tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24258417068244199632024-03-19T03:34:31.951-07:00GaamukBalladry of the freewheeling boy who went into the big, bright, brilliant city but left his heart in the backwoods of KashmirSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-23161301492588731592014-01-19T00:11:00.000-08:002014-01-19T00:11:04.220-08:00Gaw Kadal, Srinagar<br />
<i>(Elegy for a Bridge: Osia)</i><br />
<br />
You are eleven cement pillars<br />
and thirty nine rusted banisters.<br />
You are a small kid who dropped<br />
his freshly painted kangri<br />
and ran away once the first of the one thousand<br />
fifty six bullets were fired.<br />
And didn’t look back to see what happened.<br />
Otherwise he would have celebrated<br />
his twenty first death anniversary this winter.<br />
You are a young man who stood<br />
like a cross inside a pheran,<br />
five feet nine, 16 years old, hands stretched<br />
horizontally as a matter of reflex,<br />
to shield ten thousand nine hundred<br />
live targets from the barrel<br />
of a light machine gun.<br />
Eleven meters away from the finger<br />
on the trigger, he stood like the Chinar,<br />
straight, uncomplicated, on his own.<br />
He took the holes on his legs, abdomen, chest, neck and face.<br />
Sunlight passed through his ears<br />
as he dropped dead on the road.<br />
You are a face lying close to a broken kangri<br />
and flinching from the burning coal and getting a bullet from point blank range.<br />
You are an afternoon, a memory<br />
that hangs together,<br />
a half-eaten pear, a winter,<br />
a chopped off arm<br />
and a healthy stray dog<br />
chomping off that arm.<br />
Nobody can eat winter like a pear.<br />
Nobody can live inside a pear like winter.<br />
You are a dying voice drowned by a shout<br />
“Don’t waste your bullet. I’ve pumped enough rounds into his body. He’ll die on his own”.<br />
You are seven shocked policemen<br />
who came to collect fifty eight dead bodies.<br />
Angry but helpless, helpful but unlucky, they loaded the truck and drove<br />
to the police control room.<br />
You are a name not known to anyone.<br />
You say a name not known to anyone.<br />
Maybe because the newsreaders live on the banks<br />
of a river that doesn’t sound like the Jhelum.<br />
Maybe because the history professor teaching<br />
his class the nuances of state building<br />
has kept on wearing his old glasses.<br />
Maybe because the law of the land<br />
orders the well-fed government employees<br />
to destroy the old records once in every twenty years<br />
in presence of their immediate senior.<br />
I knocked at your door.<br />
Please let me come in, I said.<br />
Let me see you from inside.<br />
A foot print here.<br />
A stride there.<br />
Three stumps and a cricket match.<br />
A sentry post and a face behind a mask.<br />
A torn school bag and a broken ink bottle.<br />
I am not a house, you told me,<br />
I am a bridge, I have no door.<br />
People walk on me. They don’t stay here.<br />
You are a bridge for cows to cross<br />
the river before it gets dark.<br />
You are a worried mother who tells her son<br />
studying in the university hostel library:<br />
‘Come back home early or don’t come today’.<br />
Sameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-35174437095338276022011-06-09T01:00:00.000-07:002011-06-21T01:07:00.750-07:00Happy BirthdayYou were in my heart when I first took wing<br />silently floating on my mind<br />like a butterfly in the sky<br />Fiesta of sunrays at daybreak<br />upon distant misty mountains<br />still reminds me of you<br />When we sauntered across<br />around our comforts<br />criss-crossing the peripheries<br />of pure joy and kinship<br />Thy laughter and floundering<br />gathers in my soul<br />like a robed wizard’s charm<br />Old times whereupon<br />I held your finger<br />to turn new leaves<br />My soleprints on the shore<br />look lonely this evening<br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-78805893923532143502010-11-30T10:57:00.000-08:002011-06-21T01:08:25.810-07:00Harvest and hankeringCan we not light up a fire<br />and see each other’s gaze?<br />Can we not make noise<br />like those good old days?<br />Can we not break into a song<br />when first snows alight?<br />Can we not be awe-less<br />and fear not the night?<br />Can we shut out the guff<br />rulers let fly at us?<br />Can we summon to mind<br />poems of harvest and hankering?<br />Can we paint wistful meadows<br />in bold colors of concord?<br />Can we sit and laugh<br />in the midst of this curse?<br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-61385279578631648222010-07-30T07:56:00.000-07:002011-06-21T00:56:57.631-07:00Scarlet puddlesWoodlets are cold once again<br />Nights are drawn-out again<br />Death rattle is here again<br />Burying grounds are busy again<br />Scarlet puddles have formed again<br />Bowmen appear on trees again<br />Wildly shooting at dreams again<br />Each bird is a foe again<br />Birdcalls are grievous again<br />Darkness at dawn again<br />Nighttime at noon again<br />Clouds bursting once again<br />Old men crying yet again<br />Savage wilderness once again<br />Hop-skipping puddles time and again<br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-59875555795157705132010-06-20T12:53:00.000-07:002011-06-21T00:55:22.119-07:00One moreOne more smokestack is smokeless tonight <br />one more child put six feet under <br />One more mother is wringing her hands <br />one more son is inhumed tonight <br />One more joy is trampled upon <br />one more lad is overhung tonight <br />One more bullet to the heart <br />one more woeful home tonight <br />One more sombre evening <br />one more starless sky tonight <br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-53132130437065149132010-06-10T09:11:00.000-07:002011-06-21T00:52:47.649-07:00To my old bedI smell wild wood trees<br />possessed by buccaneers and bulbuls<br />criss-crossing each other<br />along heaving paths<br />I see bee-eaters, their iridescent wings<br />like violin bows upon the track<br />fringed with tall pines<br />like sharp arcs into blue Eden<br />I hear sounds being chargrilled<br />in the timberland, so green<br />surrounded with dug-outs<br />as deep as war sorrows<br />I walk into my vale<br />self-same over the years<br />cacophonous and comforting <br />if only to fell happily<br />into my old bed<br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-10779184327801888852010-05-31T10:42:00.000-07:002012-09-02T11:34:04.937-07:00Why?Mother they promised me<br />
honey from the bee hive<br />
and I ran to savor some<br />
mindless of the night<br />
<br />
They gave me not a single drop,<br />
instead put<br />
honey-color death beans<br />
in my mouth<br />
<br />
I kept asking for some<br />
food and they kept<br />
spraying me with arrows<br />
till I gave up<br />
<br />
The longbow man roared<br />
and turned to his men<br />
wiping away blood, he said<br />
my violence conquers yours<br />
<br />
Mother I think they killed me<br />
But I know not why<br />
The thinnest crescent <br />
of a moon saw me bleed<br />
<br />
© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-17738730268488715892010-05-26T04:11:00.000-07:002010-05-30T04:12:20.477-07:00Fig and the cartoon birdA cartoon bird flaps its wings<br />in a doodle as old as dirt<br />Looking high and low for perch<br />across a glum-looking portrait<br /><br />In a wood and canvas canoe<br />I drift along the bird<br />Looking for shiny moorage<br />by a phony familiar island <br /><br />I forget what season it is<br />as I chase the cartoon bird<br />I wade on,<br />as it soars, abstracted by the trail<br /><br />As it reaches a tiny garden<br />to halt upon a fig sprig<br />Kissing wasps on a fruit <br />gape at the bird’s beak<br /><br />Figs deny to grow in winter<br />shy of sky-smelling snows<br />Adam and Eve robed in leaflets<br />once rambled about the sky<br /><br />The bird pierced a lilac fig<br />to jab a wasp deep in it<br />Drupe is often confect <br />for the lover lives inside<br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-61485193309323607762010-05-13T04:11:00.000-07:002010-05-30T04:11:36.802-07:00LibertyPast prairies full of dewy grass<br />on a hummock east of sunrise<br />Next to boughs laden with cherry<br />in the rouge of concealed groves<br />Far from a million churlish noises<br />where stillness strokes the soul<br />Beyond the bounds of barley fields<br />deep in woods of rose-ringed parakeet<br />In the land of shiny caterpillars<br />cocooned from the ogre-ish uproar<br />Across streamlets with slippery cobblestones<br />underneath cliffs of last year’s snow<br />There is a hint of hope <br />and it is stark<br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-82694387490320780432010-04-27T04:09:00.000-07:002010-05-30T04:14:26.504-07:00At the last gaspWas it effortless?<br />like your smile<br />Did they wake you up?<br />one last time<br />Or was it quick?<br />like a burglar in night<br />How many wings did it have?<br />Grim-reaper or arch-angel<br />Did you float or glide?<br />was it heady, like dope<br />Could you see our eyes?<br />from the cheese-like moon<br />Is it hot or is it cold?<br />beyond the stars<br />Do souls have foot-prints?<br />in the kingdom of heaven<br />Is it limitless hence?<br />are you weightless tonight<br />Will they let you see God?<br />from an opening in heaven<br />I’ll see you in the cow-slips<br />by your distant grave<br /><br />© Sameer<br />~Dedicated to my amazingly mad-cap friend Selçuk, who passed away earlier today<br /><br />Published in Poets' Basement -- CounterPunch Magazine, USA -- on the weekend May 7-9, 2010. <br />www.counterpunch.com/poems05072010.htmlSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-47700075764158971502010-04-22T12:04:00.000-07:002010-04-22T12:05:01.757-07:00April sprinkleRain -- cold small beads <br />come slanting down <br />on Zero Bridge, <br />upon old waters that flow beneath <br /><br />Wet almond blossom <br />in night-long showers <br />scattered in bolshie gardens by the Dal <br />stamped upon by everyday ghosts <br /><br />Bloodshot glower in black skies <br />Men in sand-bags with sad, cold eyes <br />Spring showers upon ugly bayonets <br />early rain on parched souls <br /><br />Moist, hidden graves in deep, distant woods <br />under damp raspberry trees <br />Dead sleep in rain-swept dark <br />the undead roll in stone Hamams <br /><br />Rain spatter on familiar roofs <br />Rainy sounds like idle words <br />Rain-color puddles on the boulevard <br />No rain songs to live it up <br /><br />© SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-46336427477503549492010-02-28T08:19:00.001-08:002010-02-28T08:19:27.949-08:00For the babyStones, that fly thick and far<br />like poisoned arrows in some war<br />A million rocks to wallop the foe<br />no kind souls to hear the woe<br /><br />Stones in drizzle, stones in snow<br />pale evil mist on each little bough<br />Noise in alleys, tumult in the village<br />Stones to scare, stones to pillage<br /><br />Double edged swords, our bold stones<br />Beneath all broil the city still moans <br />Stones that hurt, stones that maim<br />Fanfaronade without any shame<br /><br />Slings and canon to pluck the stone<br />old lake shore, a virgin battle zone<br />That random shot in some head<br />aimless bricks and more of red<br /><br />Rock pigeons on Hazratbal dome<br />Tiny nests in chimneys, back home<br />covered in some dark foggy soot<br />shaken by endless funereal hoot<br /><br />Princes’ waltz and paupers die<br />Are peace pastures in the nigh?<br />Shall we always torch our shawls?<br />Let's throw some scooped snow balls<br /><br />SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-62178173816122818452009-11-10T23:09:00.000-08:002009-11-10T23:17:13.328-08:00Love and alarm clocksLove is setting up early alarms<br />and melting into bracing arms<br />Little strokes on the hand<br />saving a solitary hair strand<br /><br />Sound of the autumn rain<br />brings back the images again<br />Million maddening mysteries to crack<br />and only your memories to stack<br /><br />Love is waking up at ungodly hour<br />to check on the mystic flower<br />to look at the alarm clock<br />answer heart's tender knock<br /><br />SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-31422043901522362952009-06-12T05:22:00.000-07:002009-06-12T07:45:22.332-07:00Why is the dew roseate this morning?Why is the dew roseate this morning?<br />Why is this frenzy without a warning?<br />What are those forms near the brook?<br />Why are they clubbing us with shepherd’s crook?<br />***<br />Why does the orchard smell of hurt?<br />Why is the father without his shirt?<br />Why is the village wailing in a distance?<br />Why does the heart yearn for resistance?<br />***<br />How did the country flowers die?<br />How was this lad hit in the eye?<br />What are musketeers planning to do?<br />Why is an old man refusing to move?<br />***<br />Who put fetters in my valley?<br />Why aren’t men allowed to rally?<br />Have our tears also been banned?<br />Why should our lament always stay canned?<br />***<br />Why did the Saffron turn so white?<br />Why are the alleys startlingly quiet?<br />Why is the <em>Jhelum</em> without a ripple?<br />Are we a country on the tipple?<br /><br />SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-24914350600463229212009-04-21T05:55:00.000-07:002012-09-02T11:40:18.670-07:00When I am dead[Originally jotted in the year 2000]<br />
<br />
When I am dead, my boy<br />
sing no sad songs for me<br />
When my souls blows away<br />
etch no epitaphs for me<br />
When I am put to rest<br />
hold no hands for me<br />
When my echoes wear out<br />
read no praises for me<br />
When the lights go off<br />
light no candles for me<br />
When my laughter peters out<br />
cry no tears for me<br />
When the gusts go strong<br />
breathe no sighs for me<br />
When the spring breaks again, my boy<br />
Watch me in the cowslips, by my grave<br />
<br />
SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-87568437123677561482009-04-21T05:43:00.000-07:002009-04-21T05:55:28.322-07:00Of palsOriginally written on June 24, 1999<br /><br />The voice smells of wine<br />such are old friends of mine<br />some knocks stir lifelong joys<br />you recall the broken toys<br />You miss those loving times<br />The silly school rhymes<br />Oddity, sleep, familiar paths<br />You recollect the impish baths<br /><br />SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-14340740275723071222009-04-21T03:14:00.000-07:002009-04-21T05:35:31.447-07:00Catechism at 21First written on Sunday, June 10, 2001<br /><br />My little vale, why do you cry?<br />why do your airs sigh?<br />What ails your mountains?<br />What shut your fountains?<br />How did your blossoms cease?<br />What happened to the evening breeze?<br />Who set your shrines aglow?<br />And why doesn't the Jhelum flow?<br />Where did our neighbors go?<br />And why could we not know?<br />Who is that khaki scarecrow?<br />And why do the winds not blow?<br />Those joyful sweet songs<br />Are they replaced by our wrongs?<br />Our warm nuptial surges<br />replaced by sad dirges<br />Shall cool zephyrs kiss us again?<br />Will groovy buds adorn us again?<br /><br />Sameer<br />[First written 9 years back, in the midst of mindless violence in Kashmir]Sameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-64445430416246423502009-04-14T07:00:00.000-07:002009-06-12T07:36:50.258-07:00I wish I had met you beforeI wish I had met you before<br />to know what love is like<br />to learn to love with eyes<br />to fathom the meaning of silence<br /><br />I wish I had met you before<br />to hold onto your soul <br />to shut you from the hurt<br />to clutch your hand<br /><br />I wish I had met you before<br />to cover you in those storms<br />to keep you forever warm <br />to hear your heart's song<br /><br />I wish I had met you before<br />to love you like a madman<br />to hold you in my arms<br />to never let you go<br /><br />I wish I had met you before<br />to make you feel safe<br />to brush your tear away<br />to never let you fall<br /><br />I wish I had met you before<br />to walk you into eventides<br />to talk an ancient talk to you<br />to count the myraid stars, with you.<br /><br />SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-62194248271502568272009-03-08T06:18:00.000-07:002012-09-04T09:56:43.373-07:00Why do I think you love me too?Why do I holler inside?<br />
Why do I try and hide<br />
Why do I still care<br />
Why do I think you are there?<br />
<br />
Why do I love you?<br />
Why do I think you love me too<br />
Why do I feel pain<br />
Why do I feel insane?<br />
<br />
Why do I need you so bad?<br />
Why do I get a li'l mad<br />
Why do I miss you like hell<br />
Why do I feel you are my spell?<br />
<br />
Why do I still love you?<br />
Why do I have this view.<br />
Why do I allow myself to think<br />
Why do I feel I can't even blink?<br />
<br />
SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-75701923681596791602009-02-12T05:55:00.000-08:002010-03-23T08:18:59.403-07:00Snow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYBdthO5zHGI0aJmUD-UR0vb98XjsEGTRoEwLorGcAuP6uaBLQnya7aEl1aZ-A4PwT53efEaebsLup3D-4C8ND84q8rijqWOG7_R_07dy616IPjgSb_Qtmfh5JaoKwZGqB_sSnOBACKNk/s1600-h/aaa.bmp"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451846977790031250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYBdthO5zHGI0aJmUD-UR0vb98XjsEGTRoEwLorGcAuP6uaBLQnya7aEl1aZ-A4PwT53efEaebsLup3D-4C8ND84q8rijqWOG7_R_07dy616IPjgSb_Qtmfh5JaoKwZGqB_sSnOBACKNk/s200/aaa.bmp" /></span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">S</span></strong>oft, new, cold snow<br />Tiny flakes in heaven<br />Come dancing in the dark<br />on countless twigs and buds<br />Rooftops, tree tops and topless rills;<br />on highways and lowlands<br />upon the pen and a little nest;<br />over the mountaintop<br />on tiny eggs in the nestling;<br />upon black umbrellas<br />and aquiline noses<br />on moulds and fresh graves<br />into deep crevices<br />and our buried hopes<br />upon grasslands and horses<br />on little homes of ants<br />Tall spires of the mosque<br />And abandoned temple ruins<br />It snows into the night<br />And upon my memory<br /><br />Sameer<br /><br />For my blogs go to:<br /><a href="http://www.sameerbhat.blogspot.com/">www.sameerbhat.blogspot.com</a><br /><br />For short stories click:<br /><a href="http://www.kashmiryat.wordpress.com/">www.kashmiryat.wordpress.com</a>Sameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425841706824419963.post-6156036173866722672009-01-21T04:55:00.000-08:002009-06-12T06:13:05.373-07:00Change has comeThey say a son of slaves has come<br />some people will no more be called scum<br />And this boy from seaside Hawaii <br />brings a tear to the eye<br />by all the magical words he has to say<br /><br />They say he has a funny sounding name<br />And he clinched the DC game<br />And his color isn't all that white<br />And his gaze remains without spite<br /><br />They say he likes the good ol' Lincoln<br />And like Abe, has earned his run<br />And he breathes plumes of hope<br />And in a storm he is the guy rope<br /><br />They say he must shut the dark bay<br />And he won't let the goodness fray<br />And he will fix the dis-respect<br />because no one really is a suspect<br />A rainbow change has taken place<br /><br />SameerSameerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809627061607285295noreply@blogger.com