February 09, 2012

Purple Prose– Asylum Seeker

Purple Prose

‘Var-sit-y’ a symbol of free spirited youth and playfulness animate the building on which I was about to meet and in through tall doors existed an ambiance of light heartedness and Var-sit-y. If ever a name had kindled across my melancholic mind before I came to these pastures of green. Varsity I knew not what it meant as I entered the domain of such a place. My first such place within this land. Greeted by looks of curiosity I transcended into a flash back much greater than this experience in my first introduction to her majesty’s United Kingdom. The first person I ever did see here, how curious they were and what to be said of their rhetoric. My home my land is not what it used to be, had it been so I would now be indulged in the passionate fruits that quench upon my homesick lips and I would be looking upon shores of glistening jewels, in a rhythmic trance that would not be saying Var-sit-y.

I approached the bar hesitant in an apprehensive tone of wich drink would be mine. That drink that would mark my very first taste of England. In a kingdom I stood and contemplated the dwelling of appeal, to drink in a kingdom is to drink of Kings. The glass of crystal encrusted with garnishes of colourful fruits presented itself to my hand and then onto my lips. The drink that flowed through me overthrew me, for now the country was in my body. In my blood. But in my spirit remained that which I had left behind. My home, my land. The abode of familiar comfort, turned by perilous strife encapsulated in a moments enthralling disaster. Soon it shall return to its beauty and with it so shall I and perhaps there I shall then sit in melancholy of my first made memory within the dearest Var-sit-y.


February 02, 2012

Diabetic dress rehearsal

I call many a moment, times to give up

You were overcome with a sugarish rush

You only knew the high but not the decease

You peaked and troughed at life’s extremes

I thought when will come my time to perform

I dreaded the time when lifes curtain were drawn

You watched and laughed at every fall

I overcame fright and learned how to soar

You fell unconscious almost pathetically dead

I carried you, so you could lift your head

You raised your head to look straight through me

I cried a tear but never could you see

I prepared you so, for your final call

You saw you, look in the mirror some more

I continue to breathe in, live and exhale

You never could admit defeat in fail

I usually knew your next scene would cut...

You, me or through a broken heart full of fret

I heard the time is now and is for real

You had so much time and left none to heal

You lived life dangerously high in a craze

You lived an unreal self-inflicted maze

You entrapped belief in times reversal

You lived life’s diabetic dress rehearsal

With a single tear a single white rose

Do I return you to earth of Gods abode

And one unspoken prayer did you earn

Rest you here now, forever shall you burn.


A curse

I curse that which is beneath you, above you and on either side of you

& an army of unseen, will entrap you

I curse thrice a generation before you

And twice a generation proceeding you

So that you may live to lament the perish of your kin and then theirs too.

And with every pain inflicted that you are healed instantly

And instantly inflicted once again into a cycle of continuity

So that the sudden stabbing of a sword bursts into your gut

And steals your breath,

in pain

enveloping every part of you

Crushing you and spilling your blood

Then in an instant may your blood reverse and the wound enclose, and for you to feel well

Only to be just as shocked in pain when your gut swallows the sword again

And again continuing on and on

May you be paranoid and feel within your ear the small footsteps of insects

Crawling and sliding from inside you. Feel their movements in your head

fluttering and prickling within your skull in your brain

annoying the pit of your eye sockets

inflicting such a frenzy of irritation so unbearable that you scratch your eyeballs with needles.

May your feet stand flat to a boiling ground that burns you through

So that the burning of your soles transcends up

Frying your brain so that you cry burnt moths and slugs

Burnt and crisped now falling out of your eyes and down your cheeks like teardrops of ash

And for your burning, you thirst and perspire a drop of drink

So drink of the most retched smelling fluid, of puss from sores and blood of menses

And may you have a long life

So that you may live to lament your perish.


Living life as a traveller.

From the eastern coast of the Africa where it is said to be the origin of all men- the ornate palm trees, shadow witches, in their sorcery and exotic blue shores dance and tangle in knots of western affliction and eastern stubbornness. Every day, waves wash upon a stunning shore new ideas, decease or culture.

From the centre of what is left-over from the so called mother land a Pakistani, Punjab agriculturally rich and stinking from the self inflicted ignorance. A place in which, even water needs to fight the oppressive force to break through.

Neither here nor there-as stranger I stay, travel and work. Stranger than my passport with a different stamp for every page-is my mind. Filled with stamps of temporary location and identity… Fatigued I am from working out at which part of me is Black, which part Arab and which part Pakistani- but that was a battle I have already tried-not controlling the battles start and oblivious to my opposition.

One clear identity that I know to be true often scares people the most. Perhaps the only thing I’m sure of is the very thing most people are not sure of. This is an old battle, still fairly new to me- invisible to some and justified by some! They say “Must you wear it on your sleeve? Must you offend and defend the way you do?”

Unfair judgement, prosecution, persecution and oppression not even realized nor recognized! I’m sure this battle exists outside of my mind, but for now I’ll live in this life as if I am a traveller.


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