Poem by Sajid Hussain (Pakistan) - Prepared Angela Kosta
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SAJID HUSSAIN (PAKISTAN)
THE DOME OF MY DOMAIN
Wheels of trade are crushing threads of life,
Sober moments linger in grinding process,
Under the vaulted sky the freshet of native wildness,
Exhibits measures of its austerity in spectacles,
Spirit the frantic modesty to breach
tempted ramp,
As the moon's white flame with night darkness,
New born age through silent haunted years,
Hits all around the marks of wrinkles,
Scoring like on a dried apple the crinkles,
The world's rejected gust comes to thaw,
To build a gigantic fortress of my tomb stone,
A seed of agony falls on veil of night,
On the noisy waves endures prolong anguish,
Gray burning candles feed flames of cliches,
Flashing beams emit darting blaze,
Crawled by years a dynasty of whirls,
Awakes domestic forbearance of sufferings,
Uplifting their stony peaks around the edges ,
Pents up a storm craving for outlet,
Dropping abruption in silent autumn cry in pain,
Seems vague thought in stream of life,
Shaping elliptically the dome of my domain,
Riot of senses haunts the ghosts of their sounds,
Free mountain winds carry them on waves of wild sea,
The new century doomed soul in wilderness,
Like a snarling beast baulked to its prey,
Senses the barren regrets flooding to mind,
A flask of old trust clings me to its wine,
Settled on a shadow my mind on hazy vision,
Mirrors the life like a twist of rotten silk.
REGENERATION
Mystic and silent as a seer raptures,
A retentive memory left a terrible past,
Cold sense of aloofness resides for,
Meeting with stone of bitter for crushing,
With in its circle the impression trounces,
The tolling of bells of its efficacy,
Seems leaving its dumbness for whining,
Their effects pierce the heart with echoes of sorrow ,
Some watchers of the sky ginger in vexation,
Leaping down to hail the gliding dream,
Of regeneration blinks on corner of eyes,
On the rocky stairways of life barb an ambit,
Hardness crushes a myriad petaled rose,
Plowing of nature against opposing winds ,
Rebirths ritual of initiation for cycle of spring,
Sets shreds of crimson silk on leaves,
At the battle of a dying sun the beams,
Sleep for onset for ever lasting new life,
While melting the coldness of tormented soul,
Sunlight drifts snow with flush of dawn,
As a leaf beats with regeneration to autumnal fall.
TAKE ME BACK THERE
Glistening blink of the streaks of chaos,
Slits unpleasant strains of episodic memory,
Wrapped with the gray haired silence,
Broods for craves for insatiable passions ,
On vibration of a rope to defeat fretted wane,
Of the moments that ponds about you,
A forest of events compiles a huge hill,
That gathers all activities around you,
An unknown world of sadness bridges,
Disturbed by opposing winds of your discourse,
Beats on webs of all my imagination,
That intensity disperses camps of my dwelling,
Which testing creeps on cavitation of eventual outcome,
Whispering of subsided arches of silent evening ,
Of changeless dark panoply of occurring,
Are not at the mood of demise ,
Struggling tears want an outlet stream,
Near to appeared swelling of lifting flames,
A haze on the horizon from remote incident ,
Of solemnity of the moments yields at thoughts,
Having echoes of long departed youth mark ,
The soft winds of fantastic epoch of yearning,
Take me back there to mysterious in origin.
THE PULL
Steep trodden paths between life camps,
Stretch along beside the rough banks,
Evolution of trajectory bearing lays among the routes ,
The courses raise structure of archy ranges,
Establishing moods slowly let out traveling ogle,
Against the dirt stream in haze in life stall,
Dust and chaff straw and hay near to paths,
Free range of mud in splattered search,
Unfold the edges of spectra like hurled lances,
Letting gaze travels inward to outward,
Lifts circles of chewing noises,
Disturbing images at outside near the walkway,
Are like empty shadows spread in wilderness,
Hearing of footsteps of coming dust devil,
Through muffled bells of shrill in trembling,
Without permission use the spaces of thoughts,
Setting off balance on a patron of passage,
Among the shutters of inside burn bits of torn,
Still hot drafts blow through crumbling breaths,
A rusty hook of the causing damage,
Creaks shaking ill-fitting of next visit,
Of catching fire of place to meet,
Stirred up dust swirling on feet,
The sight becalms to a rotten scrape,
Puts me in the track of uneven and gritty dust,
Getting through cracks and dead leaves,
I crawl by thump boots to cross the pull.
Prepared Angela Kosta Academic writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, journalist
