too a stormy day from coast to coast there will be arctic flow from the north dumping snow in uncaring porches I will die a stranger my lifeless body will be washed by illegal aliens fleeing economic deprivation and meaningless wars they will sing and pray in their exotic tongues while their soap brushing earthly dirt off my dirt bound corpse I will die a stranger I think my funeral will be attended by a few unknown men, maybe one or two women wearing business attire their presence will be required for official sacraments inscribed in "land of free" constitution I will die a stranger in remarkably unremarkable day except winter birds will be

Drifting Clouds -- a Poem

Drifting Clouds By Mahbubul Karim (Sohel) September 28, 2004 Still, clouds drift far above in shifting shape of fringes changing from white cottons to flowing hair of princess And the clouds drift far above like a marching band walking in a festive motion of endless bland Imagine now the land beneath where droughts have struck potent writhe earth has opened its cavity like thirsty old mobile lady pleading for water begging for mercy lifting hands in prayers for sanity Imagine now the land beneath where floods have burst open spring heath on river banks in levity like a smooth serpent of pity hissing for slaughter writhing gramercy holding doomsayers' glance of clarity Still, clouds drift far above sometimes in frenzied thunder drenching the land and child below sometimes in mute timidity tiptoeing like a new bride in a morning glow

So High, So Low -- a Poem

So High, So Low By Mahbubul Karim (Sohel) September 27, 2004 It is not I in the mirror staring back with transient glare nor it is the shadow of error swinging by mischievous flare Break that mirror deception, delusion Revert error of fleshy deduction Who am I speaking to? God or absolute vacuity? Who am I pleading to? Fraud or resolute piety? So high life and dream rock side by side in tandem tango So low life and dream mock choreographed chanting "Don't Go" So high, so low dream "Don't Go, don't go!" Who is staring from the mirror with glare and flare swinging? Rock and roll dilating error bringing back frivolous waltzing So high, so low life Don't go, don't go!

Humiliated and Impotent, Every Iraqi is a Hostage Now

Dear Readers, In news you see the grim images of Western hostages captured by some part of radical insurgents. These are innocent civilians, went to Iraq in their time of desperation for finding a job, away from economic ruins of their own nations. Killing of these civilians should be condemned without hesitation. However, most news media do not show the other disturbing pictures so clearly. They never did from the beginning of this illegal war. Killings and maiming of thousands of Iraqi civilians, children, women and men, old and young, by the occupation forces' "careful precision", and by the insurgents' ill-conceived attacks. There are so many Iraqi civilians being held by the occupation forces, no one is for sure how many of them are behind the bar. Can they be called hostages? Why are there so much violence and rages among the Iraqis? Was it not predictable before the war? Jonathan Steele's article describes these issues very well. Regards, Mahbubul K

After Minor Surgery -- 18 Poems of Linda Pastan

After Minor Surgery By Linda Pastan this is the dress rehearsal when the body like a constant lover flirts for the first time with faithlessness when the body like a passenger on a long journey hears the conductor call out the name of the first stop when the body in all its fear and cunning makes promises to me it knows it cannot keep --------------------- I am Learning to Abandon the World By Linda Pastan I am learning to abandon the world before it can abandon me. Already I have given up the moon and snow, closing my shades against the claims of white. And the world has taken my father, my friends. I have given up melodic lines of hills, moving to a flat, tuneless landscape. ANd every night I give my body up limb by limb, working upwards across bone, towards the heart. But morning comes with small reprieves of coffee and birdsong. A tree outside the window which was simply shadow moments ago takes back its branches tw

Yesterday -- 15 Poems of W. S. Merwin

Yesterday By W. S. Merwin My friend says I was not a good son you understand I say yes I understand he says I did not go to see my parents very often you know and I say yes I know even when I was living in the same city he says maybe I would go there once a month or maybe even less I say oh yes he says the last time I went to see my father I say the last time I saw my father he says the last time I saw my father he was asking me about my life how I was making out and he went into the next room to get something to give me oh I say feeling again the cold of my father's hand the last time he says and my father turned in the doorway and saw me look at my wristwatch and he said you know I would like you to stay and talk with me oh yes I say but if you are busy he said I don't want you to feel that you have to just because I'm here I say nothing he says my father said maybe you have important work you are doing or maybe you sh

The Foreboding -- 15 Poems of Robert Graves and an article

The Foreboding By Robert Graves Looking by chance in at the open window I saw my own self seated in his chair With gaze abstracted, furrowed forehead, Unkempt hair. I thought that I had suddenly come to die, That to a cold corpse this was my farewell, Until the pen moved slowly on the paper And tears fell. He had written a name, yours, in printed letters One word on which bemusedly to pore: No protest, no desire, your naked name, Nothing more. Would it be tomorrow, would it be next year? But the vision was not false, this much I knew; And I turned angrily from the open window Aghast at you. Why never a warning, either by speech or look, That the love you cruelly gave me could not last? Already it was too late: the bait swallowed, The hook fast. ----------------- In The Beginning Was a Word By Robert Graves The difficulty was, it was Simple, as simple as it seemed; Needing no scrutinizing glass,