Endless Dread

Endless Tread

“Mine not to feel hate,

Nor retribute crime. 

Though at my approach the guilty flee. 

Not mine to just __ be,

Nor ever still, as lake on a spring mourn.

Or as last even's dusk before the dread of night. 

But If you were to meet

All people, for just a moment- span-

Then I would you and you would me. 

Neither staying long enough to acquaint. 

But ever the bringer of a pivotal movement 

Most filled with the pain of regret 

For destined are we,

Though you often forget.

In a given land and at a given time

Mine, to rip and sear,

To take you from a place you call home and your own. 

To a place where the leisure of rhyme, cannot cut. 

When your sustenance is done 

Then you will see me

And know that your time has come. 

For then will cease your hearts drum. 

But until then my friend,

Remember, and let that remembering be for profit 

That though we be destined. 

How you choose to live,

Is how we shall meet. 

And do not pity me. 

For by HIS grace

I will be freed and death will take me. 

But not before

I rip and sear 

And take you for my own.”

Death

(C) Shafeesthoughts 1st December 2018

Another version of another rhyme 

Chance Destinies

Chance Destinies 

We are the master of our destinies 

But if we were truly free then there would be no destination or path written for us 

Nothing entrenched in our pasts 

That would make us who we would come to be. 

Every moment would be a memoryless flirtation 

As significant, or insignificant, as the decimal point 

Whose small movement can make such huge differences, or none at all.  

Significance is all a matter of expectation 

What is the norm 

A true measure of our worth?

Not to the One who created and nurtures us. 

And at that one time like the appearance of a different moon. 

Perturbations of momentous tidal changes, significantly altered the celestial order

Then at that point

History was not what it used to be 

There...

History was unmade

To live within that tsunami is all we should aspire to 

Not the death and misery of millions 

But the chance opportunity to renew

The bond that he came to remind us of

(C) Shafeesthoughts 

20th November 2018

king and country

King and Country.

Why did they die

To let live the lie

For King and Country

To remember them still

Lifeless, as they killed 

Bloodless as they died

Industrial war 

On a scale as never before 

Loosed upon this world

Like a whore 

Death 

For sale 

Destruction 

Evermore 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 

11th November 2018

“hundred years of lies”

Hundred Years of Colonial Lies

Hundred years of Colonial Lies

A poem for those forgotten soldiers 

Who fought and died for a war not theirs. 

Conscripted into the ranks of gun fodder 

Limbless they saw all the horrors

And not one iota of benefit

For this was not a war for a better World 

But continued misery, under their colonial masters 

Not a war to protect, but a war over Africa’s sweet soil. 

Whilst all this has gone and been done 

We still live in that past 

For Africa still scrambles out of that pitiless pit  

And the World still reels from our colonial past

The present and the future 

Of neo-colonial arms 

In Palestine, Syria and the Yemen 

They yet live, from palm to palm

Suffering the injustice of seeing their futures denied 

Their children killed, yet more cannon fodder for our guns. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 

11th November 2018

“Nabiha Iqbal- “If I Survive” “

“Nabiha Iqbal- “If I Survive” “

A poem from the words of forgotten soldiers 

Who fought and died for a war not theirs. 

Conscripted into the ranks of gun fodder 

Limbless they saw all the horrors

And none of the benefits 

For this was not a war for democracy, nor freedom 

But continued misery, under their colonial masters 

Not a war to protect, but a war over Africa’s fertile soil. 

Whilst this has gone and done 

We still live in that past 

For Africa still scrambles out of that pitiless pit  

And the World still reels from our colonial past

The present and the future 

Of neo-colonial arms 

In Palestine, Syria and the Yemen 

They yet live from palm to palm

Suffering the injustice of seeing their futures denied 

Their children killed, yet more cannon fodder for our guns. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 

9th November 2018

AwKwaRd

Awkward 

Acute 

Socially inept

Facts checked 

Nothing said 

Cross talk 

Like symbols chattering in a street 

A cube amongst round fellows 

Those words that just tumble out 

Tripping and falling over one another 

Nails screeched down blackboards

Cutlery tumbledown

Crash smash bash

The spilt milk 

Those empty spaces 

That beg to be filled 

Awkward 

Is not a condition 

It’s a place we’ve all been. 

(c) Shafeesthoughts 

5th November 2018

Bromley, London 

in Palestine

In Palestine. 

Tree rings
Many lives of men

Heart sings 

For a few of them 

Broad stairs 

With a pipe dream 

Sirat-ul-Mustaqeem. 

Undulating. 

Up and down. 

And with every dip

A down shift of the gears 

A return to the basics 

With every return there is gain. 

A lullaby of a souls coming 

That cane once before to the First Nation. 

Now sent to war against it

Those cruel ones that desecrate Quds

Pity stay his hand 

But justice demands them gone 

His song will deafen their every chorus 

Whilst  now they deafen us with news control

Then they will cry for pity sake. 

But who will hear

The Earth will groan 

And they will wish

That they did not kill 

The helpless child 

In Palestine. 

Where grown men cry

For pity sake 

Forbidden to defend themselves 

Against an onslaught 

Any other Nation could not bear. 

They are our braves. 

And where they stand 

We die. 

One thousand deaths 

END

(C) Shafeesthoughts 21st July 2018, London. 

million fingers (reworked)

Million Fingers

Snow of course can offer a slight,

To one who looks heavenly, 

To the white sky.  

Tobogganing in his minds eye. 

Whilst the flakes drift on

But not settle at all 

The worst of them are those that come at night. 

But by the morning’s rain 

Only disappointments remain. 

That deep desire to see all four climes

Without venturing to those mountain heights 

Nor straying North of Watford’s line. 

And to not want to be bypassed

By the year’s savagery 

Let it take its toll

To feel that sting

The icy spray 

The tingling growing numbness

And to be in the middle 

Of a snowball fight. 

To get into them gripes.  

That want to grind us all to a halt

Our old country that

Immortalised the white yule. 

A Dickensian time of happy poverty 

Where now our cars sputter 

And struggle to climb.

 

When now our newspapers headline,

The frozen homeless,

Our elderly neighbours friendless. 

Whilst the snow drifts ever onwards 

blanching all our misdemeanours 

With a cheery hey ho. 

That will be the death

Of those that we do not know. 

whirring tides of stars

Whirring tides of stars 

Matchless beauty

Flames afire

From afar

Seemingly calm 

Light my way

To the exceptional realm

Let me pass

Through sea and air, smoke 

Unfurled and skyward palms

Symbols of non-resistance 

Acceptance 

Of my fate, unknown 

Based on the faith I have

Of ONE that is Greater

He sent him as a Messenger 

Sallahu 

Alayhi 

WaSalam. 

Shafeesthoughts 

savage rap ster

Savage Rap Ster

Don’t get me wrong I’m not ashamed 

To say what I think

And it’s no game 

To be called a coot

By my brothers behind bars

Mentally stricken 

Disease ridden 

Infected with racism 

How they must hate their reflection

Uncle Tomfoolery

It’s not cool

To curse your brother 

And hate your uncle 

And God knows what you do to your sisters 

How white America tainted you. 

How you crawl behind bars

They not laughing with you 

When you disdain your own 

They laughing at yer

You fool. 

Gross Injustice

After today's guardians exposé on the black ops detention centre I penned this. 

"When you hear of gross injustice. 

Does your heart bleed,

Does that feed the cycle of revenge. 

Or does your religion dictate,

Or your ethics demand,

That you cannot remonstrate. 

That from every heart that bleeds,

That demands it's needs,

A monster may be born. 

That your heart should be above it all. 

In order to be civil. 

In order to keep peace. 

But greater still is he,

Who reminds of God's mercies. 

Bringing solace to bleeding hearts. 

To those in need. 

And with peace in his heart,

Demands justice.

Leaving no rock unturned. 

In meting out that which was not met before. 

Perchance he might right injustices wrongs.

Bringing solace to those whose hearts bled before.

And in that struggle,

Whether living, by it,

Or dying, by it. 

In God's eyes he would live forever
And more.”

Nation of Ghifar

Nation of Ghifar. 

Our celebrated hero,

May Allah t’ala bless him

Once could not stand that people be free Through the declaration of faith

And so he asked the Messenger 

And thrice he (saw) replied

With the last a humorous chide. 

And when the blessed one left us,

And Abu Dharr (ra) sought to impose 

His understanding of charity and frugality 

The companions had him banished 

And so befell the words of the Messenger

That he would be left alone. 

For the obligations were set 

A trust to be kept 

So that we might be free

At not slaves to a false religiosity. 

How my heart bleeds 

That these people have stolen 

A religion made pure 

Flowing as a river 

They damned with their fiqh

And every now and then cull silver fish. 

So that the people believe 

That orthodoxy is conservatism 

It never was 

For this revolutionary religion 

Will burst their every bank. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 30th January 2018

LONDON, MS BACHELANI

impressionist Journey

Impressionist Journeys

The brush strokes of my life lie thinly veiled

Beneath the glossy veneer, of this charming smile.

Endearing me to a city that I do not know

Or is it the foreign dollar that, unbeknownst to me, opens those doors. 

Where they say three climes, in a day, can come and go. 

Where every rain chases away laughter

And every drain, gurgles with pending disaster. 

They say that these rouge bonhomies have sponge brain

Not a communicable disease, but a talent no less,

Who yap with accents that can make even cockneys cringe.

A true impressionist would use delicate colour 

But in this drear city what better postcard can I offer

That captures this venture from the new world to the old. 

(C)

Shafeesthoughts 28th January 2018

MS BACHELANI 

A London Cabbie’s passengers story. 

Scorched Remains

Scorched remains 

If the sky had eyes, it would bleed salt tears

If the earth had mouth, it would tell inconsolable truths 

If the sea had it’s way, what could we offer by way of sacrifice?

Do we deserve to pollute the conscience of the World with our disharmonies? 

Do we allow these warmongers to innovate still new ways to decimate?

Who profits from war, but the military industry 

Are our lives, and our children’s, prey to their every product cycle?

Who justifies death in the millions 

How can you give a name to a product that burns people’s skin off

Torture to the death is not something that should be for sale. 

And they justify to themselves by their want for dominion 

But it is not theirs 

For no land, no sea, nor sky will bear them 

And theirs will be an end much worse than that they sold to men. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 25th Jan 2018

😢 Feeling raw. 

Blossom Breeze

On a Blossom Breeze. 

Forget that we met

In the dire straights of war 

Where no man controls his destiny

Forget not what it was meant to be

At least for me, at most for us both

Thrown together, we were never meant to live apart. 

Forget my foolishness, when in my fear 

I  bit into you. Never meant to hurt you. 

And in my dreams you come to me on a blossom breeze. 

And we talked and we chatted 

As if there had never been

A time of sorrow, where our hearts bled never stopping for the morrow. 

But the memories of these dreams fade as if they had never been. 

A memory of a memory

That was never meant to be. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 23rd January 2018

MSBACHELANI. 

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

Fumbled, 

Wrung 

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 

Infuriating 

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.