Monday, 15 January 2018

unasked ruse

Unasked Ruse  

There are puzzles 
and there are games
There are ruses 
And conundrums 

And then there is this, 
That is all those cubed. 

There are problems
That go unanswered 
And answers that go unasked. 

Then there is this
That does not ask to be answered
But begs to be picked up

Pushed and pulled 
Whilst it taunts you without so much as a word. 

Like a wad of gum 
That you cannot get out of your mouth 
Not for want of trying 

And when you do 
And it’s thrown in a corner 
Or hid under a bed
You will always know it’s there

It beckons even then. 

And then you get those 
Know it alls
That solve the unasked question
A reflection of our soul 

When even they 
Cannot leave it alone 
And every day 
Try to beat it quicker 

Or in other multifarious ways. 
Whilst they are sitting
Upside down 
Or blinkered with monochromatic lenses. 

The unasked question
Seems even then
To be completely elusive. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 
15th January 2018
On the Rubix Cube. 

Saturday, 13 January 2018

Rain of Mercy, Rain of Flood

Subject : Rain of MercyRain of Flood
Posted Date: : 10 Dec 2007, 22:55 MySpace
Thanks to my friend Conor, for the stimulation for this poem. I would never have contemplated writing on Rain as a poetic subject matter.

For Muslims, faith is between hope and fear. Hope of God's Mercy and Fear of HIS Wrath.
It is this fear that keeps us from wronging ourselves.
And it is the hope that is its life's blood.

Rain of MercyRain of Flood...
                                     by Shafees
The earth is parched, unrolled,
Patiently waiting, patently sighing.
My praying eyes look skyward, and behold.

The heralds pull and lift heavy water.
The ink wells fill with pure water,
And I see the cock swings, and does not falter.

Glad am I to see that sight,
That the condensate clouds.
And the pen is readied to write.

Me, and my people's fate on the land.
I sincerely hope for God's mercy,
But fear the wrath of HIS mighty hand!

What do we deserve, Mercy rains?
Or when we wrong one another,
Then possibly Judgment pains?

Will the rain flood?
As it drops,
Will our rivers run with blood?

However, God is not unjust!
Who sends us pure water out of the sea,
A reminder to cleanse from our hearts, it's rust.

The rust of ingratitude,
Of forgetfullness, full of sin.
But to GOD belongs every and all tribute.

The ONE who gives us without measure,
Whose Glories are independent of us all,
And whose mercies outweigh HIS displeasure.


An Explanation...
Once again the imagery I use is Qur'anic.. see Surah 51, S. Adh-Dhariyaat.. The Winnowing Winds.

The Earth is a parchment, unrolled.
This imagery relates to our ages past... where we were highly dependent on the rains.
We are no less dependent today, although we forget!
The heralds are the winds that GOD sends.
But are they heralds of blessings and mercyor wrath and anger?
Anger for our corruption in the land, man killing and oppressing man.
It is the fear of GOD that cleanses the rust from our hearts, just as easily as the rains cleanse the dirt from the air and path.
But God's mercies abound, and even HIS promise of judgement is a Mercy, that keeps the mindful good, and sane!
See S. Rahman!

Your Friend and Brother Shafi

Sent from my iPhone

Friday, 12 January 2018



The silent gesture
That two fingered one 
Silent as captured in a Picture
Not dissimilar to our Bengal Tiger

Growl and Grapple, nearly all claws
Not subtle and smooth
But obscene and crude
But it gets its points across 

All the same. 
Without the noise of a foolish tale 
Without the heart of an English man
Whose deference an age ago has passed

And now he winks and grins 
And subtly uses it here and there
As if it were a vernacular 

Gone all native 
With those expletives 

And even now 
He simply says 

By Which he doesn’t mean 

That which slips gently within. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts Jan 12th 2018
Having Some Fun 😂

Wednesday, 10 January 2018

I once knew love.

I once knew love 

She deserted me
Long ago
I did not know her name

For I was young
And beastly clad
And she appeared so tame

My heart did give itself up
But I knew not

Why did I want to spoil
And yet keep her
All the same?

That clash of energies 
Near drove me 
Totally insane. 

And now that she’s left me 
I feel so desolate 
So poor. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts. 
10th January 2018

In response to +poetryline prompt. On Google’s Poets the Original. 

Wednesday, 3 January 2018

it begins

It begins

Somewhere in the middle
Do they really heighten the story line?

Maybe that’s why prequels are all the rage. 
Like a dancing cobra. 

Or Rudyards python that swallowed all the Bandar-log,
Rescuing our hero. 
It begins. 

Here in the middle
Maybe we’re all in need of being rescued
Like the man-child wolf-cub

Much more from the past
Why can’t we be free
To settle at the base of our tree

We strain to escape 
When all answers lie within

It begins 

(C) MS BACHELANI 3rd Jan 2017
In response to a prompt on Poets the Otiginal. 



Who takes pride in a measley division 
No better than the miser who covets others provision. 

And he thinks that the power of quantity
The dumbing down of all and sundry

The mass, the rabble, with fierce names 
“Does not play, the cat and mouse game?”

That there will not come to sway over them
A lesser Napoleon, from a lesser tale

And laughs at a religion 
That makes the rich the brother of the poor 

That makes wealth not sought for.
A burden, more burdensome than the poor

What a perfect society, where there is no division 
No cat and mouse, counter revision. 

No proletariat- bourgeoisie schism. 
Just a people who revel in the giving.  


Monday, 1 January 2018

troubles in toryland

Troubles in ToryLand

What it must feel like to be in government 
To appeal to people 
That we might be elected 
With a dagger stashed in the small of our back 

How easy to play the card of our common interests
That the foreign foe needs a common front
That we would be the best to deal the death blow
The blow
That they never knew was coming back

We boast amongst ourselves at the bar
That we are colourblind 
That what we do to one, we do to another
Never mind that they are our own people that now lie in the gutter. 

We are the people that laugh and joke
Our glasses filled with corporate glamour 
Our bellies with the sufferings of those others 
Whose voices will never be heard.