POETIC OCEANS 2

I love to knit I love to stitch I  love  the colored yarn, moving from needle to needle, weaving through and through, reminding me of the woolly lamb, the furry goat in the barn; I love to knit and create the patterns cables twists loops and purls slipping , picking two together borders laces and the curls; I love to knit  it helps me split the good from the bad when the set is done the battle is won and in beauty the child is clad.

This piece of Allah’s Beautiful Earth on which I stood sat danced and raced played and dreamed and saw a new birth of life, in a new country so strategically placed; I saw my family living together I saw friends separate and gather                       I saw learning grow and heard music play I saw trees dry bare and bear the weather; This Piece of Allah’s Beautiful Earth   drenched me in happiness Gave me peace and the art of cleanliness Filled my heart and soul with memories to cherish With Love and All Love more, and Hatred less; Of green and brown and rainbow vibgyor This Piece of Earth was my Environment Of trees and flowers and water pure It provided all good, joy and enjoyment; This piece of Earth is where the house was built The house where I woke up to sweet childhood filled With affection excitement freedom and no guilt The house where never ever a song was ...

Over the years I have learnt To be soft and tender in my speech If I have to reach The heart and soul of someone I love; Over the days I have tried To be patient and brave To bear the harsh realities And save- my strength to wait at length To let the silent tears soothe my fears Of The Grave and Lonely years Over The moments I have stepped back, to give space To close my eyes and feel The serene face and tender touch of The Spirit I so dearly love. Over my life I have drifted, along with the flow I came to know I have to go and be slow To move step by step shed tears drop by drop Over my heart I found, nothing was my own It All had to be gifted, to known and unknown Over my Heart I saw, as inside I bled Outside All was Black as the invisible was red, The return of Love was hard to find Values virtues had vanished, no one was really kind The more you cared and shared, the more you lost No voice could be heard until it was a shout And wit...

We used to play and sing and watch and share almost everything We used to taste sweet lemon drops and imagine treasure hunts with all sorts of props; We used to play hide and seek behind the bushes and behind the trees; We used to sit on the walls and talk and play hop scotch drawn with chalk; We used to build castles in the sand and act like pirates with the one eyed band; We used to read stories of wonderland and sing and dance in our little fairyland; We used to look at the far off stars and were unaware of the terrifying wars; We used to find love and care and peace and happiness everywhere; We used to …but wait… I will write more if it is not too late.

Only Allah knows the truth why people lie why they live and why they die; why there is so much hate why anger is at large what is the destined fate; kill and be killed still and be stilled laugh with all and weep alone then be garlanded under the stone

Clouds rumble As water pops patters and drizzles Lightening flashes as if A war is being fought in the skies Guns rumble and flashes Of blasts light up the horizon Strange is the silence No screams or cries Can I hear? Maybe there are no people No more How red is the darkness Even in the dark. Blood has filled the earth The home, the lake and the street, I am awake I cannot sleep For many are lying awake In pain and weep for life in Death The clouds rumble The rain washes down Dust from the skies The red may turn to green Who knows who has the morn seen When no limbs no legs no hands Only the eyes are between No cries , only the silence speaks. Clouds rumble as if the war,goes on What prize we reap? Nature watches Unseen- The rain pops and patters and I am awake……

Always on his feet dragging turning pushing the typical rustic odd two wheeled wooden cart of ancient discovered artefacts it seems, layered with dusty mud creaking tweaking rolling into lane by lane,street by street; He is Buying,not selling- old tin cans, newspapers pale books torn, pipes cut tyres flattened,shoes worn, Calling ' from house to house shabbily shorn with hints of 'louse' He is 'all business' no yelling' quick in his art as he pulls the cart 'His Loud Call'shakes you with a start if you wish to make a buck or two then its over to you For he won't wait outside your gate 'His time is money' never to be late' Move move move , Call Call Call- 'sell your stuff''now once and for all' Its just the sound for you The words are minced,its the tone so true come rain or storm, he comes early in the morn; what rugged determination, consistent regulation no discrimination- his trade graph' never shows a fall; Hear Ye...