vertigo/ dayz

days go by

thick and fast

through the haze

country miles

through the haze

dunya defiles

through the haze

the fish tank

green algae

a daze

the elders are playing dominoes

and drinking ginger beer

the churail is screaming

blood is spilling everywhere

it spreads in black lake

by the mountains

searing pain takes

hold 

days go by 

thick and fast 

so do the nights

wandering 

tooting 

breaking an old mans heart

through damning words not mine

his valve is already floppy

they say don't be soppy

it's just life

its not good enough

i didn't do enough

water checks

fire safety

full moon

running on empty 

till lungs are on fire

till heart pumps louder
to the sound of hearts club classics
gym lyf, friday night, eastenders in subs

 purple mirror
a reflection, not mine
to re-define
what it means to be a

stranger

the common

forever alone

forever common

sipping green tea 

with a couple of strangers 

a welcome break, from tv dinners

and deafening silence 

broken up by a cacophony of meows

from an internal violence

that shows no signs of desisting 

and shit, giving up 

never felt so liberating

l(only)

so this is

what that's like

bob marley's

waiting in vain

so this is 

what that's like

camden nights

tooting lights

brixton heights
dalston lies
hackney fries
chickedy chicken
embankment dies
drury lane
theatrical pain
grimaldo gots slain
but not in the bodily sense
hence.

miles upon miles 

so this is what its like

///

dreamers strange cont.

by the time we arrived, the coach had just departed

put down the pen, before the story had even started

and the sun set over the fields, and winding rivers I once traced

like the back of my hand, 

burnt out, erased

dispersed like grains of sand, 

in the wind and it submerged 

the sun, under the downs

under the downs

to wander, 

through all these towns

dreamers strange

brighton rock

dreamers strange

that winters eve

dreamers strange 

that stolen ring.

i told her to give it back 

a shell in waves 

swathes of runners

dreamers strange

the old church, the smell of incense

dreamers strange

to be / perpetually

LoSt in TrAnsLatioN

TRANSLATE 

THIS 

'lsfn;aoesihgf\qec qw]metuno iwrcfh ns;odfjkx

;osifh ;FJ C'OIJHF OICYSGVFBDUIXGF

LSDJFH LSAIUD FHCSILUFHPS'D]QW[;EL

dreamers strange
dreamers strange
dreamers strange

streets are there

strangers

& dreams

strange dreams

dreamers strange 

camden sunset 

squatting by the canal side

reliving youth, them lost days

so many souls, 

in the end, we always part ways

 there with georgian kindreds

 i remember 

there in the tropics

i remember

there in the midst of our conversation

about the valleys of Northern Pakistan

i remember

the gullys  

i remember

the beggars, the elders, the saints 

the writings on the wall, now so faint

i remember

the pain, the loss, the regret, the elation

the frustration

the laughter the tears

the tears, the tears,

the years, the years the years

eastern sunsets, western sunrises

the smog, the minarets, the mountains

i remember i remember i remember

new beginnings and tragic endings 

i fucking remember

and each memory hurts

and so I try to forget

stay occupied

to not let

myself settle in them. 

i learn to give hours freely, 

to elongate 

tour guide life

to witter away time 

to go the long way around 

to give hours freely 

to avoid being alone

with these memories

that hurt. 

and another 

and another 

aimless wander

under the sun

under the moon

kings, temple, brixton 

where i end, i find another 

two's company, 

a canteen friend

she came by the secret garden

with her friend, an irish man 

we went by the hamsters grave

we went by her flat, 

searched maps and traced crystals

traded stories, briefly

i forget

everything is changing again

and I had a dream

after a long time

I had a dream 

and when I later went for a swim

my dream resurfaced

and i remembered

everything again. 

the zoo. the chiraya ghar. eight years.  

and my heart hurts so much sometimes

when I think about things

when I think about the past, and souls 

once close to mine

to leave and to be left behind

and sure life is so beautiful

so beautiful 

incomprehensibly beautiful

fucked up

beautiful (light comes out of darkness, it emanates from it)

what else is there to do

but to keep moving 

everything is changing again

i wish i could tell you about it 

god, how i wish i could tell you about it

the sea is beckoning once more

georgian mountains

mountain dwellers of georgia

in possession of 

unassuming luminosity

cloaked in hoods, 

in possession of 

an opaque curiosity 

to brew tea

to herd sheep

to weave baskets

and to arrive in this city

that makes you question

everything you are

and everything you believe

this city leaves you wanting

it leaves you wanting

just a little while longer

until you understand

and then you're part of it

the way you are the mountains of georgia

you're part of its story, the glory 

the grandeur 

the grit, the manure 

fewer prophets

have emerged from this land

living london, a decade on, still living

i almost forgot

what it felt like

to be free and connected 

to see beauty manifest

i neglected
that part of me 

traded in wonderment 

in search of riches

a stability that
destabilizes

took a while to
realise-this

took a while to wander 

to wonder, to wander
flash of lighting, roar of thunder

it took a while 

I almost forgot

what it was like

to write to live to be 

free

         from a certain branded

freedom
it took a while
days that felt like lifetimes
it was the right time
to return to 

the cemetery

 to Apollo

the cold night bus

joyous sorrow

east street 

recalling memories

of the glory days

with comrades of old

its all coming back to me

these days

back to being 

a wandering bum

flitting in and out

of social gatherings
yet to succumb
to earthly weariness

brixton to kings cross

relearning 

the art of the doss
relearning
how to be lost
(the found kind)

Alhamdulillah

i almost forgot

what it felt like

befriended by the blind

met a couple on the bus

the 131 bus to kingston

they were both blind

the woman sat next to me,

the man said he would prefer to stand

he said he liked to stand on buses

she started talking to me

the woman with black glasses and a white cane
good humoured and kind
she told me her name
what was it?

she said she got into a ski accident

she smashed her head

she said at least she was doing something she enjoyed
at least she had led
a good life, and it continues

not a trace of bitterness

she said it could have been worse

 she’s come a long way

she’s going to the gym

she has him, 

she has a partner

he had brain cancer as a child

and he went blind

but he's a pro at karate and all sorts

so spirited and happy

subjectively, she said life is what you make it

she has 2 boys

she told me about her old job

I didn't understand it 

she told me her name

I can’t remember what it was

Jacinda or something

she asked me a lot of questions

and then it was my turn to speak

tongue tied, I half stammered

not knowing where to look

from where he was standing

he leaned over to the direction of my voice

and listened to my replies

from where she was sitting

everything I said sounded flat and empty

(bland and repetitive, to my ears alone perhaps)

I said I’m taking the Japanese students bowling

I said I’m some kind of guide, 

but not like she was

and soon our conversation dies

and its ashes hang in the air

choking, I TURN MY GAZE TOWARDS THE BUS WINDOW

AND STARE,

INTO THE NEW MALDON DISTANCE 
blessed to have encountered them

two strangers, who found love in each other

two blind strangers

who make the best

of everything they have

(she said it could have been worse)

not a trace of bitterness, it could have been worse

and my heart burst.

it burst

(I beg of the earth, to swallow me whole

unworthy of this precious and beautiful life 

unworthy of being befriended by the blind)

I remember then. WE ARE BLIND.

http://sysprints.blogspot.com/2013/12/we-are-blind.html

nero man

(prelude)

a man in cafe nero

unearthly and wild

yet meek and mild 

perhaps lonesome 

what was his name again.

he said hello when i passed him

i said hello back and smiled

he said you have a beautiful smile

I took a seat and after a while

he presented me with a poem

a poem for the smiling woman

I took it and said thank you

and he proceeded to pour 

out the contents

of his head

he's led 

a rich life

learning though learning is difficult 

because he has learning difficulties

a rich life, 

learning to building the self 

through never ending strife

/this being human/

the way we arrive 

in the places we arrive

my phone rang and I told him I had to answer it

I wished I never answered it

and instead kept listening to him

that man meek and mild 

outspoken, almost riled 

perhaps, so lonesome

nero man 

what was his name 

how strange, 

this one precious life

may we learn to give our time

to the ones that are in need of it

may we learn 

to give for nothing.
and love in the same way. 

means no worries

whats good 

wandering in mayfair

the lost river tyburn 

has disappeared

the antiques have been shifted

hedrix's house

                        has half drifted

away, whats good

tea shops and memories

marble arch

a bruised heart

what's good 

not my organs

whats good

the town hall hotel

stories of geesers

and pie shops

and lots and lots

of other stuff

what's good

wandering in bethnal green

purposefully

what's good

wandering around india house

purposefully 

what's good

the silence of savoy chapel 

watching scar throw mufasa 

to the wilderbeast again

but everything was different this time

i left during the intermission

made hakuna matata a new mission

whats good 

the sunshine on the river

the city's landmarks glinting in red

bled, gold and crimson

whats good

not my organs

but i gotta keep 

going going going

whats good 

not my organs

it was snowing snowing snowing

what's good

battersea arts centre and busan
essoira across borders
tears at the secret garden
ace hotel, rain
the odd old man, a bit insane
handing me a sweet poem in nero
what's good

it's all good

a week 

living london

guiding and being guided

it's all good
(and verily with hardship there is ease)

Wheels & Wonder

skateboarding at sunset

                   thru empty roads

winter wind blowing

           thru my hollow bones

the full moon is gleaming

in the pink and blue tooting sky

at home, Meow is sleeping

his face is tucked behind

his tail, its very cold outside

even the trees are shivering

but I will continue to ride

my skateboard

think on that crowd

of running young deer

running to where?

some secret meadow

a secret meadow…

gosh, I don’t know

where the deer were going

they were just going

going going

with the winter wind blowing
blowing blowing

thru their brittle bones 

I remember now what it feels like

to be young and free

I remember now what it feels like

to be that kid me           

 

reclaim your childhood joys

         for its pleasures await you.

numbers

elusive elevens  

dreaming in thirds

hiding in O's

swimming in 7s

thinking in 5s 

dying in 6s

6 bouts of irl- illness

6 lots of irl medication

5 wayward crows 

by the 5 inch lake

5 chances to mistake

as opportunities /////absent 8 

8/// came too late.... 

to l8

dreaming in thirds 

swimming in 7s 

dying in 6s

thinking in 5s 

thinking 

blinking 

back paralysis 

-l(8)-

5 buses

5 trains

a plane

6 dreams

each a variation

of the same 1

5 nights

5 cities

swimming in 7s

thinking in 5s

5 oceans

5 mountains

elusive elevens

5 prayers in 5 days

5 ways 

to change

dreaming in thirds

swimming in sevens

drowning in 2s 

hiding in 0s

/////////////////

only 

1

minus everything

BEAUTY of the DAYS gone BY

dunya is

dunya is 

waiting in the cold rain

for a dream, thats faded into a mirage

it's going to castle 

and realising that life goes on

that they've already forgotten you

dunya is distance

its transience

its floating in outer space

never settling

in one place

it's trying so hard to erase

everything that hurts you

dunya is silent sadness 

it's words unspoken

its half the wing

of a half gnat

it's falling short

it's falling apart

it's losing sight

it's losing heart

dunya is living 

it's knowing

that's its incomplete

and so are you 

and so is everything 

dunya is a story that'll never be finished

 its words that will never be scribed

its truth, shrouded in lies

dunya is dark 

it's a lark, a laugh

a cry, a sob

a few breathes in a few places 

but sometimes 

more than sometimes

often

dunya

it's a pretty beautiful place

filled with pretty beautiful people

and things

just imagine 

what akhira 

could be. 

--- de-illusions

miss you every day 

miss you in every way

miss your sad eyes, your beautiful smile 

miss you so much

every once in a while

i tell myself to let you go

      but more often

i tell myself to let you know

that I still love you

but what good will that do

when circumstances haven't changed

not mine, not yours

they remain closed

all these unforgiving doors

and I'm just stuck outside 

wondering what to do

feeling so hurt 

so entirely through with

waiting. 

so entirely through with

breaking

my own heart. 

a thousand times over-

<this being human>

beauty is a dark cloud

The Weight of My Words

thoughts on a tree top

thoughts on a tree top

     the branches are solid. 

the birds flit up above 

     i will stay up here forever

                

                    somewhere 

between the sky 

between the earth

            somewhere between 

this world
            and the    next

for here be peace.
                    here be rest.

/////return to fitrah 

    

and i think about what's to come 

     solitude

by the sea

i begin to countdown
the days till i can leave

the noise of the city 

              

   and return 

to myself 

to nature

      the sands 

the pine forests 

       the empty paths
the unmarked maps

and no where
and no one 

and nothing

     

but Allah

return to fitrah
-to be alone/
to find home
once again

divergence

its almost...

             september already

   oh lord,  

                 my heart is feeling heavy 

i almost.....

      forgot where I was going

oh lord, 

            i have no way of knowing

               if this path will lead me anywhere

but if it will lead me back to You, I swear

     I will follow the co-ordinates

 C-four / K-twenty -three 

       lord, please be with me

every step of this   lonesome journey

oh lord, 

               i lost my way

                             -interlude- 

I       almost.....  couldn't say 

anything 

so long 

       goodbye 

so long

please try

to take care of yourself

goodbye         

        paths diverge

and life....

goes on. but it never does 

                 for without heart

there is nothing

oh Lord, 

                I'm still waiting

on a miracle 

               though a million have already occurred

oh Lord

I'm waiting on a miracle

                   a dream differed. 

deterred, by difficulty 

the road ahead

oh lord

i miss You

canteen lyf

weight upon weight

from the back ends of borough market

to the castle canteen

   I'm losing 

                                    steam

  half-living 

                             in an oddball dream 

in it, remain piles of unwashed dishes

and mountains of vegetables

sketchy and wondrous characters

sitting on pastel-coloured round tables

trading tall tales, absurd fables

ilham brings me flowers

that she picked from her garden
mira brings me china plate
on it a pink boy and a pink girl are kissing
words above
kissin don't last
words below
cookin' do
john brings me something too
half a packet of lockets, a celine dion cd
anji brings me a book
the sensuous poetress
a book of poems
written by an aging minx
that sometimes frequents the castle
I read one, and wince
I convince
myself, that everything is fine
but the line
is blurring           and change is occurring 

david accompanies me, to fetch black pepper

i wait on a golden ticket at sainsbury's

                    it takes so long

    like everything 

    every thing in this dream

a spectacle of visions           

stella, she says I'm too kind

and that people will walk all over me

i know she's wrong and I know she's right

     i know im wrong and i know i'm right

aerus sings a song and plays the guitar

and afterwards asks if i'll marry him
strum on, 

o_0
I walk backwards

etherealla says her legs aren't working so good

/ |
elsie goes on about the narcissist, and power and abuse

what's the use

no she doesn't want to get married

no, already she's carried

too much weight, the weight of others

lovers

that never knew the how to love

warren's not shown up for weeks

maybe he's gone back in

I think maybe I'll bump into him

fishing by the wandles edge

Barry's indoors most days

paul hardly comes round, he says 

it all gets too much

someone told me they saw him at the tent

martin's head aches have stopped

he's stopped asking about brothels

he's stopped wearing his aviator glasses

and his top hat

he tried to give pretty yasmin 10 pounds

merril's still smiling

despite it all, the MS is ever limiting

making warriors of the sick

alan is still going to the hope group

at springfield 

he said so, I dropped a flyer off at his house

I didn't know it was his house

margie is back

she gave fidyah, because she can't fast

the cancer's gone, 

her mother's gone too

she said she went to australia to say goodbye

later tony comes by

I don't know where he went

navid is away

I hope he found the comfort he sought

Ray wasn't around

Ted got spooked

the man who puts out the vegetables

from the bloodied mountains of pakistan

is becoming mute

he says its hard, and the devil comes at him from every side

in a dream I told him to hold tight

to God's rope

he signs he saw sam

and he wasn't himself

agressive and in pain

he wasn't himself

and gosh, 

the weight, it's sometimes crushing

   depleting

mrs patel grabs the bread and soup

the others cry out      

meanwhile

in the kitchens the highly functioning golden girls

chop and cook and stir

perhaps soon, another change will occur

canteen life

gets me high

brings me down

         
canteen life
goes round and round

ella

Ella

i hell'a

hope

the rest of your days

are filled with sunshine

and lasting joy

 you've enriched my life

ten folds, what can I say 

you brighten each and every day 

with your songs

and your presence

with your outrageous jokes

and worldly life lessons

you got me in stitches

& brought me to tears 

you're a special soul 

& I thank you my dear

god bless you ella 

i think of you

months have passed

              & you're still 

always on my mind

          & i'm still 

trying so hard to find

     an atoms weight of peace

         and i'm still 

waiting on the ease

               that follows 

                   hardship 

   hardship

          to sew each rip

string and needle

of a tattered heart

     a patchwork in progress

textile art
yet, it still exists
    your heart   

 & in the month of ramadan

you start

(to feel again)

       ramadan
<3  + - //://: @ <///3   

             I pray for calm, 

and a stillness

+
for the sadness to subsist

                  I pray and I wish 

   and I pray for you 

                   when I open my fast

I pray for your happiness
^_^

               I sincerely ask

Allah to take care of you

   & of all tattered hearts

comfort becomes sparse

                                   at times 

but lest we forget

the One is nearer to us

     than we sometimes feel

SubhanAllah  

presence

I stare at the blank page

           open      on whatsapp, 

and I wait and I wait and I wait 

for the word to appear under your name

online

It flickers into existence 

like a hologram

   a mirage

online

transient letters 

      imprinted on a surface

    only a surface 

                    you surface 

         

online

          and for a moment in time

       time stops. 

and here we are 

we are both here

        so faraway

so very near

your presence lingers

         I disappear 

I go back

  

        online

you're no longer there

..... I stare and I stare and I stare

at the blank page before me

and there are

so many things I wish to say. I miss you.

so much, I wish I could make you stay

present

but goodbye is done

and we've already  become 

cyber ghosts

drifting in and out of unspoken dialogue

haunting....

                 presence 

your presence 

    I hope it never lessens

for it's all I have of you

love

real hidden gems

        the laundrette

that old iranian sam owns

the naval officer- come- material cleaner

            two bouts of cancer later

he's still standing,

still working the machines

the tumble dryers

           sam an outlier

                           he dreams

of taking care

of    his sick mother, his mother

             a lover

               of London city

     dreamer of a home

he can never go  back to

   but his kids are scattered now

        across the world

they possess all sorts of degrees

                  elevation

they don't come to the shop

     any more   

                 

***

the soup kitchen

moses visits them all

   far and wide

across the city,

    to eat a meal, with others

companionship, it's what he seeks

  up right moses

with lots of stray papers in his bag

a steely gaze,

    a knowing

a hearty laugh

     that reverberates across

them all,

all those soulful places

filled with people

          in some kind of need

material and emotional

   this being human.

      

***

the church

   that self appointed

old pastor jack visits

     he takes my hand

     he tells me the angels came to him

         in his youth

his father died at war

    but never did they go hungry

         work 

his mother worked in a factory

         Jerusalem is alive in his mind

he hands me a bag of lavender

    and talks about mash and eel pie, 

   to listen is to be alive       

it's to arrive

                at a junction.

***

the real secret gems 

spinning with eternity, eternally

sitting on the floor

  of the silver hive 

the little boy who dreams 

         with      eyes       wide

open, to know them 

    is to know 

the secrets of the universe

to know them

is to know

a single molecule

brings form to the cosmos               <<<>>>>

                                                            (the blinding light streams in) 

>>>>///////////////////////—————————

where he       goes, 

                   none can follow

   sitting on on the floor 

of the silver hive

the little boy who dreams

  eyes dancing, senses in overdrive

 so still, so silent, so faraway

the ground beneath him sways

all around

musical atoms surround

the buzzing of the bees confound 

   with their hidden language, 

     beautiful and rich

all of a sudden a switch

occurs, ———————

up he scrambles and proceeds to ramble

he moves arm hand up and down / heaven bound

  and starts to spin

with the bees, with the music 

    he loses it, 

he finds it

spinning, hands clasped

he spins fast 

so fast, to grasp (to learn/ to unlearn)

the music sounds, the bees buzz 

round and round and round

he spins he spins 

he grins, in a trance

I watch him dance, 

with the wind, 

with the music

with the bees

with eternity 

eternally

eternal 

the little boy who dreams

with eyes wide open

to know them

you can never know them

Kew Gardens, The Hive (inspired by a boy with downs syndrome who dances with eternity)

 

 

stairs and leaves

and that staircase
that went on forever
that staircase
the blinding glass
    of the chandelier
that evening
      tired of staying
tired of leaving
         tired of believing
in oak trees
   that shed leaves

stay a while.

these silent nights

these long walks

these winding paths

these cosmic doors

the secret garden is in full bloom

stay a while, 

                            don't leave too soon, 

these moments 

                        components

                                       of another way 

these absurd conversations

                    hope coupled with frustration,                         

 simple elation

ridiculous new beginnings

between losing and winning

I came by mister mouse at paddington

on the platform, half torn, 

he scurried all around me 

I was rain drenched, almost free 

from the night monsoons

my heart was racing from sprinting

across neon river roads

vague umbrella silhouettes

I suppose I suppose I suppose

there's a protection in it

i go without
the bridge over the serpentine
green earth and inky sky, both half mine
the handsome stucco houses

two stars above

the road is curving, 

and I'm losing my way

  but this

hope and frustration,    

 simple elation

of feeling a certain way

stay a while

won't you

stay a while longer

paradox of the free

is it funny

or is it sad

we never really know

anyone

is it funny

or is it sad

that often, too often

 we become

a shadow of who 

we once were

when did you stop

wishing 

                                       believing

wanting

    when did you stop dreaming

beautiful things

impossible things

always impossible

always out of reach 

lessons from above

they're only meant to teach

you, but you never learn

you just continue to yearn

for things not meant for you

let go

one day you'll come to know

something

in the folds

my empire of dirt

it sounded on the radio

a country boy's hurt

after a wander around

a burnt down house

somewhere out east

by the lake, the wild heath

the moody sky 

beneath it, I seek 

an atoms weight of peace

           a crease

unfolds in a field

       a swamp, a wild rabbit

             crazy horse

comes up again

                           and red cloud

       the bisons

they go quiet

the birds chirp, chirp, chirp,

the wind is so loud

 there is no peace

no peace no peace 

                                         no peace

but at least

          there's life

(somewhere in the folds)

shapes in condensation

sweet november 

glittering gold

a rain drenched 

concrete corridor

footsteps and puddles

condensation

it's a jungle

outside 

the bus conservatory

draw a map

find your way

circle another sun
wide open in outer space

the universe 

          reiterates

strands of

 that age old message, less is, 

more,

do not store

any ill, 

cease to berate

                     fate
                                             (misread)   

a path like this

a path like this

a path like this

rain is falling

the end is shrouded in mist

the river is fading

an old dream reawakened

to walk until the path is gone

to cross borders

every border

every border that exists

the rain is falling

the rain is falling 

            pitter patter 

pitter patter 

the rain is falling

draw a map
in the condensation
find your way

c4,     8d

layers of life

/sometimes/

all of real life

feels like fiction

tears at the janazah prayers

     searing pain, lasting affliction, 

a lingering embrace

a lingering embrace

in a holy place

in the house of the Lord
your reward
resides in jannah, with Him

the children's laughter, echoes

in a room full of broken hearts

the end the end the end

the boys in white

will grow up too fast

       tears fall,              

                         i stall

               in prayer

tongue tied

 we're tied, to dunya

until the day we die

and death will come to us all 

how long will you stall, sy?

 all of real life 

feels like fiction

              

                  the wisteria

birdsong, the towering pylons

the underpass 

the lonesome paths

maybe I should ask

something of you

    but what 

all of real life

feels like fiction

             bob geldof, nick mason

                             a crowd of strangers 

I wear patience

                    like a cloak

I close my eyes and

                                I float

towards the light......

                      but then

 clinking glasses and adult laughter

      bring me back to a world  

                                                       not mine

the boys in white will grow up to fast

the reeds blow in gold, the water 

reflections waver

all these places, I savour

the freedom

the millstone fell on the rat in 1703

300 years ago, it's hard to believe

the wishing wheel

swallowed up our wishes

and left us bereft

the rest

(who knows if they came true)

all of real life

feels like fiction

that ethereal night 

the view from the top of the building

there at a gathering, 

was it a cult, was I at fault,  

                  for not arriving  

              I lost my card

                too busy striving 

to make it some where

all of real life

feels like fiction

following that old canal 

that old canal 

talking to the nuns from belarus

talking to stanley francis 

about history

in a secret garden 

all of real life

feels like fiction

the chandelier at africa house

the mouse

meow caught

/////it got away

it got away

all of real life

feels like fiction