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Dearth of Metaphors

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment
Why am I finding it difficult to discover metaphors?
The metaphors that are beyond harm.
Those which are inexhaustible.
Those that can paint the human brains
In their true colours with stark reality.
There is a problem – a big one actually.
I can’t state things in general words.
Words that wear plain clothes and easily reveal.
Complexities complicate things completely.
As we rely the least on what is easy.
Life never made it feel so.
Dark clouds are a daily thing.
A rainbow is a rare show of nature.
The streaks of sunshine are mirage.
Living in a room within a room
Made not with brick and mortar
But metaphors where everything is oxymoron.
©® jey-blah-blah

Flaneurs

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment
Thoughts are flaneurs
They barge into the unseen sanctum of the cerebrum
Eyes blink and the mind sinks in.
You are made unconscious of the traffic of life
The honking horns, the layer of dust, chaos of the crowd.
All exist yet extinct for the mind
Oh! A mystifying coma the psyche swirls into.
A hard punch of circumstances
Brings you back to the ring of life
Conscious and sub-conscious and unconscious
The phases go back and forth.
Screams of silence and chaos show up alike
Decision and indecision both take a toll
Thoughts put you to sleep.
And they wake you up.
©® Jey-blah-blah


Just Nothing

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment

The mind feels like an orphanage of conflicting emotions.
A hell of a place yet no fire to burn.
The life boat capsizing with things falling all apart.
On an offshore is drifting the integrity


Making all void within.
A numbing effect is dawning upon.
Where are thou, O sweet angel of end?
Come and take me off
Off from the living memories of all that breathe.
©® jey-blah-blah

Ripped Heart

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment
This heart is ripping apart
To think of a poor old father
Uncovering the dead faces
And searching for his old son
Alas! but to no avail.
In cold perspiration, he stops his cry and sobs
Even silencing his sobbing
His face turning white and black
Will he find his son’s body?

An old lady with very little hair, fully grey
Hands totally wrinkled and so the face.
A hideous silence searching somebody
She does not say anything.
Feet horribly moving all across
She utters a few syllables, too low to comprehend
Whose body is she searching for?
©®Jey-blah-blah

An Unfinished Journey

Jamil Ahmed Azad 1 Comment
Monstrous negligence and decided recklessness
And there lay the mangled man-made frames
Toppled upside down, one over the other
Tracks filled with something red
Suitcases opened and the belongings strewn all over
Heaps of shoes , sandles and slippers
All mixed up , sizes and colours unmatched
A white flip-flop painted with blood red stains
The head of this man penning these words dreads to think.
If the owner of the suitcases are alive?
If the feet that used those shoes and sandals
Would wear something again?
Between the tracks, lay one completely mutilated doll
With no arms and legs.
If the child whom the doll belonged to is alive?
If the author of the speechless notebooks
With singing verses on love and loss is alive?
Will he or she write any verse again?
I pray they are alive to see the blue sky
But who are these bodies unbreathing yet bleeding
Countless broken bones and muscles bruised
A planned journey yet unfinished 
Oh, what a pity!
Finished nothing but the lives
Those eyes who came to see off just a few hours ago
Are now rushing forth to find the one
Whose eyes blinking no more and hands lie
In the cold static state reluctant to move
The wide spray of silence sprinkled all over

A system humans so proud of
Made orphans and widows
YET AGAIN!
©® Jey-blah-blah

I Imagine

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment
I imagine her waiting
So uncalm, so full of hustle and desperate
Her smile to touch me
To feel my skin thoroughly
To smear her mascara on my forehead

I imagine
Her waiting to hold me
To breathe me pore by pore
And return me a mixed alchemy of thought
An eternal thought of togetherness
©® Jey-blah-blah


A Knot in the Hem

Jamil Ahmed Azad 1 Comment

I still remember
My mother from one end of her saree
She would open the knot from the hem
And give me coins to buy things.
The new coins of two and five rupees
I had a huge fascination with.
She would save it just for me.
The multiples of the coins
Their jingling sound then seemed to augur
Something good and exciting

Now when the electronic payment is too rampant
And the wallet in my back pocket keeps the currencies
Of home and the foreign shores
When I visit home, I empty the wallet
And then I would ask Ammi for cash
She opens the hem and gives the crumpled notes with many folds
No, she has a small pouch like wallet too.
That she keeps under her pillow.
But she still keeps some cash in the knot of her hem.
A ready to dispense ATM.
Did the storm of time and technology change her?
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Invader

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment
The random images are not unreal snaps
Of some well crafted aesthetic gains
The subjects are the unproud heirs
Unabshedly inheriting the legacy of burdens
The burdens of destitution
A destination no less than ruthless invaders
Destroying lives, looting rights
Departing with devastating sights
But most often remaining there imperially
Injecting a daily hustle for a one time shrunken meal
At an age to play with crayons, they are unhome
Unhome to beat the pinching hunger
Do you own the same legacy?
You walk with the inheritance of privilege
Yet not grateful
You made it this far that millions could not
And yet you grumble over
Can’t you just  look at what is there and show some gratitude
And stop staring at what there isn’t.
What you have is enough and more.

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The Attic

Jamil Ahmed Azad Leave a comment
In the attic of my mind
The voiciferous fear
Touches the trigger
A dark phantom of future
Lays bare a crippled life
The joyful beams turn into hushed cries
An explosion of war is impelled
By the lunatic compass of the ego
Controversies galore and no conversations
A site so grotesque
Of victims of aggression
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