Two Ghazal Poems by Mohammad Zahid

 

In Silence

 

Do you know what it means to love in silence? 

Made in the divine precincts, a vow in silence 

 

What the angels witness, in the whisper of prayers 

The earthly definitions may question, how in silence? 

 

All the accusations you make, like one such reticence 

I’ve tread on your path, say, what now, in silence 

 

The meek earthlings that we are, bound to be flawed 

Some consolation from heaven above, in silence  

 

The war cries, cacophony of the ricocheting rounds 

What cost carries the cooing of a dove, in silence? 

 

The clamour of machines men handle round the clock 

Some moments of sleep would it allow, in silence? 

 

Zahid, life at the end is but a heavy burden of sins 

Eyes lowered in remorse, to Him you bow in silence 

 

 

 

 

Somehow

 

Searching in the cracked mirror for my face, somehow 

As deep ravages of time my fingers trace, somehow 

 

The undulations of time having heaved on moon tide 

arching out its oceanic belly to the moon at ace, somehow 

 

The scars, the hands try to conceal with their ageing quiver 

reveal their youthful temerity, with hint of grace, somehow 

 

Stories told, forgotten, the songs sung in a silent symphony 

sojourns in solitude, retreat in a restless pace, somehow 

 

Mathematics of greed reeks of esurience, devouring hapless  

with exponentials of an un-diminishing base, somehow 

 

As breathing gets hard, intercostals pull the ribcage, sinful life  

weighs down the sternum, pleading for a space, somehow 

 

It all comes to a standstill, Zahid, bound, lowered down finally 

What could it be otherwise, an open and shut case, somehow

Mohammad Zahid’s first poetry collection The Pheromone Trail bagged the Best Book Award from the Academy of Art, Culture and Languages, Jammu & Kashmir in 2015. His latest poetry collection Graffiti of Dreams has been published by The Writers Workshop Kolkata, India in 2023

He has translated Kashmiri Zuban Aur Shayiri by Abdul Ahad Azad into English, commissioned by the Academy of Art, Culture and Languages, Jammu & Kashmir. He has also translated a collection of essays Aaena Khana by Aziz Hajini, a monograph on the Kashmiri poet, Abdul Raheem Aama into English, published by Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. He is a recipient of the Jibananda Dass Poetry Translation Award, conferred by the Kolkata Poetry Confluence, in 2022, for translation Prof. Naseem Shifai’s poems.

Zahid’s poems have appeared in various international journals. The Spanish translation of his poems was included in Antología - Gestos de la Poesía 2022 published by the Cultural Centre of Universidad de Los Andes, Columbia.

He is the translation editor at Muse India and The Lakeview International Journal of Language and Literature. Apart from his poetic meanderings, he also talks to his surroundings through his camera lenses, capturing his perception of life and nature in pixels. 

Two Persona Poems and Two Ghazal Poems by dan smith

 

We 

They call us slime ball. Not to the face. We are Helixian from a good family. It is unfortunate for us that we resemble the snails of this desecrated planet and sad that we reflexively roll our eight foot body into a ball when stressed becoming the object of your disgust and scorn. Thankfully a toxic chemical we secrete keeps us from being eaten or used for bait. Your rich soil defiled by sludge, one of your many harsh sounding words, is blasphemy to us. Always in a hurry you rush to and fro but we will dole out our technology and while you are transfixed by the glitter of each bright shiny new thing we will divide. And CONQUER.

My Last Alien 

Yes, that hologram is new. 

I know, quite striking really. 

It’s by Angelo that hot new designer from New Terra. 

Sexually? All that anyone could ever ask for, really but 

too serious, way too serious. Never was very good at small talk. 

I hear the ones that are born and raised on Mars are bred 

to be more fun loving. I think I’ll call my broker in the morning. 

Upstairs? I’ve got some old-timey paintings. Well, Lloyds                                        

tells me they are museum quality. Lord knows, I paid enough

for them.

The Poignant Now When Asking Why and How 

 

Summer’s such an easy thing 

Spring Fall not an easy thing 

 

and oh, those Winter Sundays 

now days an uneasy thing 

 

Spring’s sprung rhythms gaily dance  

ignore Fall the easy thing  

 

the careless days now years gone 

thoughts of you an easy thing 

 

reckless with such poignancy 

love is not a measly thing 

 

on these broken Sunday mornings there is only weeping 

quoting Proverbs not enough to stop this lonely weeping   

 

the vision of our inhumane future so frightening 

so bad that even the androids are brokenly weeping 

 

with parklands burning and flooded malls it seems to me that 

even statues would if they could be forlornly weeping 

 

with senses dulled by numbing work and mindless circuses 

poets howl into the abyss while mournfully weeping 

 

when each day begins with so many prayers for the dead 

it is getting harder and harder to see beyond the weeping

dan smith is the author of Crooked River and The Liquid of Her Skin, the Suns of Her Eyes. He has been widely published in journals diverse as The Rhysling Anthology and Gas Station Famous and Dwarf Stars and Deep Cleveland Junk Mail Oracle. dan's most recent poems may be found at Five Fleas Itchy Poetry, The Solitary Daisy, Sense and Sensibility, The Ekphastic Review, dadakuku, Rattlecast.