Voices Within: Jamiel Ahmad

Jamiel Ahmad, is from the province of Kashmir (Jammu and Kashmir). He has published a number of research papers in journals like English Studies in India, Literary Herald, Langlit, and also published a few book chapters in various books like Studies in Vijay Tendulkar’s Silence!The Court is in Session and Studies in Amitav Ghosh’s The Shadow Lines. He has been publishing short stories in Greater Kashmir and has also published one with The Conclusion Magazine, Email: herespeak sjames@gmail.com

Moon

Lost in the clouds behind the barren branches,

You seem to be a reflection of the moon.

The clouds have revolted the azure-home,

Busy, these seem perching on the gravity of the soil.

Your shine is illumined by the “noor”,

Sublimity you have imbibed, o natural satellite.

Rains of discipline you shower down,

And keep working to know your existence, perhaps.

Your ears listen the voice of the elliptical spins,

Rotating, revolving round the ‘Single Axis’ is your core.

Being true to your ‘frame’ matters, otherwise you get eclipsed,

That is what makes you to be counted as a whole.

You are the real human, you don’t breed fear,

“let me face it”, is the voice of your mind.

Struggle, fight, play the ‘clouds’,

You come out, don’t let them steal your being.

“Who was the first man to go moon?”, came a philosophical voice,

“Is a man moon? How is moon human-like”,

The thinking mind replied.

K(ash)mir

deep valleys,

warmth of cold water.

and green grass

steamy kehwa amid raging bullets.

it is ash, oh!

i mean k (ash)mir.

each sunrise growing out of

the lost young blood.

and every sunset colouring itself

with the scarlet hue.

i wish it be ash,

and the k…mir gets evaporated.

The Holy Grail

Desperate is the seeker of the holy grail.

“who says Grail is a myth?”,shouts in anger.

Knight, since then, has been pursuing the vessel of purity,

World of symbols, and the rule of the Symbol.

I am bored now,

don’t you think,

The cobbler, the butcher and the baker…. [Knights of this age]

Why don’t they care to look for the grail,

which was a search-symbol for the knight, and can now be the symbol for the new knights.

Then the knight had to leap out of the literal yarns, only then could he reap the meaning.

And, now the knights of the time don’t look into the ‘nut’,

Open self-invitations to trace the grail purely tempts.

O knights, let you swim deep into your depths, and wrestle with your psyche,

And you will grasp the new ‘holy grail’.

It is the way with a guiding radiance, and the holiness of it transforms the day.

Leap on to the mind-horse, ride the terrains of the grey matter,

And, peep to find what lies beyond this haze and mist.

Overcome the ‘rocks’ and reach the goal,

And relive the spirit of that medieval knightish search.

“Every human has a grail to find out”, I heard “a babble”.

And, they said, “He is a mad man, he has left all his wealth and moved away”.

Winter-grass

Grass has no bonds to be green,

High goes the stick in hand to beat its dryness.

She thinks,

“when green, becomes a manufacturing bio-unit,

Autumn stole the life pigment and made winter arrange its death-bed”.

Hand with its stick trampling the grass’s corpses,

Beating its dryness.

Buried is the past of spring’s charm,

Dry, it becomes wonderingly ugly and weak,

Displaced by the sitter-beater.

Greenery holds it to its habitat, solid with a being,

Producer-autotroph it is by nature

Seasons and climates play a flux.

Tests come and go, the resultant holds the frame,

Flux becomes nuts when it comes home.

It may ruin, and it recreates,

Ruined, you are paralysed; recreated you are being.

“do ruins last all along?

Can you secure these, or perhaps ashamed they are lost?

Springiness of spring matters,

Recreation is what makes a winter countsome,

And every spring reign.

Dry↔Green , perhaps cyclic seems feasible,

Green→Dry is a loss, regeneration or degeneration?

“Am I talking like these dry grass husks,

Or may be thankfully going green”.

Thoughts are often obsessed,

Now, I am trapped in step-motherly smiles,

Desire to be green never freezes,

But slumbering in the winter’s womb who cares for pigmentlessness?

Voices Within - Complete List of Poets :: Setu, January 2019