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Zoya's (zoya on UKA) UKArchive
183 Archived submissions found.
Title
Dark Gloomy Night (posted on: 15-07-16)
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Light filters through the filigreed Lattice Shadows breathe in whispered silence Darkness entombed in frescoed domes Acrid air entrapped in ruined tombs Life teeters on forgotten hope Like flowers sprouting in crevices… In this world of hope without hope, Life hangs on tattered ropes… Envelopes around light and shadows, Like like despair around hope, Like failure around effort, Like longing around love… Clouds of gloom loom large in the sky, lightening strikes scorching desire, passion on fire frustrates in hearts, baring stark, tearing apart feelings tender that aspire for warm glowing embers in dark chambers… Life comes full circle, yet remains unfulfilled; Love unrequited, Hope stifled in the bosoms; Chill cloaks around warmth wrapping it up in tight coirs, Agony knotting up in hearts Cracking up like cold quarts… And I, on this end of the night watch all this in subdued fright and think, when the dawn will peep Through this wast canopy of dark Cloudless, starry yet gloomy night; When the world'll be free of fright? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, UP, India 12th July 2016
Archived comments for Dark Gloomy Night
cooky on 26-07-2016
Dark Gloomy Night
The first verse of this poem is excellent. I feel the word hope then diminishes its value. But I feel it has the making of a very good poem.

Author's Reply:


Paradoxes (posted on: 01-04-16)
Sometimes you walk through the light and are in darkness!

Sometimes you walk through the light and are in darkness! Sometimes you walk through the pitch-dark night And see the light! Sometimes though you are dreaming, are in deep sleep You awaken to reasoning! Sometimes you are wide awake, apparently on and about But your reasoning is asleep! In the twilight zone of consciousness, in the wee hours of morning Your mind is, as clear as the day! Sometimes when fully conscious, your reasoning at its peak, You lose track of your thoughts! Sometime when in great despair, when hope is a distant dream Some one just touches your heart! While sometimes in middle of fulfilment, in a passionate relationship Loneliness grips your spirit tight ! Sometimes when really happy, you suddenly feel dark, and though smiling Tears well up in your eyes! Sometimes very gloomy, on a dark night, a thought of some ecstatic times Brings to your lips a smile. Something comes from every thing; nothing ever goes waste, when apparently There is nothing, something is still there… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 14th June 2014
Archived comments for Paradoxes
Supratik on 01-04-2016
Paradoxes
I like the thought behind the poem. Why some times...I think with unconsciousness, it happens all the time. Would you like to change something in the line:
'Some times though you are dreaming, are it deep sleep'
or am I missing something.
Supratik


Author's Reply:
thanks Suprotik for pointing it out: yes it is slip, I've made the correction!

stormwolf on 02-04-2016
Paradoxes
Hi Zoya,
Yes! well thought out and delivered. It's due to living in the world of duality. Everything has its shadow side. How I long for the place where there is only light, love and kindness.
As the world descends into great darkness...there will also come great light within human souls, I am praying for it.

Alison x




















































dc

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Alison, hope is not altogether lost!
But, still we sometimes do have dual feelings, or meet the opposite at the same time-positivity in negativity and vice versa!
Love,
Zoya

Mikeverdi on 02-04-2016
Paradoxes
Hello, I enjoyed the read, there are some issues, due I think, to language differences. I think that pruning out unnecessary words would help with the flow. However, I realise this may not be important to you, and what you are trying to say. As I said I enjoyed it anyway.
In Friendship
Mike

Author's Reply:
May be you are right? I would love to know, where there are stylistic short comings, though...
Zoya

Mikeverdi on 03-04-2016
Paradoxes
Hello again, thanks for your reply. I will come back to you in a PM. Not feeling good today, maybe latter.
Mike

Author's Reply:

Please yourself!


Summer Solstice (posted on: 17-08-15)
Written at the peak of summer with this note: "It's so hot, can't think of anything else except the sweltering heat and the scorching hot winds of June-the heat wave has not abated yet..."

As the longest day is done Summer has taken a turn Earth is moving away from the sun The Summer Solstice's come Tropic of cancer tilts away- No longer too close to the Sun… World awaits the first shower of rain! The sweltering heat still reigns It is oppressive; it is suffocating, The heat shows no signs of abating, The streets are deserted in the afternoons, The birds in the evening forget to croon The Cicada no longer in the night cries Even the dogs' are too frail to yowl Silence rules the long warm nights… The Mayflowers have had their day The Golden Oleander is no longer in fray Denuded of flowers they await the rains… Branches are turning brown in vain… Suddenly there is a pleasant breeze The warm hot wind has changed its speed Clouds begin to gather in the sky The Sun, for a moment, feels a tad shy- It does not shine its Heaven's Eye, Dark, the Nimbus, begin to growl Thunder then begins to howl Lightening, now threatens to strike The Southwest Monsoon's making stride Towards the hot and low-pressured planes North is ready to experience Rain… The first drop falls and eagerly, The dry Earth takes in hungrily, The heavenly fragrance of parched soil When it meets the beloved moist, Works like pheromones on the senses The spirit lifts; the mood soars Somewhere thunder begins to roar… Suddenly it begins to pour The Heavens open, the billows snarl Toads come out and begin to croak The crickets sing; the moths float The night begins its symphony, The silence's replaced by cacophony… The world comes alive suddenly Torturous nights 're forgotten graciously My heart begins to dance And my cravings for you enhance… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright © : Zoya Zaidi 23rd June 2010
Archived comments for Summer Solstice

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No Road Too Hard (posted on: 07-08-15)
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There is no road too hard No matter the roadblocks, No cliff too steep Slippery may be the rocks, Hill after hill, I climb to the top… How arduous the task! But hope keeps me going At all costs… But, it's the path downhill That is so hard, The gravity pulls you down You resist each step, Unable to break the fall… The higher the climb, The steeper the fall… Greater the bruising Greater the hurt… But, I can't help doing What I have to do, I get up, brush off the dust And again begin my task. Year after year I climb up the hill Hill after hill, I climb to the top… I trudge my way up, I drag my feet down… But, climb I must, Like the ant on the wall! And thus will go on all my life Up and down, down and up Till I drop dead Exhausted and spent up… My life keeps undulating And I keep striving… A climb up hill, a tumbling down… Physically, uphill laborious Downhill a lark; But, Morally, uphill so easy- Because hope is a part, Downhill, so difficult- It tears you apart… So up and down Goes my life's path… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP) India 13.05.2015; 12.30AM
Archived comments for No Road Too Hard

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Trees the givers of life… (posted on: 15-06-15)
Written impromptu on 'World Tree Day'...

When the trees canopy the Earth Shelter the entire Universe Shadow the sweltering heat of the Sun Cool the environs like clouds above The world keeps alive, life runs smooth, like lines of a verse…. The rainforest's cover, so lush and green Will alas one day become lean; The flora the Fauna, so rich, so keen Will no longer on Earth be seen; The shepherd who rests under the tree, Whiles away his time lazily, While his cattle graze peacefully, Will no longer lie languidly 'Under the Green Wood Tree'… The Orangitan who hangs from the tree The Langoor, who jumps, chattering, free! from branch to branch, happily; The flying squirrel flaps its gills And glides in the air with much skill, The birds of prey hover above Keep a keen eye on the owlet below, With one swoop catching its prey Into the air sweeping it away… All will cease to exist one day! If we continue to fell the trees In the name of 'development' Destroy the forest sweep… Without oxygen, supplied By the trees, how will we live In the houses will build? Will concrete give us the Air we breathe? Will there be rain ,will there be sleet It will all the way be only heat! How will we ''survive Our well-contented day?'' How will we live without trees one day? Its life on earth, These trees spell, It is the green that keeps us well, From hell fire of burning land Green cover gives the cool to our clan… So lets keep trees intact indeed, Let plant life, with trees in peace! Lets conserve life on Earth in trees! Incomplete... Author & ©: Zoya Zaidi. 26th April 2015 12PM
Archived comments for Trees the givers of life…
Corin on 15-06-2015
Trees the givers of life

Yes - I agree with your plea Zoya. I think it is sadly already too late to stop disaster happening. Ecologists are warning us that the current rate of disappearance of the species of life on Earth, amounts to a mass extinction, greater than the Cretaceous–Paleogene Extinction which saw off the Dinosaurs.

Maethforsbye (See http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=284432)

Dave

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 15-06-2015
Trees the givers of life

Trees are absolutely vital to our life on this planet, it seems to me though scientists are already looking for a new ' earth' for when we have destroyed this one, and therefore not worried about what we are losing which could still be saved. It is so sad. Good environmental poem. Sue.

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 15-06-2015
Trees the givers of life

I agree with the other comments, a great piece. Sadly I heard today that planning has been granted for fracking to start.
Mike

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 06-10-2015
Trees the givers of life

Zoya, we urgently need your permission to publish this in the anth. Pse see details in forum 'anthology' or just reply to anthed2016@aol.com and I'll use your old bio unless you give me an update.

JohnG (Anth ed)

Author's Reply:
Of course John, you have my permission to include this in the Anthology!
I am down with "Typhoid" fever and won't be able to complete any formalities, but consider this as full permission from my side!
Yes, you can use my old Bio.
Sincerely Zoya
PS iIf you still need something, let me know, I will try to fulfil in a couple of days time

e-griff on 10-10-2015
Trees the givers of life

That's fine Zoya. Thanks.

Hope you recover quickly! 😊

Author's Reply:


Bullet through the Copybook (posted on: 03-04-15)
Inspired by the Brutal Killing of school children by the Taliban on the 16 of December 2014, in the hilly town of Peshawar, Pakistan

Blood spattered, Bullet Ridden, Ere, pure pristine, white Uniform shirts, Now scarlet red (strewn all over carpeting the floor)… Chatter, laughter, the cacophony of classroom; the doors burst open- Sudden hush! Then RAT_TA_TA_TAT!!! Of Kalashnikovs. All Quite… Broken by few sobs, Sighs, squeals & then All dead… The lush green play fields With children running, laughing, Faces red with excitement, Chasing the foot ball… All at once The fields turn red! Still warm, The vapours rise, The dew on the grass blades clots-crimson… Voices silenced! Only the Thud! Thud! Thud! Of the football can be heard- With each thud, getting maroon patches 'Till it also turns red… In the classroom: The gushing wind flaps the pages of the copybook- on the fluttering page, in clean bold hand, ''Buddja's message was peace and love!'' and through the 'P' of 'Peace' a hole is pierced, in it a bullet is stuck… A widow wails, clutching the body of her teen-aged son!!! Heavy boots jump on still warm bodies, Soles slipping over Oozing blood… Lo! The Taliban have struck!!! The Sun sets over the Hilly town of Peshawar- The snow-clad peaks turn enflamed red- The sky seems to mourn the dead… A hundred innocent souls fly Heaven wards… Skies bleed… Author & © Zoya Zaidi, 30/12/2014 Tuesday: 5.53AM-'Aazans' can been heard echoing through the sky… Note: Inspired by the Brutal Killing of school children by the Taliban on the December 2014, in the hilly town of Peshawar, Pakistan
Archived comments for Bullet through the Copybook
Mikeverdi on 03-04-2015
Bullet through the Copybook
Its all there...the horror of it. And today another massacre of innocents in Kenya. What God would want this done in his name.
Thank you for this.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, Mike, people use God's name to hide their own cowardice. To give vent to the animal instinct in them. To find an excuse for their brutality... It is a very dangerous trait, and yet it is becoming so rampant!!!


Tall Beeches in Redhill (posted on: 05-09-14)
Reminiscing about my walks on the Redhill Grounds in Surrey, London, near Tammo’s ''Tall Beeches'' in Summer

The Redhill grass, so lush and green Horses grazing, calm and serene, Wood Thrush leaping in the bush Hares out of warrens, their luck push. With a pencil and a sketch book I roam the meadows along the brook, Rippling waves do splash a bit Fish in the rivulet leap and dip. The sun sets mellow in these fields Kissing the petals and fresh leaves, Long shadows o' tall Beeches trail Slender tracks of leafy bales… Moonbeam in the dewdrops shine- Pearls of silver in Nature's shrine, Fireflies do fly abound, Lighting up the hilly grounds… And somewhere the Cuckoo coos Looking for its mate in groves Country fox comes out with pups Combing for insects and grubs. And I return to my fold Through my window the drama unfolds Twinkling stars in sky do shine Looking down these peaceful climes… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 08.05.20014 Reminiscing about my walks on the Redhill Grounds in Surrey, near Tammo's ''Tall Beeches'' in Summer
Archived comments for Tall Beeches in Redhill
Gothicman on 06-09-2014
Tall Beeches in Red Hill
Beautifully descriptive and a pleasure to read, Zoya. Should Redhill be one word or is there a Red Hill in Surrey? Trevor

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 06-09-2014
Tall Beeches in Red Hill
Nice description of a countryside walk, Zoya, but I feel that some of the rhymes are forced and don't have a natural flow.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 06-09-2014
Tall Beeches in Red Hill
I enjoyed reading this, very nice descriptions, I specially liked 'moonbeams in the...in nature's shrine' lines, beautiful. I agree with Luigi about some of the flow, didn't seem quite as natural as the rest. Great poem though. Sue.x

Author's Reply:

Pilgermann on 07-09-2014
Tall Beeches in Red Hill
Good descriptions - but with Luigi on the rhyming. I'd let them go and just let the eye walk from point to point. Was trying to place Red Hill but couldn't think where.

Author's Reply:


Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame (posted on: 01-09-14)
Inspired by the recent 'Rape of BadauN women’ in UP India, which was deplored by even UN Secretory general Banki Moon...

Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame Your sin is ''hanging from the tree…'' Neck in noose, legs hanging lose, That you tore apart the night before…! My crime ''Not screaming out loud…'' Bearing the pain, the humiliation by you, congregating in a crowd- Fiends laughing, mocking, Eating my flesh, raw, with relish, with guffaw… My guilt ''not able to say: No! Clear and loud…'' My misery, too scared, too taken aback, Too ashamed, of societal ''Shame!'' I would rather be ''disembowelled'', then notoriety claim…'' But, time has come, to cut the chains, To free my self of shackles of 'shame', Of slavery, in my sex ingrained… To soar high, and the skies claim! Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright © Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP) India 12.07.2014 Inspired by the recent 'Rape of BadauN women' in UP India On 24th May 2014, two teenaged minor girls were gang raped, strangled and hung from a tree in Katra Village, BadauN district of UP, India (two of the six rapists were police men). This was one of the most gruesome of series of crimes against women in recent history of India, in fact series of 'Gang-Rapes' in India. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2014_Badaun_gang_rape
Archived comments for Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Supratik on 01-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Yes I can very well understand where it is coming from. I feel ashamed as an Indian when I get to witness these crimes and criminals going stark free.
Excellent!!
In line 7, I think there is a typo. It should be 'Friends' unless I am missing something.

Author's Reply:
YEs, Supratik, it indeed is a matter of great shame! I fail to understand the mindset of those, who dare to commit such heinous and gruesome crimes, nay sins... It is despicable!
And yes, you are missing something! I mean here 'Fiends' and not 'Friends', fiends as in 'Devils', as in 'Blood thirsty animals', because that is what these people actually are...
Zoya

Ionicus on 01-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
I can understand your anguished cry, Zoya, and fiends is the apposite definition of those evil savages who commit these heinous crimes. It is outrageous that a civilised country should tolerate such opprobrium.

Author's Reply:
Yes, Luigi, unfortunately, this is a malaise, which has inflicted our society lately and has become so rampant that hardly a day passes when we don't hear a crime like this being committed in some part of the country or the other. It is despicable!
There was an out cry when the youth came out in masses, spontaneously, to protest against the gruesome mass rape of "Damini", as the physiotherapy student was named, on the 16th of December 2012 in a moving bus in New Delhi. As a result of, which more stringent laws were passed, the case was fast tracked, the perpetrators were punished with life sentence, but the managed to appeal against the verdict and have still to start serving their sentence.
In the meanwhile, the number of cases has only increased with time...
Thanks for the concern!
Zoya

Pilgermann on 02-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
I applaud your poem. These crimes deserve to be aired. And women deserve to be treated as human beings. Even in this age of equality there are back waters and minds which seem to think that they can extinguish a life as they would a candle.

Author's Reply:
Such crimes are despicable and deserve to be condemned and perpetrators punished. And they happen not only in villages and backwaters, but in towns, cities and metros... with young girls and even under aged girls, even little girls of three and four years old... some of them are even murdered and others succumb to their injuries on their own...
Thanks Pilgermann for the concern!
Zoya

Supratik on 02-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Hi Zoya, it does mean what you said!!! Excellent!

Author's Reply:
Dear Supratik, This crime, this Sin, this Malaise, which has reached epidemic proportions lately, has to be given a serious thought! While, it is true that women are made to suffer since the time of the 'Rape of Sabin Women'; But, for this to happen in this age, when we talk of empowerment of women, equal rights to women and equal education and equal opportunity, at this juncture in history of man kind, our country is regressing back in time... committing a Crime as if it a collective "Sport" of some sort!
Or is it to air their Resentment against women getting their 'space' in society that they want to "punish" them, "humiliate" them for raising their heads??
This indeed needs thinking!!! Some deep introspection!!!
Zoya

Supratik on 04-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Yes Zoya, you are absolutely right. I have posted here a poem on similar thought and named it as 'Rape'. In there, I applied staccato, rhythm falling in and out. You have given me the courage to share the poem.
A lot needs to be done to see this crime disappear. As you rightly said, it is not a question of lust, but that of power.

Author's Reply:

Gothicman on 04-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Well written hard hitting poem, Zoya, giving good voice to these despicable crimes that can never be exposed enough. The prevalence of all this still to do with primitive views on women's role and status in society. Even the caste system is primitive and abominable and cannot be justified in a civilized world. As a doctor you must meet and perhaps treat some of these innocent victims? Whatever happened to tranquil India, even Isis are getting established there, wanting India to go in the Caliphate? Your usual high standard, Zoya....Trevor

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 07-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Hi Zoya
Coming late to this poem. Yes,truly revolting crimes that leave a stain on everyone concerned and sadly the country too. I wrote a poem after the dreadful multiple rape and murder of that poor Indian girl who was travelling on a bus with her boyfriend and ended up disemboweled.

The crimes against women and the police's seeming complacency is such a disgrace.
Congrats on the nib. 🙂

Alison x

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 07-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Hi Zoya
Coming late to this poem. Yes,truly revolting crimes that leave a stain on everyone concerned and sadly the country too. I wrote a poem after the dreadful multiple rape and murder of that poor Indian girl who was travelling on a bus with her boyfriend and ended up disemboweled.

The crimes against women and the police's seeming complacency is such a disgrace.
Congrats on the nib. 🙂

Alison x

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 07-09-2014
Your Sin-My Misery, My Guilt, My Shame
Hi Zoya
Coming late to this poem. Yes,truly revolting crimes that leave a stain on everyone concerned and sadly the country too. I wrote a poem after the dreadful multiple rape and murder of that poor Indian girl who was travelling on a bus with her boyfriend and ended up disemboweled.

The crimes against women and the police's seeming complacency is such a disgrace.
Congrats on the nib. 🙂

Alison x

Author's Reply:


Ode to Keat's Idea of Poetical Mind (posted on: 25-08-14)
Keats, one of the most lyrical poets, actually considered poets as most 'unpoetical' beings...

And so raved one of the finest poet of his times: A poet has no mind, no soul, He is nothing, and everything, He has no self… His mind enjoys light and shade, He is sensual and sensuous: What shocks the virtuous philosopher, Delights the 'Chemilion' Poet; It does no harm from its relish of dark side of things, any more then its taste for the bright one, because they both end in speculation. A poet is most unpoetical of any thing in existence; Because he has no identity! He is continually in for- and filling some other body… ''The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women, are creatures Of impulse, and are poetical; And have about them an unchangeable attribute; A poet has none; no identity!'' A poet certainly is the most Unpoetical of all God's Creatures… And thus he went on degrading himself, Degrading his work, disgracing himself; Using the term 'negative capability': Capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any Irritable reaching to fact or reason; Content with half knowledge, with no thrust in heart's perception… He was certain of nothing, but 'The holiness of Heart's affections And the truth of imagination:' 'What imagination seizes as Beauty must be true:' ''Truth is Beauty, Beauty is Truth!' ''Satyam! Shivam! Sundaram!'' Passion as of Love, in all their sublime, Are creative of essential Beauty; ''My imagination is the Monastery, And I am the Monk!'' ''How beautiful is the air; How fine is the Season'' ''Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run…'' And yet, when he died, her asked that his grave should not carry his name; the epitaph: 'Here lies One, Whose Name was Writ in Water' 'a Young English Poet, Who, On his death bed, in the Bitterness of his Heart , at the Malicious power of his Enemies, Desired these Words to be Engraved, On his Tomb Stone,' that did not bear his Name… And I often think, how such a fine poet suffered! Or, may be he was great, because he suffered? Like the tempering of steel, the fire of his passion, Gave sheen to his words, meaning to his poems. Like the breeze in Spring, like the flower in Summer; Like the fire in Autumn; Like the Snow in Winter… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 28th July 2014; 12-1AM
Archived comments for Ode to Keat's Idea of Poetical Mind
Pilgermann on 25-08-2014
Ode to Keat’s Idea of Poetical Mind
This most poetically demonstrates the positive capability of poets. Look forward to more bodies of poetical work.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for getting my drift dear Pilgermann!
Keats was one of the most lyrical poets of English language. Yet he was criticized and went mostly unrecognized in his life time... He also suffered immensely! My heart fills with sorrow, when I read about him...
And I often think: "Is sorrow the prerequisite for great works of creativity?"
Thanks for the lovely response,
Zoya


Be With Me... (posted on: 11-07-14)
Tran-creation from Urdu of legendary poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz's poem-"Paas Raho"

Be with me… You stay with me… My slayer, my beloved, stay with me… When the night is on the prowl, Drunk with the crimson blood of the skies, With the balm of musk, diamond headed spear in hand, Laughing, mocking, wailing singing her mournful song, Jingling the shackles of purple grief… Be with me, stay close to me… When hearts drowned in bosoms, Seek hands hidden in sleeves, Hopefully, expectantly… Be with me… And when, like sobbing of children, Bottled wine gurgles forth, A sea of craving cannot be soothed, When nothing seems to move, When nothing seems to work… When the night is on the prowl, When the black, desolate, mournful night Is on the prowl… Stay with me… My slayer, my beloved, Be with me… Tans-creation of Faiz Ahmad Faiz's poem: ''Paas Raho…'' by Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 24.03.2006.
Archived comments for Be With Me...

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I Am… Me (posted on: 23-06-14)
It's not every day that I Feel So free…

Leaves fall off trees          silently, Leisurely ,          float down. Advent of Autumn              they announce… Deep in my heart I lay my dreams down… Languidly, I stretch on my couch, And savour the moment In 'here and now'… Who can wait for tomorrow That never was… And linger over past That never will be… While today is 'here and now' I am and Am I What I want to be… Happy, unhappy, But, Me… I stretch on my couch Languidly… It's not every day that I Feel So free… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright © Zoya Zaidi 17th June 2014 2PM
Archived comments for I Am… Me
Zoya on 24-06-2014
I Am
 Me
Well, Trevor, just one of those rare days...
Zoya

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 24-06-2014
I Am
 Me
Hi soya,
My how you caught the moment here....sounds divine.
Better make the most of it I am sure it never lasts long 😜
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Alison, just, once in a blue moon kind of a moment... It is already gone!
Zoya

Elfstone on 24-06-2014
I Am
 Me
I am so impressed by someone who can write this standard of poetry in what is, for you, a foreign language.
If I may make a suggestion - I think you have broken up the lines too much and used too many ellipses; it detracts from the poem. I fiddled with it in my word-processing software (deleted it of course - it's YOUR poem) and it's remarkable the change a different layout of the same words makes. For your consideration. Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Dear Elfestone, don't be too impressed! English for Indians is hardly a foreign language, considering that we learn it from the very beginning.
As for the suggestions, thanks a pile for the inputs! I write as the thoughts come to me, this time they came like this, in broken fragments, like thinking aloud...
Would ponder over your suggestions anyway.
Zoya

Mikeverdi on 24-06-2014
I Am
 Me
Loved it, a typo maybe 'it not every day... should it be it's? anyway, it no way detracts from a beautiful poem.
Mike

Author's Reply:

Zoya on 24-06-2014
I Am
 Me
Thanks Mike for pointing it out-correction done!
I am happy you like the poem.
Zoya

Author's Reply:


The Caged Bird that Sang to Freedom (posted on: 02-06-14)
A tribute to Maya Angelou

Born to parents with differences Sent to live with grand parents, indulged a bit, Back to mother, a tender-aged gawky girl Raped by mother's boy friend, for no reason at all Telling it, and they killed him, that silenced her… She forgot to speak, feeling responsible for speaking Speaking to kill, silence was the only way out Because she thought, 'if I speak, I'll kill some one else!' It took years to break the silence, but she read and learnt, Slowly the wounds did heal, and when she spoke, she spoke for all She spoke for abused women, used women and oppressed blacks She spoke for courage, resilience, for over coming it all She spoke for those who hope not, for those who dare to dream She sang the songs for the voiceless, dejected, disillusioned lot She taught, how to struggle, to overcome, by telling it all! She shared her most intimate moments with others & bared her soul… She looked for love, searched high and low, and many marriages and partnerships later learnt the truth: the truth about love: 'How can you love someone, if you do not love your self?' And like a caged bird she sang, her voice echoing in the hills Over the mountains, down the hills, across boundaries, in a fearful trill, Till she broke free from shackles of slavery, shackles of ill will, And then her song became an anthem, of poor, depraved, enslaved And it reverberated far and wide, to all the corners, worldwide… And a helpless, hapless, wronged-against-woman, became a source Of strength and inspiration, of force and resurrection, rejuvenation; Of hope and full freedom, from inner demons and outer demons; From discrimination and humiliation, from oppression to emancipation From despair to exaltation, from down-in-the-dumps to up in the clouds The struggle was enormous, the path arduous, but she egged on, by her Inner strength, power of conviction, determination and perseverance… And though a caged bird, she sang and sang, till her trill reached the farthest end her voice echoing in the hills, over the mountains, down the hills, across boundaries, in a fearful trill, she sang of hope of dream un-fulfilled; Till she broke free from shackles of slavery, shackles of ill will, And, her song freed her and her fellow men, from all the prisons, all the prejudices, all dejections, with a renewed hope, renewed strength. And her name was Maya Angelou, My angel, your angel, an angel of peace, with inner glow… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India A tribute to Maya Angelou
Archived comments for The Caged Bird that Sang to Freedom
Kipper on 02-06-2014
The Caged Bird that Sang to Freedom
Powerful words for a powerful lady. You speak for us all.

May I suggest two small corrections which very slightly spoil such a good write.
V3 L1 She looked for love(d)
V3 L3 How can you love someone, if you do not live (love) your self?’
Best wishes
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael, Typos corrected!
Zoya

stormwolf on 04-06-2014
The Caged Bird that Sang to Freedom
What a life she led. A wonderful lady indeed.
Congrats on the nib

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison,
She was not just a survivor, but a person who celebrated life to the fullest. After overcoming all the odds, she rose like a phoenix from the ashes and made her misfortune her strength, fighting for the rights of the blacks, women, the poor the have-nots, and in the processes becoming a source of inspiration for the others.
I have great admiration for such people of courage and resilience!
Thanks again!
Zoya

stormwolf on 04-06-2014
The Caged Bird that Sang to Freedom
Yes, I held her in the very highest regard since I first read her book all those years ago. When we see what woman-hood can aspire to, then look at today's plasic idols, it makes me sick to the teeth.

A powerful soul is such an inspiration!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Same here, I also abhor, these mannequin-like dolls! empty-headed and airy fairy! Little realising, it is actually substance that makes a woman charming, and not a 36X24X38 figure...
Zoya


Of Solitude and Melancholy (posted on: 12-05-14)
A tribute to one and only ''Gabo''.

Of Solitude and Melancholy, Sleepwalking and 'walking dead', Corpses growing and Spirits overhead looking down upon those still entrapped in 'living'; Of sleeping with eyes wide open, And dreaming with wakeful eyes, Of green blood oozing from wounds of evil, Of stomachs swelling and bursting with evil. Of dead people floating under the sea- each on a different level, in accordance with deeds… Of cities existing on the sea-bed, bright and dim as the mood, or, the state of mind may be… Of smell of Roses foretelling death Yellow colour symbolising decay, Epidemic of Insomnia involving whole town Disease of Amnesia rampant in every crown… Of living twin feeling sepulchral suffocation of dead twin Spirits hovering and looking for a living body to get in, to satisfy the mortal desire of eating orange. Of little boys buried, living in the tips of flowering trees… Of Heartless Grandmothers selling Granddaughters To repay the losses to property incurred… Of Innocent Erendira and Jose Buendia, Mysterious Melaquiades inspiring Aureliano… Of Gypsies,Tarot-card-readers and Crystal-ball–gazers, Grandmothers weaving magic in bedtime stories, Of reality interwoven with fantasy, like the mundane, 'Magic Realism' of the greatest Magician… The Stories will now be woven under surface of the earth crust where the mortal remains of the immortal, called Gabriel Garcia Marquez sleep peace fully, or, who knows may be are still Awake! Looking for A Hundred Years more of Solitude… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 09.05.2014; 4PM A tribute to one and only ''Gabo''
Archived comments for Of Solitude and Melancholy

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On Death of a Young Friend… (posted on: 09-05-14)
He was so young and full of life, and suddenly he was 'not'... Remembering a lost friend...

On Death of a Young Friend… Will the day of your departure Be the day of gathering Will the day of parting by death Be the day of reckoning… Will the sorrow of separation Bring home the realization How much you were loved and cherished? Will the teaming multitudes Come out in rain and thunder When the skies will also pour forth In grief and shocked anger… Will all speak in one voice? To bring to book those who Snatched you so cruelly away from us… Will your small acts of kindness Towards the humiliated and down trodden Bring them out in a procession To raise the voices in frustration… Will your charming smile so tender, Affectionate and full of compassion Rob smiles off the faces of millions? Will the ring of your spontaneous laughter Bring warm tears to the eyes of loved-ones… You walked alone in life With courage and conviction On a path still un-trodden Yet, millions will follow you On your journey to the eternal Unto dust, unto ashes… If you had known all this my friend Would you have marched ahead of us? On a one–way journey to heaven… Whenever I will now see a star Sparkling bright in the sky I'll know it is you smiling In your most endearing way With that twinkle in your eyes… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 19.02.2006 Inspired by the sudden and shocking demise of my dear comrade and friend I.G.Khan
Archived comments for On Death of a Young Friend…
stormwolf on 09-05-2014
On Death of a Young Friend

So many questions and so few answers when we lose a loved one.
Condolensces to you Zoya.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
So true Alison! We always find ourselves in communion with God, when we lose our loved ones... especially, when it is not their time to go...
Thanks for the lovely response!
Zoya

Bonnie on 09-05-2014
On Death of a Young Friend

It is so sad when we lose a friend. All my sympathy, Paula.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, death of a young friend is indeed painful!
Thanks!
Zoya


Life, Like the River Flows… (posted on: 21-04-14)
01/07/2013-Doctor’s Day- Thinking of the great deluge and Nature’s fury in the Uttrakhand Flash Floods on the 18th June 2013

Life, like the river flows: At its source, it gushes forth From the mouth of the moving ice Gleefully tumbling down the slopes Like a child it gurgles first Then playfully frolics on Meeting rocks and ups and downs It saunters forth like hopeful dawn Soft and tender, full of sprite, It moves on without care or spite. Then from the mountains it falls, A youthful and mighty fall, With all its splendour and its force It creates bounty along its course It is a grand show of strength Like a youth at its peak Proud and healthy moving swift With a force unparalleled before Creates so much with sheer life's force. Then it flows calm and serene Within its belly, a thousand mysteries Its gives bits to wheat and cornfields Nurture fish and food in its streams Gives off many tributaries Towns and people benefit from it- Just like an adult fully formed Gives to mankind all it's got Being productive and useful to all. Then sometimes, it works up a fury Angry with every one, it treats Creating havoc in its wake Floods the fields and destroys human race In a flash it takes thousand lives Raises to debris years of human strife High rise buildings, like packs of cards, fall Ancient temples come to naught- Just like man sometimes becomes distraught. Then, again it settles down in planes And flows calmly along the lanes Mature and heavy with life's experience It calms down gradually, and slowly goes down the beaten path Curling and turning and manoeuvring its path Towards the sea it steadily flows Reaching its destination, its creator at last- Just like man becomes one with his Lord… And one day it reaches its salvation Attains 'Nirvana', the ultimate 'freedom'… Life, like the river flows, in all hues: The pristine, the carefree, the gleeful childhood; The mighty youth, the forceful adulthood; And sometimes it becomes destructive In retaliation, if pushed to the wall, Maturity then calms it down And quiet, it flows to its final destination In his wake, to many lives useful And finally meets its creator, its Lord; And attains the Nirvana, the final Salvation… Author: Dr.Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 01/07/2013- 12PM (Doctor's Day- thinking of the great deluge and Nature's fury in the Uttrakhand Flash Floods on the 18th June 2013
Archived comments for Life, Like the River Flows…
Pelequin23 on 21-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

the river carries a deep message in your words

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pelequin, I am greatly fascinated by the 'River' and Nature in general. Nature always speaks to me in many languages. My best past time is to sit by the sea-side or on a river bank at sun set and watch the boats and ships go by... Alas, that is not always possible...
Thanks,
Zoya

stormwolf on 21-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

Hi Zoya 🙂
Lovely to read you again. The poem flows along like the river. It gathers momentum and changes from innocent meandering, through increasing turbulance....then to calm acceptance, then finally reconnects to God-head in Nirvana. SO like the human experience.

The last stanza could be a stand alone poem IMHO.

Lovely.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Alison, You are always appreciative of me!
As yo know I am a Nature's Child. For me Nature always holds a constant fascination. Mountains and Rivers, Valleys and Forests are my teachers; my source of inspiration, the invokers of my spiritual side. The year before last I went to the Gir Wild Life Century while attending a Seminar on Rheumatology (i.e. my Speciality). This is the only place, which houses the Asiatic Lion in the World. The forest was calm on the early morning Safari, as the sun rose quietly in the east... The birds were chirruping, their songs of dawn... suddenly there was a hush, and right in front of us on the same dust road, where our jeep was, emerged a majestic lioness, you can imagine my excitement! the excitement of the guides told that it indeed was a rare phenomenon! It just strolled past us, like a huge cat, almost purring in its calm composure... I could not stop clicking my Camera... It was an experience of a life time. Later they told me that people stay at the century for weeks together just to sight a lion, sometimes going back disappointed... I guess I was just lucky on my very first Safari...
Thanks for the lovely comment!
Love,
Zoya

ValDohren on 21-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

The river has long been a metaphor for life, and your poem includes many such descriptions. A meandering write, like the river, with some great lines describing the deluge you have set out to portray.
Val


Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile, Val!
Yeah, 'River' the metaphor of life, of movement, of calm and turbulence, of give and take, of ups and downs... It is a fascinating 'creature', as far as I am concerned, alive and kind and beautiful and powerful-all at the same time...
I have many poems on the river and the sea...
Thanks for your comment!
Zoya

Ionicus on 23-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

Nice to read your work again, Zoya. This is a lovely, flowing, poem. Thanks for sharing it with us.
Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Luigi,
Your appreciation is always a source of great pleasure to me!
Love,
Zoya

Kipper on 23-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

Zoya,

Unlike some before i have not, until recently, made your acquaintance so I am pleased to say hello.

Your writing is very desriptive of the river's journey, and by implication paralleling the human one. Its power at times uncontrolled and uncaring of its destruction, yet it is a life force. An interesting and well told dialogue.

Michael



Author's Reply:
Hello, Michael, Please to meet you!
I am really happy to know that you catch the essence of my poem so well!
Thanks again!
Zoya

Kipper on 23-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

Zoya,
Unlike some before i have not, until recently, made your acquaintance so I am pleased to say hello.
Your writing is very desriptive of the river's journey, and by implication paralleling the human one. Its power at times uncontrolled and uncaring of its destruction, yet it is a life force. An interesting and well told dialogue.
Michael


Author's Reply:

Kipper on 23-04-2014
Life, Like the River Flows

Zoya,
Unlike some before i have not, until recently, made your acquaintance so I am pleased to say hello.
Your writing is very desriptive of the river's journey, and by implication paralleling the human one. Its power at times uncontrolled and uncaring of its destruction, yet it is a life force. An interesting and well told dialogue.
Michael


Author's Reply:


Face-to-Face with Past and Future... (posted on: 10-01-14)
While researching for a book on my grand Uncle- a scribe, novelist, short story writer and a filmmaker- and in the process coming face-to-face with my own rich legacy... I muse...

Some words of wisdom, Some moments of truth, A life long journey, Some perils of youth, Compassion for the people, The marginalised and poor: Dwellers of the footpath, Large drainpipes of sewer, Under the bridges, Flyovers and ridges; Women of ill repute- The walker on the street; Hawker on the roadside The criminal of small creed: The thief, the swindler, One who sweeps the street, The simpleton villager, Farmer on the fields; The struggler in the big city Who comes to seek his fate, his fortune, but ends up on street… These and many more find themselves in his works, His short stories, novels, Articles and biographies, Films and documentaries- Yellowing pages of his words… And I burn the night oil Leafing through the treasure Trying to find the man behind the toil: And in the processes, I realise I'm looking into the mirror of times passed Resurrecting the demons of my own past; My ancestors talk to me in these pages Show me my history through the ages: A man who stands against the British A freedom fighter of great courage, Another lays foundation for the education Of his community languishing in ignorance He writes poetry to awaken the consciences Of those in slumber for generations; Then there are those who believe in austerity Of life lived simple, but high in principles The scholar of history, Arabic and Persian, The seeker of law, with truth in his judgment, Dramatists, poets, novelist and critics, There is no dearth of them in my lineage… And I, awe-struck realise with pleasure My inheritance's so rich, my blood so 'blue'! And then a fear grips me suddenly- Where do I stand in my ancestry? Do I have a place in this long history? A drop in the ocean, leaf on a large tree, Surf on the ocean, taken by the wind, A moment, in tapestry of Time's great swing... I do not know, and I dare not seek This Time will only tell, when I become history… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 17th December, 2.50AM While researching for a book on my grand Uncle, Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, a scribe, novelist, short story writer and a filmmaker, for his Centenary Celebration and in the process coming face-to-face with my own rich legacy- awe-stuck and conscious of my own small stature…
Archived comments for Face-to-Face with Past and Future...
deadpoet on 10-01-2014
Face-to-Face with Past and Future...
I am happy to be yet another woman in a line of female ancestors- we seldom get much attention. I am sure you fill your space perfectly on the family tree. Interesting poem.

Author's Reply:
The line is long, the lineage impressive:
My mother and aunt (her sister), were both poets, dramatists, novelists and critics; my grand mother (their mother) was a poet. Her father was an educationist, a lawyer, a scholar and a reformer. He was married to the daughter of Khwaja Altaf Husain Hali, again a poet, reformer, a critic, a very active member of Aligarh movement, instrumental in establishment of the Anglo Oriental College, Aligarh, which is now a full fledged university. So the achievements go back to five generations... A feat very difficult to equal up to... so I find myself a drop in this vast ocean of accomplished ancestors...
Zoya

stormwolf on 10-01-2014
Face-to-Face with Past and Future...
Lovely to see you posting again Zoya 🙂
I think you have made your mark very well and have done your ancesters proud.
It must be really fascinating to delve into one's own history like that and the lines in the poem were rich and full of the many pieces of the tapestry.

Alison x

Author's Reply:

Yeah, Alison, it is absolutely awesome! This grand uncle of mine has published 73 books in the seventy-three years of his life, including fiction and non-fiction. He made twenty-five documentary and feature films. Wrote at least a hundred stories and screenplays for other people’s films. Has the distinction of writing the longest weekly column in the history journalism in the world, the "Last Page" of Blitz, in two languages English and Urdu, consistently for forty years, non-stop. That is stupendous amount of work. His name was Khwaja Ahmad Abbas. He was my maternal grand mother's first cousin. I am absolutely awe stuck by the sheer industriousness of his literary, journalistic and cine prowess. And he wore all this so lightly on his shoulder that we as children never even realised his genius; Being very fond of children, all we remember is that he was a good friend who never wanted to be called an uncle, leave alone a grand uncle; He would rather, we called him Brother... He called himself a sort of Peter Pan-the boy who refused to grow up...
Can one ever match up to such an ancester? I don't think so...


Dreams of Dawn... (posted on: 16-12-13)
Smetimes you wake up with pleasent dreams, the taste of which lingers for a long time...

In the wee hours of the morn, Just before the crack of dawn, When awakening mingles with dreams When reality grapples with fantasy I linger, languid in sweet slumber My drowsy mind wanders in wonder Life seems pleasant, feelings tender… World is bathed in a pristine haze Every leaf, flower, and grass blade- Every creature living's still in a daze Only birds chirrup merrily, crazed Ringing in the advent of a new day Bright and splendid, singing and gay How I want to wish my sorrows away… I have a dream-the day is bright I'm taking a walk, the world snow-white Aspen trees around me stand straight Striped trunks show way to Heaven's gate And, as it happens often in dreams, I begin to fly over mountains and streams Away from the humdrum of daily extremes… There're no roads, no cars, no smoke, Only a valley with flowers in droves Children frolic in abandon, gay No adults to come in their way Innocence prevails, and spotted deers Roam around without any fear World feels like Heaven-peace real… No wars, no bombs, no blood, no gore No manipulation, no oppression any more No snatching from poor to fill coffers of rich No wounded bodies rotting in a ditch A Mandela, a Gandhi, a Martin Luther King Taking their long walks to freedom with a swing People on Earth singing only sweet hymns… Amidst the singing a knock-knock come to fore Somebody's knocking at my conscience's door? Voice of the sweeper seems to say: Don't you want your house cleaned today? I am brought to reality with a jerk, My dream world was just a quirk… Oh, how I wish that one-day A dream like this would be the order of the day… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 8th Dec. 2013; 7AM
Archived comments for Dreams of Dawn...
barenib on 16-12-2013
Dreams of Dawn

A small Christmas dream perhaps? John.

Author's Reply:
Yeah John, I wish, it comes true!

Ionicus on 17-12-2013
Dreams of Dawn...
Nice to read your work again, Zoya. You have expressed a universal dream that might, just might be realised one day.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Amen! Dear Luigi, It just might... Let us hope for the best!
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 17-12-2013
Dreams of Dawn...
When the world of dreams is so convincing and so real why do we believe that this waking world is real.

From 'The Incredible String Band'

"Maya Maya
All this world is but a play
Be thou the joyfull player!"

And from poor John Keats's Ode to a Nightingale

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?


Author's Reply:
Well, I am happy that my little piece of poem has reminded you of such great pieces...
Zoya


Return of the Prodigal… (posted on: 15-11-13)
It seems, I have forgotten to stand by the window and watch...

"I stood and watched by the window, The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves whirling by..." "(James R Lowell) Return of the Prodigal... It has been a long time Since I, by window stood, And watched the leaves falling The wind, do its work… The sky blue, the nimbus clouds Carried by the wind, The sun peeping through the clouds One September evening… The peacock dance, the chirrup of birds The cherry blossoming, The butterfly gathering pollen Bees humming on ginseng… So caught up am I In the virtual world of dreams, imaginings Creating my own nimbus clouds Some dark and some shinning… And today I woke up to Nature My old friend and guide And glided into real world of beauty, truth, and my imagination took flight… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh UP, India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 13/11/2013
Archived comments for Return of the Prodigal…
Mikeverdi on 15-11-2013
Return of the Prodigal

This for me is a beautiful poem, I would wish for less of the use of 'The' it's use this often spoils the harmony and flow of you're lovey words. It's only my opinion, others may not agree.
In friendship. Mike

Author's Reply:

deadpoet on 16-11-2013
Return of the Prodigal

I'm not too sure about the cherry blossoms in September? On the whole the poem gives a sense of a time for reflection and pleasant memories of the past. I'd go through it again and tweak it a bit for repetitions and superfluous words.

:)Pia

Author's Reply:

Bozzz on 16-11-2013
Return of the Prodigal

There is a nice style lurking here, but a need to somehow introduce more subtlety in the phrasing - similes will help perhaps. I agree with what the others have said, but Zoya, you have something - work on it...David.


Author's Reply:


Summer Blooms (posted on: 29-07-13)
The advent of Summer is the most beautiful sight, Nature celebrates the brief spell of pleasant days, by bursting forth with flowers of all hues covering the trees, which shed all their leaves...

The Red Oleander With juicy mega-sized flowers Announces the peak of Spring, And the advent of Summer, Bees and flies flock to the Tree full of blood-red flowers- Not a leaf in sight- Only crimson bright… Then blooms the Gold Moher, The orange May Flower, When Summer is in sight… Roads lined up with trees Shed their leaves, turning red with speed It's such an elating sight: Nature celebrating the brief Summer's pleasant stride… And as the Summer saunters along, Sun shines bright the whole day long: Yellow Oleander then bursts upon the scene Golden lanterns hang down from trees… The mixture of blood-red and golden-yellow, Painter Nature splashes colours in glee The whole town celebrates the season warm The Bogenvila's magenta, the shrubs adorn Some asters, some hollyhocks also bloom And fragrance of Jasmine makes one swoon The 'Queen of the Night' reigns the night Its smell is intoxicatingly bright… And, though the days soon turn hot But, these few days of abundance Please the heart, before we are caught In the heat wave of June and July My heart dances with the Nature bright And I marvel at its capacity To make most of the brief space bright… Why can't we, like the Nature, Celebrate the pleasant days? 'Make hay, while the sunshine lasts' and forget our woes, for a period short… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 20.05.2013; 11AM.
Archived comments for Summer Blooms

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First Monsoon Shower (posted on: 29-07-13)
The First Monsoon shower after a hot sultry day is a Summer Delight... In India it is associated with great romance, and soaking in the rain stirs the very soul, is indeed evocative...

And, when it is sweltering hot The skin scorches The body boils over The spirit is down The mood, distraught; Even the melodious Koel Seems to protest the summer's onslaught… Birds cease to chirrup Forgetting their morning song My mind's with apprehension fraught Nothing seems to ring true But, That it is hot, hot, Hot! And then suddenly The wind stirs The sky is over cast, The Nimbus cloud Rushes in from the South, Big raindrops begin to fall And there is a cloud burst of sorts: The trees, ere dry and thirsty, bend down, The yellowing leaves get a new lease, The drooping saplings come to life… The Moon suddenly lights up And my heart, along with the raindrops, begins to jump and dance… Dreams again seem plausible, Hope begins to form The Peacock in the woods Spreads its wings And shivering with desire, Passionately begins its courtship-dance, The Peahens watch awe-struck, And I, along with them, In my spirit, waltz… My soul, like the streets and gardens, is Inundate with positive thoughts… Such is the power of first Monsoon shower Such are the matters of craving heart! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 07/06/2013; 11.15 AM
Archived comments for First Monsoon Shower
Weefatfella on 29-07-2013
First Monsoon Shower
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
I feel your pain. We in Scotland only have one season normally...The wet season.
Recently however we had two long weeks of hot sunshine.
I'm a taxi driver.
In my short sleeved shirt and with all the windows open.
I was driving down the M8 motorway after picking up two Indian gentlemen at the airport.
I looked in the mirror both of them were shivering.
It was 28 degrees how was this possible.
I had to close the windows and put the heater on in the cab.
Wee souls were perishing and were too nice to say.
***********************************************
I felt the trees bend as the big ol fat rain pushed them down.
Aye well written.
Thank you for this.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Dear Weefatfella, when it is 46 to 48C, and the air pressure is so low that it is too oppressive to even breathe, then the first shower of rain is such a releaf! The smell of dry Earth eagerly absorbing the first drops of rain is simply heavenly!! And those who have been ere suffering the heat, really love it.
And yes 28 degrees C can be cold to Indians, who are used to 48-50C...
Thanks for the lovely comment!
Zoya

stormwolf on 31-07-2013
First Monsoon Shower
Lovely! Zoya.
I felt the resurrection of the spirit brought by the rains,. Many things fascinate me about India and the Monsoon is one of them. I have an app on my PC that allows me to play many different sounds. I always choose rain...
rain in roofs
rain through leaves, rain on windows...
I know that as the Monsoon progresses people may get fed up but this poem demonstrates the real desire of the earth and the people for the healing rains.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Alison, When it 'that' hot, no matter how well you are equipped to face it, it does invariably oppress your spirit. And you crave for the rains. And when the first rain pours, it is like the celebration of spirit. Children rush out to bathe in the rain, unmindful of their parents shouting and running after them to prevent them from doing so; the young people step out to soak in the rain. In the villages where crops stand waiting for the first shower, and are actually dependent on the rain for irrigation, the farmers really celebrate by dancing and singing. There are umpteen number of rain folk songs in India- the 'Sawan'Songs as they are called. Bollywood is full of rain soaked damsels singing in the rain, with their 'Sari' clinging to them evocatively... Rain has real association with romance in our country...
Thanks for the lovely response!
I also love to hear birds chirrup in the morning- it really uplifts me!
Love, Zoya

teifii on 31-07-2013
First Monsoon Shower
Really evocative. Even after our less frequent hot spells in Wales, the arrival of rain is thrilling and soothing.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Deff, Rains after a hot spell are always welcome every where in the world, especially in India, if only you knew how oppressing it gets, because of constant evaporation of moisture in the air and low air pressure created as a result, that it becomes difficult to breathe even... At such a time, a shower is so uplifting and welcome.
Thanks for the comment!
Love,
Zoya

Andrea on 31-07-2013
First Monsoon Shower
Really Lovely, Zoya!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea, I love the rains!
We all do in India
Love,
Zoya

ValDohren on 31-07-2013
First Monsoon Shower
We often feel we get too much rain here in GB, but its recent arrival following a hot spell has been more than welcome, so I know just what you mean. An excellent write which captures the joy of rainfall.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, After a hot summer, showers have a very cooling and soothing effect. A hot and dry town in the planes suddenly becomes as pleasant as a hill station, in the mountains...
Thanks for the nice response!
Zoya

Zoya on 06-08-2013
First Monsoon Shower
Thanks Val, After a hot summer, showers have a very cooling and soothing effect. A hot and dry town in the planes suddenly becomes as pleasant as a hill station, in the mountains...
Thanks for the nice response!
Zoya

Author's Reply:


Longing by the Mountain Stream (posted on: 22-02-13)
When head-over-heels in love, you are forever filled with longing for your beloved…

'Longing by the Mountain Stream' We clambered up the mountain path It was bright, The air was chilling, The sky so blue- Blue as blue can be, The orchids bobbed their pretty heads at ferns in abundant glee, The cuckoos carried their endless dialogue, Hill-Maina hopped on trees… A stream danced stridently, and frolicked down the valley, It's hum created a hopeful thrill Deep down my belly… Wind sang its song in my ears, Blood in my veins vibrated, Beating in tune to tally… The path was arduous Rocky and risky, But, spirit of adventure, kept us going, Our steps trod trustingly, We reached the fountainhead Of the mountain stream, The water was cool, it cooled my sweating brow, The drops touched my cheeks, as you would kiss my temple- sweet… The stream gushed out of the rocky belly, creating an effervescence, white, pink and delicate blue… I dipped my feet in crystal-clear water, The foam caressed my feet, creating a tickling, tingling feeling all over my skin, to your touch akin, It was so thrilling, heavenly, Elating, that I thought of you… There was little cave near by Where air was still, very still, I longed to be there with you, Your breath touching my cheeks, And tenderly make love to you… Oh! How heavenly it would be… Oh! How I longed for thee… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India, Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 23.12.2006 Note: When head-over-heels in love, every thing you see, every flower you touch, every thing you do, is tinged with the heavenly fragrance of love… You are forever filled with longing for your beloved…the desire is so strong that every thing takes on a new meaning, a new dimension…
Archived comments for Longing by the Mountain Stream
purplespirit on 25-02-2013
Longing by the Mountain Stream
Such a heartfelt and beautiful love poem, romance immediately catching the heart. Fluent language and moving imagery so completely enjoyed, thank you. Purple

Author's Reply:

Fox-Cragg on 08-03-2013
Longing by the Mountain Stream
Lovely to read, very much enjoyed.
Paul

Author's Reply:


Darkness Waits for the Errant Sun (posted on: 11-02-13)
Inspired by Tagore’s lines from Fireflies: ''Darkness is a veiled bride/ silently waiting for the errant light/ to return to her bosom.''

Darkness waits for the errant Sun Endlessly through the Night; Briefly meeting him at Dawn, Spreading in welcome all her splendour At his strident fleeting feet, Their transient union the world watches In all its ephemeral glory: The birds celebrate with their songs The Peacocks in unison dance The evanescent dew decorates it glows with pearls of moist drops- sits pretty on the flower petals a while and happily give up its lot sacrificing all its magnificence in the allotted succinct time-slot… Then the darkness lets him go to complete its days tasks, It journeys through out the world Touches every peak and valley Flirts with tall and lofty trees And fields lying in fallow Kisses every flowers cheeks And roams all the meadows Burns the desert with its passion Plays with the streams and brooks… And when it has had all its sport With the world at large It dutifully returns to darkness Who welcomes him with open arms, Their meeting this time's full of passion Painting the skies red Myriad of hues spread across In orange, yellow and scarlet Till the crimson of their love Slowly turns violet, then blue And the sun exhausted Slumps into a slumber true The darkness watches him tenderly Sleep through the night, And starts again to wait Eternally for her knight, Who appears day by day In shinning armour bright At sundown and sunrise… So do I wait for you, my love, Eternally in hopeful predicament, Fate has written in my plight… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, UP, India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 21.12.2008 on a leisurely Sunday Morning Inspired by Tagore's lines from Fireflies: ''Darkness is a veiled bride silently waiting for the errant light to return to her bosom.'' Pg 67, Fireflies, by Rabindranath Tagore
Archived comments for Darkness Waits for the Errant Sun
cooky on 11-02-2013
Darkness Waits for the Errant Sun
I like this. It gives life to the darkness and paints some wonderful images.

Author's Reply:


A Moment- An Eternity (posted on: 11-02-13)
Time is measured, not by quantity, but by quality... Sometimes a moment streches to eternity, sometimes a whole year passes in a blink-depending upon how those moments is lived...

Every moment that we spend, In love, in each others arms, Becomes an eternity for me As the times pass… I savour those tender days Those passion filled nights Sunsets on the crimson beaches The rose-tinted sunrise, Smell of white Jasmine flowers Spreading their fragrance wide Your breath upon my moist cheeks Melting with scented sprite Your kisses upon my brow, Your lips upon my lips, Your tender touch Easing my frown Erasing worries off my crown, Giving goose bumps upon my skin- Your feel to no other akin, I, melting in your embrace Like candle melts with the flame, Drowning in the deep blue sea Of your love that sets me free To attain peaks of ecstasy… The sweet slumber in your arms Till the wee hours of the dawn, Snuggling up into your warmth To melt the snowy chill Of wintry nocturnal founts, Waking up with pleasant dreams Still lingering in enchantment sweet… Such moments, and many more Etched in soul everlastingly Each stretching to infinity For a lifetime and beyond Linger on Long after you are gone… A moment stretched to eternity, In instants of ecstasy, Lives in memory eternally… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 09.02.2009 Valentine Special
Archived comments for A Moment- An Eternity
ValDohren on 12-02-2013
A Moment- An Eternity
Lovely romantic write for Valentine's Day.

Val 🙂

Author's Reply:


Crossing the River (posted on: 08-02-13)
"Crossing the river by feeling every stone..." (I found this poem written impromptu, on reading the above comment by a friend on my Moscow Days album. It talks of days of Youth, and the challenges we take, without batting an eyelid... Would like to share...)

"Crossing the River…'' We crossed the river by feeling every stone: Some were smooth and some rough, Some Slippery, some solid stuff; Some tickled us beneath the feet, Some were hot and burnt us neat, Some were cool and gave us respite From the long journey called life... Some moss laden, and ne'er trodden upon, Were the one most exciting, tough forlorn; Some were intriguing with myriad hues, Some were mysterious, but gave us clues, To cope with problems of life, it's true... And everything we took in our stride, We strode ahead, with bold strides, No matter how hard was the strife... We crossed the rivers, we crossed the roads, We climbed the mountains, deep valleys explored, And came back triumphant, on every score- 'Cause we were young, enthusiastic and bold! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 22nd April 2010
Archived comments for Crossing the River
stormwolf on 10-02-2013
Crassing the River
I can sure relate Zoya.
Life is a journey and if your journey is easy, be wary 😉

Alison x

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 10-02-2013
Crassing the River
Youth is invincible, Zoya!

Author's Reply:

CVaughan on 11-02-2013
Crassing the River
Zoya, haven't read any of your delightful writing in an age. Firstly a typo has slipped into your title you may wish to correct, I noticed as I see it keeps popping up on the twitter feed.
A lovely metaphor for life's travel by the way. Frank

Author's Reply:
Oops!!! Thanks for drawing my attention to the slip! But how does it figure in tweeter feeds?

CVaughan on 20-02-2013
Crossing the River
Hi Zoya, that tweet thing was because it appears to the left of the texts and on a constant roll I kept seeing it come up. Frank

Author's Reply:


The Blue Moon (posted on: 14-01-13)
These Celestial Phenomena always invoke strange thoughts and inspire me to think of the wonder that Nature is...

The Moon shown bright With its bluish light It woke me up in the middle of the night It peeped through my window, as if it smelled my woe, It shown on my palpebra, penetrated my eyes The brightness enough to fill my sight and I woke-up with surprise To find it smiling down at me its bluish tinge fascinating me... And I wondered, though it was soothing to see the blue hue, skirting its periphery, like mountain dew, But, was it happy? or, was it blue? The celestial phenomena in my soul imbued a feeling of disturbing kind: Why the Moon must change its hues? Sometimes it turns red, with passionate quay- troubled, it dances on the sky's bay... Sometimes it's blue, though not so cool, Depressed, yet shining all night surrounded by a halo fine... And sometimes it's totally eclipsed, by the same Earth it circles all life, waxing and waning, then reborn again, to encircles the same Earth again, and ultimately by it betrayed... Why the Moon seems helpless to me- always shining in reflected glory... Though so bright with its soothing light, Does it have a choice to shine Or, not to shine? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 02.09.2012 On the 'Blue Moon' phenomenon
Archived comments for The Blue Moon
Texasgreg on 14-01-2013
The Blue Moon
Aye, cool take on the feller's fate...answer to which, I eagerly await.

Greg 🙂

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:


Foreboding (posted on: 14-01-13)
Sometimes you can't help feeling it... call it premonition, or just foreboding...

Sometimes, there is emptiness The soul is restless, gripped by a sense of foreboding- Something is going to happen, You think: You do not know even- terrible or terrific? Just that feeling of anticipation… A kind of supressed excitement A kind of fear lurking, deep within, Unable to sink fully in… Yet, paradoxically, the feeling is elating, Thrilling, Even liberating, Just there till it happens, Or, the feeling just passes And is no more… But, those moments, even days Are worth their while… So, stay my heart, And abide your time Let things take their own course Let everything happen, In good time… Patience is a virtue fine. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 15th Dec. 2012 at 2.30 PM Just off the cuff… feeling restless...
Archived comments for Foreboding
Weefatfella on 14-01-2013
Foreboding
Photobucket
There is something truly exciting about anticipation.
Like a hand-held fan spinning inside you.
You managed to give me that sensation while I read, an amazing feat.
Thoroughly enjoyed this.
Thank you for sharing (and for the fan)
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Weefatfella! I am happy you njoyed the poem!

stormwolf on 14-01-2013
Foreboding
I hear you loud and clear Zoya.
I share it too in every way.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, Yeah, the feeling sometimes really grips you...

franciman on 14-01-2013
Foreboding
Hi 2oya,
You have given this piece a lot of energy. It really speaks to me.
Thank you,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks, I am happy jim, 'It speaks to you'! That is what it is meant to do...

Ionicus on 15-01-2013
Foreboding
Zoya, I like the zest of this poem and the feeling of hopeful anticipation it expresses. A nice and flowing piece much enjoyed.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi, It always makes me happy when you enjoy a piece!

Bozzz on 15-01-2013
Foreboding
Loved the poem - well penned, but oh! the guilt when the worst happens and one could have stopped it. Devastating in its potential....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Yeah, It does happen at times... Bozzz!

Mikeverdi on 16-01-2013
Foreboding
Well written, I enjoyed the read. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Mike!

Texasgreg on 17-01-2013
Foreboding
So, stay my heart,
And abide your time
Let things take their own course
Let everything happen,
In good time



Hard to do with a heart that beats quickly, eh?

Aye! All things prove out, but the anticipation is either the killer or thriller, depending on outcome.

Good job!

Greg 🙂

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, But, by the way you are drawing out your guns, it looks more like a 'Killer', rather than a 'Thriller'!...


That Moment in Time (posted on: 30-11-12)
A moment you could die for, a moment you live for...

There are times in life, And, there are moments in time, When every thing fades around you You are transported into another world Alone with your thoughts Alone with your self Along with your soul: There's only you, And your imagination, You, and your passion, For life, For love, For loving and caring, For living and daring… And a light emerges within you Illuminating your soul, That gives meaning to your existence, That takes you from here to oblivion From concrete to sublime From Mortal to Divine… And that moment Is worth your entire life… And you feel, You could die for that moment, You could live for that moment, You have lived for that moment Your life was meant for that moment… And, that moment passes You come back to yourself Feeling you have lived An eternity in that moment… And that moment is worth your entire existence… Author: Zoya Zaidi Ahmadabad, Gujarat, India 30th November 2012 5.30 AM As the day is still planning to break, The first ray of the sun is still in its cradle Just born… And this poem is born along with the day fresh as dew drop ready to evaporate, with the kiss of the sun ray...
Archived comments for That Moment in Time
Bozzz on 01-12-2012
That Moment in Time
I like this poem, but fear indulgence in such an experience. Well written....Bozzz

Author's Reply:

butters on 02-12-2012
That Moment in Time
an interesting message I could easily buy into, but found this read more as wistful prose than as poetry. I suppose what that means is I like what you are saying but not how you are expressing it - I'm being told about something but not engaging with it through the mediums of imagery/metaphor/musicality that help to make something into a poem... that otherness of dimension. However, that's a purely personal take and doesn't mean to say others won't find joy from this.

Author's Reply:


The Golden Autumn (posted on: 02-11-12)
I love the colours of Autumn!

The Golden Autumn It is that time of the year When the leaves turn Yellow, golden, and red Fall off the trees and Get blown hither n' thither By the chilly autumn wind… The skin chaps, the dryness chaffs The lips and cheek turn pink Ooh, the West wind… I take my Camera and Go for a walk- I step into the Ecological Park Meant to preserve the forest bark The vegetation long shorn off The face of Earth, in the name Of Development… The grass is green The yellowing leaves Cover it with a carpet o' gold… The twits, the sparrows, the herons, the wrens Are singing their morning songs, The coots and ducks, dip their heads And dive for imaginary fish or thrush. They rest in the sun to warm themselves Hide in the under growth, To avoid the snip of the chilly wind To absorb the warmth, Before winter sets in… And I think of the approaching autumn Of my life And wonder How should I fortify myself, Against the coming years… And find myself at a loss For possible solutions Of spending coming chilly years… Author: Zoya Zaidi London, UK 16th Oct. 2012; 7PM
Archived comments for The Golden Autumn
CVaughan on 02-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Hello and welcome back Zoya, haven't seen your work here in an age. Good reflection on nature and relating time's changing nature to yourself personally. Fine imagery and descriptive detail, envy you sparrows our London staple population has all but disappeared driven out by magpies. Frank

Author's Reply:

Harpie on 02-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Beautiful words and a richly drawn poem.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 03-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Hello Zoya, lovely to see you posting again, and with such a beautiful poem, too!

Author's Reply:

Bozzz on 03-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Colours and noises galore - yes that is autumn - very well expressed. But chirruping herons I have yet to hear - a few inches just inside the poetic licence border? Loved the poem.
Bozzz.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 03-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Although I marvel at the changing seasons I cannot help thinking that if Autumn is here Winter is not far behind.
I can see that your thoughts also veer towards fearing the advancing years and what lies ahead.
You may need to do some little editing. I would suggest that you change 'The twits, the sparrows, the herons, the wrens...' into 'The birds are chirruping their morning songs,' thus avoiding the comment that herons do not chirrup. They do in fact loudly squawk.
A good effort.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

deepoceanfish2 on 05-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Nice to read your work again Zoya...beautiful imagery here.

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 17-11-2012
The Golden Autumn
Well hello there, Zoya;-) I hope life is treating you kindly.

This is a beautiful poem and well deserving of its nomination. Lovely to 'read' you again.

All best wishes.

Tina

Author's Reply:


An Island in the Sea (posted on: 23-04-12)
You do feel like that at times...

In this vast universe With teaming millions, like a curse How is that I stand alone, With not a soul to converse: To open my heart to one, Who would understand my worth, My woes, my joys, my universe… Who would think the way I do, Who would feel my anguish deep, Who would share my ecstasy, Would laugh and weep with me… To whom I can bare my inner core, With whom, I can share my heart and soul… But, I stand alone, like an island in the sea, in the vast ocean sweep: Rich with fruits and jungle deep, Jewels and minerals in heaps, Fish and corals surrounding me Wealth in abundance within me, But, there are no takers it seems… I am cast in the middle of the sea, Waiting for the errant ship, An explorer of Crusoe's creed, to discover me and share with me, the wealth of passion within me… Hopefully, Before, the deep sea, or a Tsunami One day eventually engulfs me… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 27.01.2009 11.30 AM Modified: 29.12.2010 at 1PM
Archived comments for An Island in the Sea
Corin on 23-04-2012
An Island in the Sea
O I empathise with this very much Zoya. I could say more but this is a public forum. It is a powerful piece and, as you say, expresses a feeling most of us have had at some time.

I have a few comments and suggestions on this piece

In this vast universe
With teaming millions, like a curse
How is that I stand alone,
Having not a soul with whom to converse?
I yearn for one
To open my heart to,
Who would understand my worth,
My woes, my joys, my universe

Who would think the way I do,
Who would feel my anguish deep,
Who would share my ecstasy,
Would laugh and weep with me

To whom I can bare my inner core,
With whom, I can share my heart and soul


The original query format of this stanza did not seem to work quite right to me.

Also in the last stanza there are too many 'me's I feel.

to discover me and share with me,
the wealth of passion within me


Howe about :-

to discover me and share,
my wealth of passion within.


Author's Reply:

Andrea on 24-04-2012
An Island in the Sea
Indeed, we are all ultimately alone, Zoya. A powerful piece, as David says.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 24-04-2012
An Island in the Sea
A very powerful expression of anguish. If only you could find your man Friday on that deserted island.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

sunken on 25-04-2012
An Island in the Sea
One of your strongest writes to date, Ms. Zoya. I'm trying not to say 'powerful' because everyone else has. But sod it, it's very powerful. As Luigi says, hope you meet you man Friday. I'm after a girl Friday... Tho to be frank she'd have to stick around for the rest of the week too. I need consistency you see. I'm rambling. Very nice work. Have a Bernard.

s
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k
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Author's Reply:

Bradene on 25-04-2012
An Island in the Sea
Such a powerful and heartfelt poem. I can truly empathise with this as Andrea points out we all have these moments when we feel cut off and isolated. Well done. Valx

Author's Reply:

ChairmanWow on 25-04-2012
An Island in the Sea
The only solution is bridge building, some needing longer bridges than others. i too feel i'm only sending out messages in a bottle that no one will bother to read, but that is the truth for everyone. Nicely done poem.

Ralph

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 02-05-2012
An Island in the Sea
I understand and share this feeling Zoya. In all the billions of people, where is Mr Right? The thought that I have met and lost him is a scary thought. The thing is that it is better to be alone than to share your treasures with someone not worthy of you. 😉
Alison x

Author's Reply:


White Nights (posted on: 02-03-12)
Reminiscing about those enchantment-filled 'White Nights' spent on the Banks of Baltic Sea in Saint Petersburg, in my youth....

White were the Nights Pristine, like our Youth And the Sun never sat: It would blush, turn crimson, Go down the horizon Take a dip in the Baltic Sea And come out again in minutes- This time Golden Pinkish tinge- And the Evening would blend Seamlessly with the Dawn Pass from one light into another in a blink… We never slept on those nights. The summer was awesome, in full bloom In the town of Saint Petersburg… We were lovers and strolled The whole night, hand in hand Crossing one bridge after another Bridging over the gaps between Our tender hearts 'Till we flowed, like the river, Smooth and silvery bright… The ripples were many hues of twilight The myriads of feelings merged together To fill our souls forever- We were one like the waters. The Sun never sat on our hearts And we're bathed in the perpetual glow of the silvery White Nights… The nights of St. Petersburg Were witness to many loves, Like our glorious first love… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 23.06.2007 Note: For a whole week in late June, Saint Petersburg, Russia, celebrates the "White Nights", when the sun just dips below the horizon and then rises from the sea anew within minutes. In other words it never sets during these enchantment filled nights... People stroll along the banks of Neva whole night. So did we...
Archived comments for White Nights
Andrea on 05-03-2012
White Nights
Beautiful, Zoya. Romantic and lovely. I've been to the Baltic, but Poland, not Russia. It has the most beautiful amber.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Andrea, Beauty has so many hues and Nature is the most beautiful gift God has bestowed upon mankind...
Love,
Zoya


The Silent Night (posted on: 02-03-12)
I could see it in her eyes: She did not want to die... Though there was nothing left to save... yet, she fought on... It was at once valiant and poignant on her part... and, for us, very painful to watch...

The night was silent All was quiet… The last 'Aazan' had long died The pre-dawn blush, still far from sight The birds, asleep in their nests The stars shone bright in their quest To outshine the Moon, on its mighty crest… There was not a soul in sight- Only your spirit roamed the night Having a dialogue with 'Death's Knight'… With your breathing at irregular intervals, Becoming faster for brief spells To fight death and beat its attempts To take you away from your loved ones… But, you fought back, and shooed it away Your 'Will' to live, was coming in the way… And 'Charon' from the charnel world Reversed its boat, to the back o' beyond… It was ashamed to take such a life- So full of desire, so full of sprite… It had gone on like this for days: Its coming, and your 'shooing' it away… In the end it prevailed upon you, The first taste of 'Death' overcame you… And with its cruel scythe, Time began mow All your dreams, your desires, your woes… A last deep breath, and you closed your eyes And were in its clutches in a trice To forever roam the skies... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 27.07.2011; on Ammi's last fight with 'Death'. Completed on 02.08.2011
Archived comments for The Silent Night
Andrea on 02-03-2012
The Silent Night
Wonderful poem, Zoya. Similar thing happened to someone I knew, but in the end she had to let go, too.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea, for six months, I kept a close vigil on my mother, watching her die bit by bit. She was so strong willed, she could really keep death at bay... It was so painful, and yet so poignant, her valiant effort to live. Sometimes the helplessness in her eyes was so evident, you could literally read the plea to live in them... That look still haunts me, even an year after she is gone...
Thanks for the kind words!
Love,
Zoya

ChairmanWow on 04-03-2012
The Silent Night
This is remarkably evocative of the death watch over a loved one we all do sooner or later. Oh, I hate hospitals!

Ralph

Author's Reply:
Dear Ralph,
Hospitals are my life... Being a doctor, I literally live in them. I have watched so many die. But, never felt death so closely.
A mother is a person whose love haunts you even after she is long gone... may be even more so, after she is no more... A part of you dies with her... Watching her die is like seeing yourself die, in bits...
I am happy you appreciate it!
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 04-03-2012
The Silent Night
A poignant poem, Zoya, of witnessing the passing away of someone whose will to live had to give way to the inevitable.
Sensitively written.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Luigi,
The person was my mother, melting away in the clutches of the deadly malady of Cancer. She just skin and bones in the end, but the will to live was stronger then her flesh... She was a poet and knew how to philosophise... and yet, loved life so much...
Love,
Zoya


The Nature Speaks to Us… (posted on: 23-01-12)
The Nature speaks to us in so many ways...

The Nature speaks to us in so many ways In words unsaid; in silence it sways In all the possible dimensions, In the swish of the ocean waves In the roar of the storms and gales In the chirrup of birds on bright days In the buzzing of the bees on flowers gay… The dew drops, shining through sunrays The snow-topped mountains in cloudy haze The clouds in the sky, when up we gaze, The thunder, the showers, the lightening, the blaze, The volcanoes erupting from bowels of Earth Spewing lava with rage on firth… They all speak to us in sorrow and mirth. Every morning when the sun rises forth It speaks to us in centuries of wise codes How consistently it follows the night How religiously in disperses the light How it never overshadows the Moon, Whose gentle light can make hearts swoon. The Nature has a story in the Sun and the Moon! The trees that canopy the Earth with shade Grow from mere seeds to their mighty state The diamonds that shine out of a mere coal The desert that shines like a water hole- The mirage that deceives but keeps our hope, That keeps us going, that helps us cope The Nature holds us, when we go down the slope… The colours, the hues, the images bright The glow, the shadows, the scattered light, The reflection of Moon in a pool by roadside The swish of the wings of birds in flight The cicada humming in the dead of the night The moths, the owl's hoots, the fireflies They all tell us the tales of the Night… Then often on a starry night We forget our way and in dreams take flight When gently sleep whispers all night Songs of sorrow, of hope, of our plight When dreams gently rock us in our sleep In slumber we learn some lessons deep The repose gives us health in its sweep… The whispers, the silence, the shadows deep Are all Nature's gifts for us to keep If only we care to listen to its songs Nature tells the truth, never goes wrong… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 01. 01. 2012; 11.30PM
Archived comments for The Nature Speaks to Us…
Andrea on 23-01-2012
The Nature Speaks to Us

Beautiful imagery and cleverly done, Zoya - a delightful read.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea,
This was written on the spur of the moment, while answering one of Stormwolf's comments on anther poem...
Thanks for your appreciation again!
Love,
Zoya

barenib on 24-01-2012
The Nature Speaks to Us

Hi Zoya, some lovely images here and a reminder that we need to look after the world. One typo for you - "The desert that shine" - either deserts or shines? All the best, John.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, John this exactly what we need to do, but hardly ever get time to... So engrossed are we i our day to day grind...
Typo corrected!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 25-01-2012
The Nature Speaks to Us

Yes, Mr. Nib is right. We all need to stop and look at the world occasionally and appreciate it's wonder. I myself am partial to a stormy sky. So much more spectacular than the clear blues that so many here in rainy England seem to long for. I'm happy with our drabness. Ahem, I don't know what that says about me, Zoya. Best not analyse these things. Enjoyed the poem. It's good to see you posting again.

s
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k
e
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turn left at the ford cortina war memorial

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky, It is better to love, that what you have, or, you always end up lamenting...
All the best to you!
Love,
Zoya

ChairmanWow on 25-01-2012
The Nature Speaks to Us

Nature gives us so much inspiration. Like the poem.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Wow, there is never a dirth of inspiration as far as the Nature is concerned!
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 27-01-2012
The Nature Speaks to Us

This is beautiful, Zoya;-) Very much enjoyed.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Hiee! Tina!
It been such a long time!
It is always an honour to be appreciated by such a wordsmith as you are...
I hope you are doing fine?
Love,
Zoya


Your Eyes (posted on: 02-01-12)
Eyes, the mirror of our soul, say a lot of unsaid things. Eyes of your beloved can be a source of joy, anguish, passion or just plain turn on…

Your eyes, Black and sparkling bright- Mischievous and naughty- When look into my eyes, Penetrate my soul, Reach down to core, Stirring up a storm- Disturbing, yet pleasant- Make my heart hop, skip, Jump and take a leap Into the realm of fantasy, Raising my spirits Soaring in the sky, I want to fly… And when they passion-filled, With longing in them still Of our previous night- When you loved with all you might- look deep into my eyes, My heart melts like a snowflake that falls on the hot spring evaporating in a trice… Deep sinks in my belly My pulse begins to tally With rising and falling Of your heaving breast … And when sometimes with anguish, they moisten-up a bit- Your long eye lashes hood them over like curtains fluttering into the wind. My heart sinks with them into abysmal depths. My pain is cataclysmic- It wants to absorb your pain… And when crystal clear Your soul peeps through them, Transparent and honest, Earnest and sincere, They confess their love to me, I can't contain my joy, My eyes brim-over. And you pick up a tear sliding down my face, Hold it against light and say: Here is my precious pearl … My heart begins to swirl… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP) Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 26. 09. 2006; 11.06 AM Just found this poem in my files...
Archived comments for Your Eyes
ChairmanWow on 02-01-2012
Your Eyes
Nice find. The eyes have it. Poem flows and evokes more about emotions than optics.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Wow!
Yes, eyes are fascinating and a perfect vehicle for emotions. Just a look can captivate, enthrall, elevate your soul, alleviate your suffering, fill your heart with feelings, brim it over with emotions; and on the other hand can crush your spirits, dampen your enthusiasm, demoralize you to core, even kill you... So, eyes can be very expressive... And looking deep into them can be a exciting, enthralling, anguishing, as the case may be...
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 03-01-2012
Your Eyes
Phew! That's quite a passion filled exreavaganza well deserving of the nib.
Great writing Zoya!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, one of those inspired ones, I suppose? I must have written it the 'night after...' Lol!
I think eyes speak a lot more than words...
Thanks for the lovely comment!
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 04-01-2012
Your Eyes
Thanks Admin, for the nib!
Sincerely,
Zoya

Author's Reply:

Capricorn on 22-01-2012
Your Eyes
Eyes are certainly the mirror of the soul and can tell us so much!
Loved reading this one!
Eira

Author's Reply:
Sorry for the late reply Eira, just noticed this one. Thanks a pile indeed. I love your appreciation! When a lovely poet like you appreciates, it is a double pleasure!
Love,
Zoya


The Red Moon (posted on: 19-12-11)
Caught in the Penumbra of Refracted light from the Sun, the eclipsed Moon turned Red...

And then the moon turned red! As an orange hue over its surface slowly spread. 'Till it metamorphosed into a ball of crimson red Caught in the Penumbra that the ominous Sun shed… With mixed feelings of joy and awe I watched in a kind of dread. What was it that made me uneasy? Troubling my anxious soul: Was it the helpless state of Moon Been given a bloody bath? Or was it the shadowing of a beauty beyond surpass? Defiling of a shinning face Smearing of silvery tone, Or was it suffering inflicted on the peaceful Moon? I cannot say, what it was But, I remained pensive all night Strange thoughts visited me, My dreams were full of fright Now, it was a demon of sorts Dancing on the moon Now, it was a dragon red, Breathing fire and fume… Powerless, Moon was trying to dodge But, its craters an sand dunes kept getting scorched in the fire Raging in its womb… Nightmares of such dreadful tunes Played rampant in my mind Till the Sun majestic rose And the morn was calm and kind… No wonder such phenomena Occur once in a lifetime… But, poor Moon has to suffer Such vagaries of Time… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 10.12.2011 On seeing the Moon turn red, caught in the Penumbra of refracted light of sunset-coloured hues, during the Lunar Eclipse on Saturday Night, the 10th of December 2011.
Archived comments for The Red Moon
deed on 19-12-2011
The Red Moon
A lovely description of an unusual phenomenon during a lunar eclipse. The majestic nature of the scene is given good emphasis by using rhythm and rhyme together with majestic vocabulary. The observer is awed by the beauty of it but is also apprehensive - not surprising since such fear is archetypal - eg the end of the world in Revelation 6:12 'The sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became like blood."

Author's Reply:
You are so right Deed, the beauty, the mystery, awe and dread all go hand in hand when such phenomena occur: first you are struck by the sheer beauty of it, then over owed by the real phenomena which causes it, then lurking somewhere in the back of our mind, the knowledge apocalypse and the Doom's Day, our senses are attuned to since childhood, comes to fore... All this is all at once vaguely disturbing and thought provoking... We poets always become restless by such events; a restlessness difficult to explain and express...
Thanks for the lovely comment!
Love,
zoya

ChairmanWow on 19-12-2011
The Red Moon
The imagery is powerful and even more powerful the mood it evokes. We realize we are tiny compared to events in the heavens.

Author's Reply:
Yes, Wow, I am always over-owed by the enormity of it all... It is so unfathomable that it is almost magical in its enormity and we mortal are reminded of our insignificance and the fact that how infinitesimal we are in the scheme of the universe... and we consider ourselves so important...
Thanks for the kind and thought-provoking response!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 21-12-2011
The Red Moon
Good to see you subbing again, Zoya. Some lovely imagery in this. I expect little more of you to be sure.

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freelance Tupperware technician

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Sunky darling, I have been working on my mother's autobiography, now that I have edited and submitted it with the publishers along with the title cover, I designed for it, I am free to do my own writing... I also took this time to kind of come to terms with her absence (not that one can come to terms with a mother's loss ever...).
Thanks for the kind remarks!
Yeah, you will be seeing more of me to be sure!
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 21-12-2011
The Red Moon
Good to see my favourite Doctor in excellent form, Zoya.
A nice, descriptive poem woven with fine verse.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Luigi, Nice to know, I am your favourite! I have been hibernating a bit, but not out at all... Just one of those phases... Though I have been writing, but, mostly giving vent to my feeling, kind of a cathartic phase you can say... I suppose I needed that... One does at times...
Thanks for the lovely words!
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 30-12-2011
The Red Moon
Hi Zoya
I love your poetry, as you are totally in tune and listen to nature a I do! 😉
When nature speaks to us, we cannot escape in sleep

I cannot say, what it was
But, I remained pensive all night
Strange thoughts visited me,
My dreams were full of fright
Now, it was a demon of sorts
Dancing on the moon
Now, it was a dragon red,
Breathing fire and fume


I feel that so much will only make sense in retrospect now so keep a diary! Alision x
Happy New Year!

Author's Reply:
Yes, Alison, Nature does speak to us in so many voices: in images, in whispers, in colours, in dew-drops, in mountains in the silence of the woods, in roars of the waves, in the swish of the sea rippling at your feet... In so many ways the Nature speaks... Wait, I am getting a poem-see you later...
Love,
Zoya
PS Alison, by the way, the poem I am talking about above, I did write it, it is posted on my page as "Nature Speaks to us in Many Ways", do read it, as it was written in one go, insp[ired by tis comment of yours! Love,
Zoya


Fog (posted on: 28-10-11)
For the poetry challenge 'Fog'

Fog Fog of the mind, Fog of emotions, Fog of memories, Fog of thoughts… Fog that momentarily blocks Intellect, Impressions, Sight Sense of being Sense of space Sense of Time Fog That is eternally fraught With a sense of fear, Sense of loss Sense of being in nothingness Sense of floating in space Of being in clouds In seventh Heaven Yet, uncertainty is the hallmark Of Fog… Fog therefore is charming, Romantic, Foreboding, Intimidating, Obscuring, Mysterious, Yet, exciting… Therefore, I love Fog! In it I get lost… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 25.10,2011; 1PM, for the 'Fog' challenge
Archived comments for Fog
Corin on 28-10-2011
Fog
Yes I agree entirely 🙂

"O the fog on the Tyne is mine all mine
The fog on the Tyne is all mine"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVsli7ijYDE

David

Author's Reply:
Dear David, I know how much you love the Tyne and the fog on it...
Thanks!
Love,
Zoya

Andrea on 28-10-2011
Fog
I suffer from brain-fog. I get lost in that too 😉

Lovely Zoya!

Author's Reply:
Take care, Andrea! You and brian-fog? I don't believe that at all! But, getting lost that is possible...
Thanks!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 30-10-2011
Fog
Hello Ms. Soya. Sorry, my automatic spell checker is insisting that your name is milk related (or are they beans?). Anyway, that's hardly important. I like the fig too. Sorry, that was my error. I meant fog. I and o are just too close together on the keyboard for my liking. Where was I... Fog, yes. I like it very much. It's like being in a cloud. A little bit of Devon on earth you might say. I meant heaven, not Devon. That was a slip of the tongue. This comment hasn't gone well at all has it? Nice work Ms. Soya.

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brain surgery for goldfish

Author's Reply:
As usually, dear Sunky Munky, you have completely fogged me up... just like you!
Take care don't slip too much, you might get hurt...
Love,
Zoya

Kat on 31-10-2011
Fog
Realy enjoyed this and loved the ending.

Kat

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Kat, getting lost can be fun!
Especially in fog!
Love,
Zoya


The Blue Sky in your Eye's Aquamarine Sea… (posted on: 21-10-11)
In response to the 'BLUE' challenge.

The Blue Sky in your Eye's Aquamarine Sea… The Blue sky And the deep blue sea, It canopies, Reflects in your eyes The colour aquamarine. The depth of the sea, The vastness of the sky Expresses your thoughts deep And your dreams endless, Like the sky's infinity… And, I wonder What manner of mystery Is common between Your eyes, The aquamarine sea, And the azure sky's eternity… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP) India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 20.10.2011 In response to the challenge, 'Blue'
Archived comments for The Blue Sky in your Eye's Aquamarine Sea…
franciman on 21-10-2011
The Blue Sky in your Eye’s Aquamarine Sea

Hi Zoya,

I really like this. I feel it runs a little kilter in line eight, though I wouldn't presume to suggest an alternative.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
No, Jim, you are right, it should be expresses, not just express... I have made the correction.
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 24-10-2011
The Blue Sky in your Eye’s Aquamarine Sea

O Zoya, Zoya! You have fallen for Ole Blue Eyes! That's what you get for looking deeply into someone's eyes. I love the ending. Mystery is the answer, love is a mystery, take away the mystery and there would be no sparkle no surprise.

Author's Reply:
Wow, David! What a lovely response!
You are so right, mystery is the answer and mystery is the question. and yet it is this mystery that makes them most alluring...
Thanks!
Love,
Zoya


Life is a pebble… (posted on: 13-06-11)
Life is a pebble that keeps rolling, never gathering moss...

Life is a pebble… Life is a pebble that rolls about All the undulating roads it scouts Wants to go everywhere, run about Tosses and turns, cries and shouts But never keeps still, never sprouts Just keeps turning in a round-about… One time its up, one time its down Up, the green mountains it crowns Down into the sea of sorrow drowns Jumps with happiness, a young fawn Drowns in sorrow, a perpetual frown Life is a stone that never turns brown… Sometimes it goes just round and round A whirlpool of anguish never afore found A moment of ecstasy, a merry-go-round A heap of troubles that form a big mound A series of struggles that knows no bounds Life is a pebble that keeps turning around… From place to place it has been tossed Many a troubled bridges it has crossed Over the turbulent waters it has grossed Anguish and sorrow, like one star-crossed It has been smoothened but never mossed Life travels a path, never twice crossed… What it leaves behind is a single thought That one must go on and never get caught In the valley that's with troubles fraught That one in this world is so brought That he must face, what he has sought Without a grudge, or a bitter thought… It can clog a narrow path and cause disaster, It can travel a long road ever more faster It can come out a victor, worst crisis master It can find strength to face a heavy blaster But, it must go on and on, slower or faster Life is a pebble, a gem and an alabaster Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 05.02.2011 3-4PM
Archived comments for Life is a pebble…
RachelLW on 13-06-2011
Life is a pebble

Nicely done and very pebbly somehow throughout, I'm not sure how you managed to capture it, but you did.

All the best,

Rachel

Author's Reply:
Dear Rachel, I wrote this in one stroke of inspiration in continues flow... It was one of those inspired stuff... That comes once in a while...

sunken on 13-06-2011
Life is a pebble

Hello Ms. Zoya. Life is indeed like a pebble. My gran used to say that it was like an onion ring. She never explained why tho. She doesn't say it anymore as she's dead. I blame old age and articulated lorries. Anyway, muchly enjoyed.

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no tortoise no cry

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky darling long time, no see... Your Granny, sure was a philosopher... Life does keep peeling off layers of meaning, till in the end there is nothing left and you realise, that the true meaning of life is not getting to its core (in this anology there being none) but the process of getting there, that is living it by peeling off its meaning gradually...
Tortoise is sure and steady, so it wins the race...
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 14-06-2011
Life is a pebble

Hello Zoya
This is skillfully done with the unusual rhyming style. It was original and filled with meaning too. there was a real sense of movement in it and also time passing
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison, Rhyming is not my style, you know that; if I do rhyme, it is usually spontaneous, comes of its own and the whole processes is a frenzied write in one flow-that is when an idea strikes me... Usually, I take my pen or open my computer and just write in one flow, and forget about it... This one also was written and forgotten,I just found it the other day, and do not remember writing it at all...
The rhyming pattern and the thoughts, all are spontaneous and not well thought over and contemplated upon, as it might give the impression at the first glance...
Thanks for the appreciation!
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 16-06-2011
Life is a pebble

An interesting view on life and lively imagery, Zoya. Very skilfully crafted.

Best, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi, I am so happy you fin d it interesting!
Love,
Zoya


My Mother, Sajida Zaidi - a dedication on 8th March 2011 (posted on: 09-05-11)
On this "Mother's Day". I would like to share this dedication, I wrote for my mother on the 8th of March, the International Women's Day. My mother,Sajida Zaidi, breathed her last on the 9th of March, the very next Day. She was an eminent poet, a dramatist, novelist and a critic of Urdu language.

My Mother, Sajida Zaidi - a dedication on 8th March 2011 Today is 8th of March, the International Woman's Day. I would like to dedicate this day to my mother, Sajida Zaidi, who for me, and I hope many, is an epitome of Womanhood; A full-blooded woman of substance, who has lived life on her own terms with courage and conviction, fought her own battles, and come out a victor in most cases; who defied norms, shunned orthodoxy and societal patterns constraining women and their freedom and therefore their growth as individual human beings, in an era when it was unheard of; who was a feminist even before the word was coined and long before it became a fashion statement of sorts. A poet, novelist, playwright, critic; a teacher, professor of Education, an author of many books on poetry, novels, plays, criticism, and Educational Psychology, both in English and Urdu; a lover of music, art and culture; a great traveller of countries and places – and the journey of life it self. And above all a loving and dedicated mother of four children and eleven grandchildren and a great grandchild, she wore many hats in life, each one with aplomb and elan… Today as she lies in her hospital bed, far away from home in Dubai, fighting a losing battle for her life, against a deadly disease like Lymphoma, I can still see the determination to live in her fading eyes, and though the flesh is so weak- reduced to skin and bones- the proverbial spirit lives on… And as I look back at her life, (a lot of my knowledge derived from her unpublished autobiography, which I am reading these days), I can understand why she is fighting the way she is, because she has been a fighter all her life, and had it been any other disease, but malignancy, she would have beaten it with her sheer will power, just as she has done twice before in her life… I think of her very first brush with fate and misfortune, at the tender age of eight, when suddenly she, along with her four sisters, lost her father, a Barrister and a Bar at Law from London University, who had a roaring practice in Meerut those days, had a penchant for buying Mango orchards, in the middle one of which they lived. And with him went him all their property, their freedom to roam in their mango orchards, to climb trees and eat freshly plucked fruits, to bathe in the irrigation canals, to catch butterflies, those colourful winged creatures-wonder of wonders- and thus learning their lessons right from nature itself. It was their home, where they learned their first lessons in Urdu and Persian poetry from their father; where they had their first taste of freedom, which invoked in them the spirit of enquiry, where they acquired their thirst for knowledge. When they were forced to leave everything behind to move to Aligarh, to their maternal uncle's home, with their receding home, their childhood receded in to oblivion too, never to come back again… Their second encounter with stark reality of life was, when all of them, five sisters and their mother, were made to live in single room in their uncle's house and given the collective name of ''Baji ki BachiyaN''(elder sister's daughters), losing their individualities in a collective name. It was then, at that young age, their tender hearts decided to make a name for themselves, to become independent individuals, to be never relegated to the status of second-class citizen in their own family, by their own people. Their third exodus came very soon, after a year, when their uncle, Khawaja Ghulam us Saiyadain, a renowned educationist, went to Kashmir, as an education secretary. They had to move to Panipat, their mother's maternal home, where their thirty six years old widowed mother brought them up with the help of the revenue she got from her agricultural land. It was there, in the simple environment of the highly literary family of descendents of Maulana Altaf Husain Hali, (an educationist, a reformist- a close associate of Saiyed Ahmad Khan, the founder of the Anglo Oriental College, now the Aligarh Muslim University- a critic and a poet,) that they spent their formative years, which inculcated in them the love for knowledge and literature; where they attended a school for girls founded by their own aunt, on the lines of Hali School for Boys, and learned, along with their lessons, the crafts of embroidery and needle work, her first encounter with creativity… Here they learnt to live frugally, but with integrity, where learning was the most important thing in life, where they learned their first lesson of 'simple living and high thinking'… In an age when women, were not educated beyond the level of literacy, their mother decided to educate them highly, they were soon sent to Aligarh Muslim University, after Middle School, to complete their matriculation and later graduation, where they lived in the sparse facilities of the Girl's Hostel. Soon their mother also moved to Aligarh, when finally all the girls got admission in Aligarh. They were all still students, when India gained independence. In 1947, their elder sister Sabira Zaidi, had got Fulbright Scholar Ship to study in Columbia University. My mother, newly married then, along with her mother and sisters had gone see their sister off to Bombay, from where she was to sail to USA, when they heard the famous 'Tryst with Destiny' speech by Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, over the radio, they all came out on the streets of Bombay, celebrating India's gaining of freedom. Soon after, leaving their mother with their Uncle, Khawaja Ahmad Abbas, (already a renowned journalist, a film and documentary maker), they decided to come to Delhi, where my parents lived in Karol Bagh. My father, a lecturer in Aligarh University, was on a one-year deputation for University Extension Services, in Delhi. It was then when the communal riots broke out. They were holed up in their house for a week, a curfew order was imposed in the area, soon the rioters were out on the streets, burning and looting houses, raping women and killing people, fearing for their lives, they decided to get out from there as soon as possible. Gathering their very essential belongings, they took refuge in their Hindu neighbour's House, who was safe because he belonged to the majority community, as against my family who were Muslim, and their target. From his house they saw their house looted and burnt. Soon their neighbour's asked them to move out of their house, as they were themselves at the risk of being killed for supporting the opposite community, and for being traitors to their own… My father, dressed up as a Punjabi, and speaking Punjabi, risking his life, went out and rang up their Maternal Uncle, Khawaja Azhar Abbas, who held a position in the Ministry, to come to their rescue. In the dead of the night he came with a curfew pass and a jeep and rescued them. They went to his Pandara Road house in New Delhi, and were safe for a while… Soon, they were to encounter another trauma; a few days later, Chotay MammooN Jan, Azhar Abbas, came and said, dress up girls in Sarees, wear a Bindi, and don't take anything along, just walk casually out of the house. When they did so, no sooner had they crossed the road, the rioters came. They hid this time in their Sardar Ji neighbour's house, from there they again saw their house being looted and burnt to ashes (My maternal grand uncle, Khawaja Ahmad Abbas. Has talked about this episode in his short story ''Sardarji''). They had to flee soon from this house too. My father again playing a Panjabi youth rang up Maulana Azad this time, who sent a jeep, with armed guards. They took refuge in his villa, along with many Muslim elite families. How they managed with just one set of clothes each, with the reducing ration of Maulana's mansion, where they were trapped for whole two months, speaks volumes about their resilience and courage. But then, they were young and full of hope… Soon, after the situation improved and the 'Partition Fury' subsided a bit, they decided to return to Aligarh, rented a small house and started their life all over again, from scratch… Here they learnt that their Panipat house was looted, their family was forcefully evicted and put on a train to Pakistan. Two of my father's houses in Rampur, in the meanwhile, were also looted and burnt down in Shia-Sunni riots. With one evil stroke of fate, they lost everything… But, in the face of all the adversities they encountered, they never even once considered defecting to Pakistan, like most Muslims did in those days, so much was their love for the country and such was the extent of their commitment and patriotism! Ammi, along with her other sister's continued her education, and passed her BA examination, even as her first son was on his way. Heavily pregnant, she could barely keep awake to study for her finals, but never gave up. Soon, she took admission in B. Ed. at the AMU, Aligarh. It was then that I came along, but she kept going to the department, and I was taken there every day to be breast fed by her. She often narrates how, during her 7th month of pregnancy, she had taken part in Students Federations Conference held in Lucknow, UP, and had joined a couple of mile long protest march, with me in her womb, along with Rahi Masoon Raza, who had a Polio-stricken leg. Together they painted a picture of very dedicated lot of students, who did not care for their incapacitated states of health for the cause- they were enthusiastic members of Communist Party of India, then a very popular party with students and youth. They were a very active group of youth, and our house was the centre of the cultural and political activity those days… Soon my mother finished her B. Ed got admission in M Ed course and finishing that also, got a lecturer ship in the same department. All along the children kept coming, but my mother continued her studies and then work. She had four children, and she managed work and their upbringing together beautifully, a thing quite unheard of in those days, the decades of fifties through sixties. Such was her courage and capabilities of multitasking… A word about her, as a mother: She was a very dedicated mother, she took good care of us, gave us the best of food and clothes, which she stitched her self, designing and sewing them all by herself- we were the best dressed kids in the town. She encouraged us to pursue whatever talents we had, she believed that for over-all-development of children, guidance beyond the formal studies was very necessary. She made us go to the dance school, so my sister Saba and me learned the classical dance form of Kathak. We also leaned Indian classical music. I was interested in drawing and painting, so she started sending me to Art Club in the University, where I learnt, Oil Painting, Water Colour and Wash Paintings, the Indian arts of Tie-and-Dye, and Batik. She encouraged us to take part in debates, read papers in seminars, write essays, be active in dramatics, take part in singing and dancing competitions and play sports. She discovered talents in each one of us and gave us full reign to develop them, at a time when most parents resented their children doing any thing besides formal studies, and wanted them to remain focused on what they chose as their future career. In the summer holidays she took us to hill stations. Wherever she went for seminars and meetings in India in her capacity as a professor of Education, she took us along, while she would be busy with the conference sessions, we would do sight seeing and enjoy ourselves. As a result we had a very wonderful childhood. We were free to move about in the safe environs of the residential university of Aligarh. She never imposed much restriction on us, we were free to discover the neighbourhood and our environments, and we often went for picnic with our friends to near by places in Aligarh. She built up a very big library at home for us children to read from, she bought a set of Collin's Children's Encyclopaedia for us. There were books on literature, art and architecture in the house. Classics and poetry books of great poets of English and Urdu were everywhere in the house, we looked at them and wanted quickly to learn to read and write so that we could discover the mystery of the written word hidden in those volumes, as a result, we all inculcated a habit of reading books early in life. Our mother carried out the task of bringing us up while she worked all along as a teacher in the university. When we chose our respective professions, she encouraged us and gave us advice, whenever required, never imposing her will on us. She just wanted us to excel in whatever we did, but never told us what to do, never dictated. In her own way she wanted to give us all she had missed in her childhood. One example of her extra ordinary courage needs mention: When I was about to be born her sisters Zahida, Shahida and Khadija, all students, enthusiastic members of Communist Party of India and in their early twenties took out a black flag march to protest against the invitation of GB Panth, an outright Right Wing Leader, as the chief guest in to the Aligarh AMU Convocation. They courted arrest and were taken to the Kanpur Jail. When they did not come home till late in the night, my mother went to look for them only to learn of the result of ghastly police action against them. My grand mother went to Doctor Zakir Hussain, the then Vice Chancellor of AMU, when they did not return for four days, to plead for their release. But he expressed his inability in the face strict government orders. They later learnt that their sisters were being detained in isolated cells and kept in the category of dangerous prisoners because they sat on hunger strike in the jail against the bad quality food and sparse civic amenities. My mother waited till I was born and as soon as she was strong enough to stand on her two feet, she along with me who was seventeen days old, and my brother who was one and a half accompanied her mother to Kanpur Jail. For two days and two nights they stood out side the jail in the scorching heat of April with her two infant kids, under a Neem tree without food or water before they were granted admission, only to be told that the sisters were shifted to Allahabad Jail. The jail warden took all their food they had taken for their sisters before informing them of their whereabouts. Off they went to Allahabad where again they were denied entry for two days, when finally they were allowed to see the sisters briefly, they were distraught to see them thin and emaciated beyond recognition. But they could not get them released despite their desperate pleas. They came back disappointed. Later my grand mother went to Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the Prime Minister of India and when Mrs Indira Gandhi came to meet her she refused to narrate her story to her telling her she will only talk to Nehru. Nehru had to see her. She then told him all about the treatment meted out to her daughters in chaste Persian-ized Urdu. Nehru was impressed and promised to organise their release. He kept his promise and the sisters soon came back home.. Whenever this episode is related in the family I feel proud of my mother and grandmother and deep inside feel proud to be a part of this extraordinary story of courage and perseverance. At the age of thirty, my mother started writing poetry, she took it as a serious commitment in her life and went on to author five books of poetry, two novels, one of them in verse, two collection of plays, two books on literary criticism in Urdu. Two books each on Psychology of Education, her subject, in Urdu and English and now her autobiography, which is ready to be published. She received many awards for her literary works and thought she deserved more, but never lobbied for any awards or accolades. Her collections of poetry include: Joo-e-Naghma, Aatish-e-Sayyal, Sail-e-Wujood, Aatish Zer-e-Pa and Parda hai Saaz Ka. She published two novels, namely, Mauj-e-hawaa PechaaN and Mittee kay Haram. She also wrote a Poetic Drama, Sarhad Koi Nahin; Her collection of translated and adopted plays is published in book named, CharoN Mausam She has two collections of critical essays: Taslaash-e-Baseerat and Guzar Gah-e-Khayal in Urdu. She was a very dedicated professional, an excellent teacher and organizer. She went on to become the Head Of The Department of Education at the AMU, Aligarh. During her tenure as the Chairman, which lasted nine years ending with her retirement, she introduced many new courses, designed many new tests, some of which are still in use, in not only in Aligarh University, but many leading universities of India. She held many positions like the membership of University Grant Commission Educational Panel; NCERT organising Committee; Elected member of AMU Academic Council; Technical Terminology Committee (Education Psychology, philosophy) of the Bureau for Promotion of Urdu (Ministry of Education); Panels for Education Psychology, Children's Literature; And the Text Book Panels of the National Council for Promotion of Urdu Language. Her name features in World's Who Is Who: ''Twentieth Century Admirable Achievers, 1999''. She was also the President of Drama Club and Art Club in the University General Education Centre. During her tenure she organised Exhibitions of Modern Western and Indian Art. Directed and even acted in many plays. Her professional works include: Changing Perspectives on Creativity; Key Issues in Education; Mysteries of Human Personality, Theories of Personality, and Plea for Oriental Education. Two of them in Urdu under the title of ''Shakhsiyat Kay Nazariyat'' and ''Insaani Shaksiyat kay Asraar-o-Rumooz'' She achieved all this while enjoying life and living it to the fullest, she loved to travel and discover the world She must have travelled to twenty odd countries, she still wanted to go to many places she had not seen. She had a child like quality to wonder at things, she loved to discover new places, new vistas of life, and meet new people. She had a similar love for Nature. She had a very good command over Urdu language and an innate sense of rhyme and rhythm in her poetry. Her worldview, ideology, agony and ecstasy; her love for nature and habit of reflecting on everything is evident in her poetry. She did not write the 'feminist poetry' most of her peers did but expressed herself emotionally and philosophically on varied subjects. Her love for and wonderment at Nature often made her use Nature as a metaphor of life in her poems. There is lyricism and wonderful rhythm in her poetry, which she writes in chaste and often Persian-ized Urdu, her diction is wonderful, and she has a great command over the idiom. Among the many awards she received, following are worth mentioning: Imtaiz-e-Mir Award for poetry and literary achievement,;The :''Ghalib Ham Sab'' Award for Drama, Four UP Academy awards for Aatish-e-Saiyyal, Sail-e-Wajood, Talaash-e-Basirat and Mitti Kay Haram; Bihar Urdu Academy Awaed for Sarhad Koi NaheeiN; the Sydney Literary Award for Poetic Excellence, as well as the Canberra Literary Society Award for outstanding contribution to Urdu Language. More recently she was awarded the Bahadur Shah Zafar Award from Delhi Urdu Academy for her overall contribution to Urdu Literature in 2008, and UP Urdu Academy Award for Majmooi Khidmat for her overall contribution to Urdu Language and Literature in the year 2009. She was literary and creatively active till a few months back, when the lethal disease took her over. Now I look at her lying next to me in her hospital bed oblivious of all this, fighting the last battle of her life and I muse: Here is a poem I wrote for her a week back: Pre-Mortem: I can hear her heavy breathing, Lying next to me and sleeping, Her senses getting benumbed, Her consciousness increasingly blurred, From time to time a groan escapes From her already parched lips Her strawberry-red tongue… She, already seems so far away Her vacant look, her empty eyes- Beyond comprehension, in oblivion… I wonder if she is conscious of her predicament, her illness, and wonder, if she can feel Her own pain; our pain What goes on in that mind? Or may be nothing goes on there? I wonder… Is she, already by now in communion with her God? Does she hold with him already a meaningful dialogue? Does she tell him, she is not yet ready to go… Or does she beg him to relieve of her terrible pain, The agony has become on her too much of a strain… Does she plead for her health, happiness and a new chance? Or, does she tell him: ''I am ready, take me with thee, my Lord!'' Or, she oblivious of all this? too absorbed in her pain, lost in her suffering spirit? Or is she already, beyond every bit of it- That her faculties are incapable of feeling anything Incapable even of grasping it, And God has mercifully, made her unaware of everything… These are the questions that bother me… And, I will never know, Nobody will ever know: What anguish the soul suffers when one is ready to go? To go where, to go to whom, Or, may be go nowhere? Just perish, And cease to exist, To become a past story, To become your own history? Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Dubai, 08. 03. 2011 3-4PM Note: My mother breathed her last the very next day on the ninth of March 2011 at 11PM in Dubai. All four of her children Salman, Zoya, Saba and Ali were by her side in her last hours, so were her grand children Hussain, Azar and Farhan and daughter in law Najmee. I did not know that this dedication would turn into a eulogy of sorts. We brought her last remains back to Aligarh from Dubai and gave her a burial here with a place quite next to her sister Zahida Zaidi, our Choti Ammi. Her mother and our father share the same graveyard of Aligarh Muslim University, a place they made their home and dedicated their lives to. May her soul rest in peace!
Archived comments for My Mother, Sajida Zaidi - a dedication on 8th March 2011
stormwolf on 09-05-2011
My Mother, Sajida Zaidi - a dedication on 8th March 2011
An amazing tale of a truly brave and exceptional woman Zoya. I sometimes read the bio of certain people and to see what they achieved in their 'one precious life' is awe inspiring.
Having nursed so many dying people including my father, I also understand the curiosity we feel looking at them and wondering where they are under those closed eyes.
It is my conviction, that just as a child spends long hours in sleep acclimatising themselves to be in this world........so those departing, spend long hourse re-aqainting themselves with the spirit world.

She would love this testament to her well lived life
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison, I am so happy, you found time to read this rather long tribute of love to my mother!
I am not very sure many people would find time to read through it... But, I knew you would. I wrote it in one go, in between taking care of her, when she was calm and peaceful for a while... and never went back to it to edit it.
You are right about wondering what goes on inside the heads of the terminal patients? May be you are right about their getting acclimatised to the after-world, if there is any?
But, one thing I know that their system switches off gradually: First the memory goes, then the level of consciousness (they keep dipping in and out of it), then the power to see, last to go is hearing- I know this because, my mother could hear, even when she was unconscious... we got the proof of this once: My sister sat next to her talking to her, my mother had her eyes closed and she was apparently not responding; suddenly my sister started singing- just like that-and there was a flicker of response; My sister asked me to sing one of my mother's favourite Ghazals by Iqbal, which she liked to listen to me sing, I started to sing; and you won't believe me, she suddenly opened her eyes wide, looking at me moved her hand and took mine in hers', pressed it and there were tears in her eyes, when I finished singing... she urged me with her eyes to sing more, I sang three Ghazals... the sisters in the ward gathered around her bed and saw all this and said, it is "Music Therapy"! From next day onwards we played symphonies of Mozart, Beethoven and Tchaikovsy, and Ghazals of Ghalib and Iqbal sung by Mallika Pukhraj, Iqbal Bano and Abida Parveen-her favourites, and she was calm and felt her pain to a much lesser extent then usual...
I must write about my observations and experiences with my mother in her last days... I learnt a lot, thought a lot, and in many ways changed a lot during that time... it was like lessons on life being given in concentrated and distilled-through-experience form... It was an amazing period, at once sad, poignant, with meanings entirely its own, and in a way ennobling... am I making sense?
Love,
Zoya


The Eternal Journey (posted on: 06-05-11)
Trans-creation of my mother's, Sajida Zaidi's original Urdu poem: "Kab Say Mehv-e-Safar Ho?" She was an eminent poet, dramatist, novelist, critic of Urdu, and was a professor at the Education Dept. of Aligarh Muslim University, where she retired as Chairperson. She breathed her last on 9. 03. 2011.

The Eternal Journey Sajida! With so many eras of roving in you How long will you journey, How long will you wander in this wilderness and dance in frenzy, with these hurricanes ? In how many deserts have you blistered your feet, How many wakeful nights have you spent in longing? Sajida, Say something! How many nights of separation Did you drown in tears? How did you pay back the debt of passion? What struggles your restless heart, soul and body went through? How did your soul fight the turmoil of agony? How in the face of terrible whirlwinds Did you salvage your honour? How did you, in face of yawning, freezing loneliness, Celebrate the carnival of life? How did you melt in the fire of passion, To find your voice? How did you find the glory of God In dun darkness of wakeful nights, How many times did you bow your head in the prayers of His Might? Sajida! How long have you been travelling the path of pain? How many flowers of your eloquence have bloomed, In the barren deserts of life? How many lamps of longing did you burn, In this darkness of desire in the night? Sajida! In this endeavour, did you ever Improve the face of life? Did you light a lamp of hope in any heart? Did you change the rhythm of life? Did to turn desert sands in to gold? How many wounds of mankind did you heal? Ever turned any tale of injustice into sweet melody? Sajida! It is the eve of life, Sleep, you are exhausted, forget all hullaballoo! Beyond the burning desert, for miles together Are the footsteps of timelessness Seasons are changing colours You are no Messiah! Sleep, the sleep of exhaustion! Forget the dance of passion… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, UP, India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 8th April 2011, 7-45 PM Completed on the 15th April 2011, 3PM Trans-creation from original Urdu of my mother's, Sajida Zaidi's poem ''Kab Say Mehv-e-Safar HuN'' on my brother Ali's request who loves this poem very much but cannot read Urdu...
Archived comments for The Eternal Journey
stormwolf on 08-05-2011
The Eternal Journey
This is exquisite zoya. I love it and can feel it deeply for I resonate with it also. It moved me to tears.

This is to me the Creator speaking to her, lovingly chartising her and telling her to surrender her body. Very moving indeed.
Your mother must have been a wonderful woman and I am sorry for your sad loss.
I am taking this into favs.
Alison x

I LOVE this! and can relate too.

How in the face of terrible whirlwinds
Did you salvage your honour?
How did you, in face of yawning, freezing loneliness,
Celebrate the carnival of life?
How did you melt in the fire of passion,
To find you voice? typo 'your'
How did you find the glory of God
In dun darkness of wakeful nights,
How many times did you bow your head
in the prayers of His Might?

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Alison! This is such a lovely response!
And thanks a pile for picking this as a favourite!
My mother was indeed a very extraordinary human being. She along with her sister Zahida Zaidi (also an author of close to 22 odd books in Urdu and English, a poet, dramatist, novelist and critic, just like my Mom), started a a whole new approach to women's writings in Urdu, hitherto only seen, as in stereotypical concept of women, as house wives, mothers and daughters, who wrote only on subjects relating to these roles society allotted to them. While men wrote Urdu poetry, where the sole role of women was as objects of desire-the whole of Urdu 'Ghazal' is full of such romantic poetry. In fact the poetic form 'Ghazal' itself is translated/interpreted by many as 'talking to your beloved ( invariably a woman)' and poetry in general was considered the realm of men almost exclusively.
Both of these sisters wrote poetry as a tool of expression of thoughts and emotions of a women as Human being, not just the 'emotions' of women as perceived by men...
in fact there is an early poem of my Mom's "I am not that Picture on the Wall", in which she talks about the stereotypical 'image' given to women by men, as coy, scheming, manipulating, creatures, born only to attract and ensnare men; or like a decorative picture on the wall, like an object of exhibition, a possession to be 'shown off' by men, to boost their egos. And goes on to say that no body thought, I can be an individual, a thinking feeling creature, with a character of my own, with a mind of my own, with an opinion, I can call mine etc. an insists: "I am not that picture on the wall". I think I must translate that poem too one day...
Thanks for pointing out the typo, I have corrected it.
Love,
Zoya

Zoya on 08-05-2011
The Eternal Journey
Thanks dear Alison! This is such a lovely response!
And thanks a pile for picking this as a favourite!
My mother was indeed a very extraordinary human being. She along with her sister Zahida Zaidi (also an author of close to 22 odd books in Urdu and English, a poet, dramatist, novelist and critic, just like my Mom), started a a whole new approach to women's writings in Urdu, hitherto only seen, as in stereotypical concept of women, as house wives, mothers and daughters, who wrote only on subjects relating to these roles society allotted to them. While men wrote Urdu poetry, where the sole role of women was as objects of desire-the whole form of Urdu Ghazal is full of such romantic poetry. In fact the poetic form 'Ghazal' itself is translated/interpreted by many as 'talking to your beloved ( invariably a woman)' and poetry in general was considered the realm of men almost exclusively.
Both of these sisters wrote poetry as a tool of expression of thoughts and emotions of a women as Human being, not just the 'emotions' of women as perceived by men...
in fact there is an early poem of my Mom's "I am not that Picture on the wall", in which she talks about the stereotypical 'image' given to women by men, as coy, scheming, manipulating, creatures, born only to attract and ensnare men; like a decorative picture on the wall, like an object of exhibition, a possession to be 'shown off' by men, to boost there egos. And goes on to say that no body thought, I can be an individual, a thinking feeling creature, with a character of my own, with a mind of my own, with an opinion, I can call mine etc. an insists: "I am not that picture on the wall". I think I must translate that poem too one day...
Thanks for pointing out the typo, I have corrected it.
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 08-05-2011
The Eternal Journey
I wish I could have met her. I love power-filled women.
Do translate the poem, I would love to read it.This is what is wonderful about poetry...............we realize what we share the world over as strong women who break the mould.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Sure, Alison. I have just posted an article, I dedicated to her on the 8th of March, the International Women's Day, she was alive then and breathing her last. She passed away the very next day... I did not know then, it would turn into a eulogy of sorts for her. Please go through it,if you find time. It will give you a glimpse of the woman she was...We must meet the next time, I am in England.

Zoya on 08-05-2011
The Eternal Journey
By the way Alison, you can go to this URL, if you like, to see some of my Mom's photos and the original of this poem in Urdu:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000054362029#!/notes/zoya-zaidi/the-eternal-journey-kab-say-mehb-e-safar-hoon/10150171409884486

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 14-05-2011
The Eternal Journey
What a beautiful woman Zoya! Incredibly beuatiful as a young woman but even beautiful on her death bed. I am sure you must be missing her greatly so I wanted to remind you of the words of Kahlil Gibran when he speaks of children. For your mother made sure she was the the 'stable bow' so that her living arrows flew straight.
She must have surrendeed herself at the last knowing she did good job.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.


Alison x

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison, What a lovely quote!

Khalil Gibran was a sage beyond compare, he was so young yet so wise! He has written a lot on his mother, whom he loved passionately and lost very early in life. In fact I have written down one of his poems on "Mother" calligraphic-ally. I would like to send it to you but don't know how? So, I will again direct you to my face book page, where it lies in an album, titled "Calligraphic Tribute to Kahlil Gibran"- you can find some other of my favourite quotes of his in calligraphy in this album. The URL is:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.107012992643846.13004.100000054362029

I hope you enjoy it?

Love,

Zoya


Pre-mortem (posted on: 29-04-11)
Who knows, What anguish the soul suffers, before it is ready to go?

I can hear her heavy breathing, Lying next to me and sleeping, Her senses getting benumbed, Her consciousness increasingly blurred, From time to time a groan escapes From her already parched lips Her strawberry-red tongue… She, already seems so far away Her vacant look, her empty eyes- Beyond comprehension, in oblivion… I wonder if she is conscious Of her predicament, her illness, And I wonder, if she can feel Her own pain, our pain? What goes on in that mind? Or may be nothing goes on there? I wonder… Does she by now have, Communion with her God? Does she hold with him already, A meaningful dialogue? Does she tell him, she Is not yet ready to go… Or does she beg him to relieve of her terrible pain, The agony has become on her too much of a strain… Does she plead for her health, Happiness and a new chance? Or, does she tell him: ''I am ready, take me with thee, my Lord!'' Or, she oblivious of all this? Too absorbed in her pain, Lost in her suffering spirit? Or is she already, beyond every bit of it- That her faculties are Incapable of feeling anything Incapable even of grasping it, And God has mercifully, Made her unaware of everything… These are the questions that bother me… And, I will never know, Nobody will ever know, What anguish the soul suffers when one is ready to go? To go where, to go to whom, Or, may be nowhere? Just perish, And cease to exist, To become a past story, To become your own history? Author: Zoya Zaidi Dubai, 01.03.2011 3-4PM My mother died on the 9th of March. I kept a close watch on her, looked after her for a whole month, never leaving her side, before her end came. It was painful to see her die inch by inch, and we were helpless... We, all her four children, and four of her elder grand children, were by her side, when she breathed her last...
Archived comments for Pre-mortem

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A World in those Eyes (posted on: 07-03-11)
They say, eyes are the mirror of the soul, I see a whole world, a whole life in those eyes... and wonder

I look into those eyes: Now vacant, Now reflective, Now deeply troubled… Now contemplating on life Now reminiscing about the past Now lamenting the loss of time Now full of remorse Now expressing the futility of it all… A whole life passes through those eyes In small flashes, glimpses of it can be caught And if you are a little observant, they teach you a lot… And, I wonder: What goes on behind those eyes? What goes on in that mind- that mirrors in those eyes? Is she happy to have lived Long enough to see her grand children grow With hope still to see The great grand child on his way… Is she regretting the mistakes she made And would like to correct them again To redo, to relive, life differently To start afresh if given a chance… God knows what would be her stance? Is she asking for more to live To finish the unfinished tasks To recapture in poetry, the unlived past To pen down her hopes for future generations To teach them lessons she learnt from experience To pass down her legacy of pain To talk of things inane… Who knows what is in that heart? Does she remember her first love? Does she suffer the pangs of agony on the first separation from her beloved? Does she wallow in the sweetness Of that first rendezvous that set her pulse racing Her heart throbbing, her soul soaring… Who knows what that soul is searching? Or is she replaying the images of places, Her wanderlust took her to, The likeness of people's faces, From Grimsby to Greece, Turkey to Moldavia, Kenya to Australia, France to Pakistan, Russia to Afghanistan, That became dear to her Over the years… God only knows what glistens in those tears? Or does reflect on the futility of it all: A life lived with all her might A struggle every day to survive To suffer the vagaries of life Weather every storm, And Come out of it unscathed, Or sometimes bruised and weary With scars that looked scary But, Always ready to start Afresh, and put it all behind Only to remember, when life was kind… Who knows what philosophy, she gathered with time? But one thing I know: She is mother mine… I can see a whole world in those enchanting eyes I wish I could read her mind… Author: Zoya Zaidi 24.11.2010 9.30-10 PM Dubai, UAE After Ammi sat us, her four children, down and talked about our duties after she is gone vis a vis her writings, jewellery, books and belongings, and above all lessons, she learned from life and wanted to pass on to us… She liked the poem very much, when I recited it to her... Now she is beyond even this... Struggling with life...
Archived comments for A World in those Eyes
stormwolf on 08-03-2011
A World in those Eyes
Beautifully moving Zoya. It made me want to cry and I saw it all so clearly. Well done on the nib too.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, Sorry for the late reply, as you can see, this was posted just the day before she passed away... World has never been the same since...


Loss… (posted on: 07-02-11)
To Choti Ammi, my maternal aunt, my mother’s younger sibling, her soul-mate, her confidant, who died in my arms, recently, and I watched her heavenly flight, helpless, hapless, desperate, distraught… She was a mother to me in more ways than one...

Loss... What do you do, when you lose an integral part of you, in a snap? You are lost, like a little lamb in the woods… What do you do, when your life Suddenly come to a halt, with a jolt? You are so shocked, your eyes criss-cross… And you refuse to accept: That, what was, will never be… That, what you have lost, is lost forever, Never to come back again, Ever… What do you do, when you realise that life is seeping through your fingers like the grains of precious sand? You watch helpless, in desperation clench your fist tight, only to realise, you're only facilitating its escape… What do you do, when your loved one Is breathing her last in front of your eyes And you cannot stop her heavenly flight? You cry, you shout: Don't go away! Don't leave like this! Don't do this to me! And then: Come back! Come back! Choti Ammi! But, she is cold, she keeps smiling, That fixed smile, as if she is mocking you: Don't call me back, my child, I am gone, Forever gone… Far, far away from you… And you are left with that sense of loss, That immense loss, the magnitude of which slowly dawns upon you… All you know that you will never be the same again… All you know That a chapter in your life is closed, Forever closed, Never to be opened again… And you contemplate: Is this what life is all about? Is this why we strive and toil, Is this why we give our hearts Is this why we love like mad Is this why we come to this earth Is this why we are brought up To love and lose, to love and lose… To learn and unlearn, to learn and unlearn… To grow up and realize: Life is just a mirage Just a façade A mirror, in which, you see your reflection A mirror, which tells you who you are… And when it's glazed, you are at a loss… When it breaks, into thousand pieces, Each piece tells a story of sorts Your image multiplies a thousand times But, each image is a little distorted, A little wobbed Each reflecting a different part of you Each bringing home a realization of Your own self, your own façade Each lifting the veil from a different part of you Each solving a different mystery of self… And you just keep awake all night Trying to drive away these thoughts… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 19.01.2011, 4.30 AM To Zahida Zaidi, my aunt, a poet, dramatist, author, critic, novelist and professor of English Literature at the AMU University Aligarh (UP), India, who died suddenly on 11.01.2011.
Archived comments for Loss…
Corin on 07-02-2011
Loss

Very expressive Zoya. I have just recently been through the same experience when my mother's younger sister died. The poems are at:-

http://ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=25683

http://ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=25683

My deepest sympathies,

David

Author's Reply:
Yeah, David, I just read your tribute to your aunt, I wish I could be as coherent and reflective as you are... but, my wound is so raw, and I am so, still, at my wits end that I can blabber as incoherently as I am doing in this poem... This when my own mother has just come out of a coma only to be declared terminally ill with lymphoma, two months back, is undergoing chemotherapy, which after two cycles she is unable to withstand, they are giving up on her now too... And I am so far away, she is in Dubai, with my elder brother, I am waiting for my visa to come, so that I can fly to her, as soon as I can, and be with her...

And I was with her just eight weeks back, and we were hopeful she will respond well to the therapy...

Life seems to be a series of tragedies right now, just beginning to take shape.

I am spending another sleepless night, keeping up to distract myself with this... If it can be called a distraction?

Love,

Zoya


geordietaf on 07-02-2011
Loss

As eloquent as it is moving. I'm sure Choti Ammi will be casting a professorial eye over it in eternity.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, she had a very critical eye, with which, she along with my mother, also a poet, critic and novelist, kept a very tight vigil on my writings...

My poems will go haywire with the critical eye gone... they really kept me grounded. May her soul, where ever it is be in peace...

I hope I can catch a semblance of their talent with time to come?

Ionicus on 07-02-2011
Loss

A very poignant poem, Zoya, full of love for your aunt whose death has left you bereft. Very heartfelt.

Luigi x


Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi, I am lucky, I can find some catharsis in my poems, though I find it difficult to express, all that is going inside me words these days...
Love,
Zoya

Zoya on 08-02-2011
Loss

Thanks for the Pen guys, it is a source of great solace...
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:

barenib on 10-02-2011
Loss

I empathise with your 'outpouring' Zoya and wish you well, John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John, it was in a way cathartic... You know, being a poet yourself, a poet always talks about that what ails him or her...


She, my Mother (posted on: 03-01-11)
A poet, novelist, an author of many books, in Urdu, our mother tongue. She retired as a professor of Education from the Aligarh Muslim University. Recently she was very sick and unconscious for a week. This was written from her hospital bed while I was looking after her. it was the severe electrolyte imbalance that caused her condition. Though she is much better now, fully conscious and coherent. It was a torture to see my mother, a wordsmith of words, struggle with her speech...

She, my Mother She lies there struggling for words Alternating between coherence and incoherence, Trying to make some sense of it all, I am fraught… What will be the end of it all? My mind goes back to just a month back: We talked Keats, Ghalib and Shaw The Ode to Nightingale I recited, She said, "Fire under my Feet" was her favourite: "Even in captivity, I have fire under my feet ablaze, Every fetter of my chain, is like hair over a flame" Ghalib has no parallel, she says... And Rumi's poems she knows by heart And she says, "Oh mock me not, For, I am an old man..." And this chant of Lear's sounds so true to life now when she stumbles on every word- A storm rages in her mind cataracts and hurricanoes spout drowning the steeples of her intellect- And people around her smile with indulgence, Oh the indignity of it all! Her own writings, in Urdu chaste- she cannot remember a word of them now... She taught me how to write Helped to find rhythm to my life She literally held my hand and led me from baby to a woman of substance Telling me to mind my poetic feet- at every step trod softly, carefully, poetically... And now formulation of a single sentence for her is a task incomprehensible... Oh the cruelty of Time! Death of a poet only in mind! And I wait for her mind to return Her power of reasoning to resurface again... ''You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!'' Author: Zoya Zaidi Dubai, UAE, 15.11.2010, 6am From my mother's hospital bed, where she is struggling for life, her mind incoherent, confused, and I, trying to make sense of it all… distressed!
Archived comments for She, my Mother
stormwolf on 03-01-2011
She, my Mother
I really felt your anguish Zoya. So nice to see you back and to know that your mother is on the mend. It can be so terrible for the families to witness the deterioration from the outside.
A few small points
4th line first stanza
What will the end of it all?
Should it not have 'be' in it or maybe
'where will it all end?'

Her own writings, in Urdu chaste-
she cannot remember a word them now... missing 'of'

this stanza is especially wonderful

And Rumi's poems she knows by heart
And she says, "Oh mock me not,
For, I am an old man..."
And this chant of Lear's
sounds so true to life now
when she stumbles on every word-
A storm rages in her mind
cataracts and hurricanoes spout
drowning the steeples of her intellect-
And people around her smile with indulgence,
Oh the indignity of it all!

You are blessed to have had such a woman as mother but this poem demonstrates how much aware you are of that and explains your poetic ability.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison for pointing out the typos!
Yeah, it is such a relief to see her on back on the track to normalcy, it was really a trying time for the family!
Thanks for the nice comment!
Love,
Zoya


Madrigal (posted on: 03-01-11)
I have been away a long time... My mother was unwell, and I had to take two trips to Dubai, of one month each, in a span of just three months. I am also posting one of the three poems I wrote then for her. This Medrigal is one on nature, my eternal love

Madrigal Nature sings its Madrigal In many voices to me- In perfect harmony: The morning brings the Chirrup of birds In ceaseless cacophony, leaving me awe-struck in complete aphony. The sun shines with all its might exerts its hegemony, Evening with its secrets dark flaunts its progeny, scattered in form of countless stars in night-sky's colony. The moon then takes its endless ride Along the Milky Way, Riding the chariot of Lunar-God, In a majestic way. And I know, why they call me Luny, 'cause, I'm so mesmerized by it beauty, I forget my sane ways… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 10.09.2008 at 2.30PM modified on 29.12.2010
Archived comments for Madrigal
sybarite on 05-02-2011
Madrigal
Loveliness! The second stanza is my favorite--all the "c" sounds work beautifully. Wonderful and unusual word choices throughout. I had to look up "aphony" --thank you for the new word!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sybar, Sometimes this kind of strong rhyming comes off its own... Yeah, aphony is lack of speech- being speechless.
Thanks for the kind words!
Love,
Mama

sybarite on 05-02-2011
Madrigal
I hope your Mom is feeling better.

Author's Reply:
No, Sybar, She is not doing very well at all! She has been diagnosed Lymphoma, and after two cycles of chemotherapy, they have stopped it, because she cannot tolerate it any longer... She is receiving a new drug though called Rituximab, which might help... But, there is little hope...
We are trying our best to come to terms with it, but it is hard, very hard...
Thanks for your concern!
Love,
Zoya

sybarite on 23-02-2011
Madrigal
Very sorry to hear. I cannot begin to imagine how difficult it must be for you and your family.

Author's Reply:
It indeed is! These are very trying times for us and our family... Our mother was a very dynamic person, a poet, author of many books, a teacher and professor of Education at the Aligarh University. She was besides being a source of great inspiration for her children and grand children, a very good and caring mother... We can only sit by her side the whole day and watch her wither away... It is extremely painful and gives us a great sense of helplessness...


Monsoon Magic (posted on: 27-08-10)
We Indians love the Monsoons... As it pours outside, I want to share with you this short feature I wrote on Monsoon Magic sometime back...

Monsoon Magic As the Monsoon magic continues, and the rain keeps pouring, the heart keeps soaring… And when the skies clear up, the clouds play hide and seek with the sun, and make beautiful, kaleidoscopic patterns in the sky; the hues of the setting sun are a feast for the eye; the orange, yellow and mauve mix with light and shade to create a splendour incomparable. Sitting at home becomes unbearable. I take my camera and drive out of town to 'chase the sunset', as my friends and family call it. The world is washed clean, green, every tree, every flower, the over-grown grass is rejuvenated, and so am I…As Ghalib puts it: ''Sabze ko jab kaheen jagah na mili, ban gaya roo-e-aab par kaee'' (…unable to find a place on the face of earth, the green became moss on the surface of water). We Indians are great romantics; rain casts a spell on us; for no apparent reason, we celebrate the season (remember the famous rain-drenched songs of Bollywood movies). The poets have inked reams and reams of paper on the magic of the Monsoon. Kalidas says in Meghdootam, his Epic poem, the "Cloud Messenger": The silver clouds that vie with the whiteness of the white lotuses Are kissing the black boulders of the mountains on mountaintops While the mountainsides are bestrewn with mountain-rapids' And widespread with debut dancing of peacocks, And all this is inducing a carnivalisque visual revelry… Rabindranath Tagore says: Clouds come floating into my life, No longer to carry rain or usher storm, But to add colour to my sunset sky… I am also feeling poetic today… Here is an intensely romantic poem I wrote inspired by the clouds sometime back: Sometimes I feel I am the cloud: Sometimes I feel, I am a cloud, Roaming over hill and dale, Those deep, undulating valleys With great ease I scale; Swoop down & imperceptibly, Creep into your home and hearth; Mingle with every breath of yours, And reach your soul and heart… Delve into the deep recesses of your mind, My paramour! Steal that pearl of wisdom, And speak out from your tongue; Find that smile of joy, And play upon your lips; Absorb those tears of agony, Linger a while on your lashes, Pour down from your eyes, And become the rain that washes The sorrows of your heart… Sometimes I feel, upon The horizon of your being, I am that very cloud… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, UP, India
Archived comments for Monsoon Magic
pdemitchell on 28-08-2010
Monsoon Magic
namaste, Zoya - gentle and beautiful and reminds me of a a serene version of Gene Kelly 'Singing in the Rain.' but alas the monsoon brings scant relief at times or disaster, a capricious mistress and as the Indus flow 40 times normal - a monster at times. With global warming this will get worse and the monsoons more intense but for now... Welcome back to UKA with a beautufl reflective piece - Mitch.

Author's Reply:


Symphony of Lights (posted on: 27-08-10)
On reminiscing about the Symphony of Lights on the Victoria Harbour, after a recent visit to Hong Kong.

I watch the multi-coloured lights: Blue, rosy and golden hues, dancing to the music of symphonies of yore, The sky is blue, the crescent Moon is up, And in line with it, by a quirk of luck, Is the Super Star, shining bright as the moon… The spectacle is grand, lighting up The Manhattan-like skyline of Skyscrapers of different sizes and shapes Ugly, flashy display of 'Progressed Nations' Romanticized so passionately by Ayn Rand In the Fountain Head; but, like Roark, The reality stands naked on the cliff- all The glitter cannot hide the rich and poor divide… And the varied hued reflections shimmering on the water Remind of my own inner light that shines With its own strength of passion: my eyes Glaze over, and I remember, the day, when From your arms, I had stepped out to take A breath of fresh air, and the fire of our passion Still aglow in my heart, had created such shiny Multi-coloured dancing, flickering stars in front of my glowing eyes with the warmth of your love… I have never felt that love before or after In my lonely life… It remains my guiding star on many a lonesome nights… Then, all lights pale in front of my guiding light… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright © Zoya Zaidi 27.08.2010 12.30am - while the rain pours outside….
Archived comments for Symphony of Lights
pdemitchell on 27-08-2010
Symphony of Lights
Namaste, Zoya! Welcome back and this is a cracking free-form reminiscence-piece that i enjoyed reading. The only very minor suggestion I would make would be to change "to the music of symphonies of yore" as "yore" is too archaic when compared to the rest of the piece - maybe "to the music of - ancient/or long-past/or long-dead etc - symphonies" Nice to see you posting again! Regards. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:

Capricorn on 30-08-2010
Symphony of Lights
Hello

Your beautiful title drew me in here and I am not disappointed. I really enjoyed!

Eira

Author's Reply:

sunken on 02-09-2010
Symphony of Lights
Lovely stuff, Ms. Zoya. There, I said it - Lovely! It puts me in mind of a timid mouse finally coming to terms with the fact that the moon isn't made of cheese at all, that his parents had lied to him all along, given him hope where there was none. Fifteen years he'd spent building that spaceship, Zoya! Fifteen fuckin' years! Sorry. I'm sorry, it's just your poem brought it all back. Poor Mickey. He never quite got over it.

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stormwolf on 05-09-2010
Symphony of Lights
Simply exquisite Zoya, well worthy of the nib!
There is heartache and beauty combined and the imagery is enchanting. Nice to see you post again.
Alison x


Author's Reply:

sunken on 05-09-2010
Symphony of Lights
Forgive me, Zoya. I neglected to add this to the live Tweeter feed (it having attained a late nib). I'll put that right straight away. Well done! Much deserved and no mistake.

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he finds it hard to dance with his clothes on fire

Author's Reply:


The Moon Walker (posted on: 25-06-10)
Every night and every morn/Some to misery are born./Every morn and every night/ Some are born to sweet delight./Some are born to sweet delight,/Some are born to endless night. William Blake ...And with some, both walk, side-by-side...

He had everything going for him Everything he ever wanted, craved for, Was his for asking… And yet, one night He was found dead in his bed Alone, under mysterious circumstances… The cause of death could not be ascertained: Some said, over dose of drugs Others concurred, too much drink… Some were sure, it was broken heart! MJ was not the only one, there were others, Like Norma Genes, who only wanted love! He wanted his childhood back! So, he built himself the Never Land- A dreamland he always wanted… So he went about collecting all the toys he could think of, He also collected children, who loved the toys, But, he goofed, got caught on the wrong foot! There were litigations and accusations- Right or wrong, that is immaterial- What matters is, he got embroiled in one controversy after another- Trouble after; trouble, till it was too complicated- Too confusing even for himself to figure out… He Moon-walked into people's hearts But, away from his troubles, he could not walk... So, he took refuge in drugs, drinks, and whatever have you… But, reality he could not escape, deep inside he knew… They always know deep inside… What is it? Why is it? Why does happiness elude Even those who seemingly have everything? So, there is more to happiness, than Material things? So, Socrates was not wrong! There is much more to happiness than what meets the eye: Is it peace of mind? Freedom to do anything, say anything Dream anything-at will? Is it freedom? Is it an easy conscience? Is it a good sleep at night? Free of trouble, full of sweet dreams… What is it? I think it is all of these together… Blessed is the man who has these Small pleasures of life, But, so hard to come by, So rare to find… Who wouldn't give everything one has For a peaceful sleep at night, The indicator of a happy soul and heart… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh UP, India Copyright © : Zoya Zaidi 17 June, 6 PM on watching ads. Of Michael Jackson's posthumous concert
Archived comments for The Moon Walker
pdemitchell on 26-06-2010
The Moon Walker
Namaste, Zoya! A sad look at a great artist but he did drag himself down with his indulgences and the Neverland and children thing got awfully creepy at times. The Norma-Jeans and Cobains and Joplins of the after-life have a new recruit and his estate has already made a BILLION dollars out of his death. The piece is very loose in form and rhythm in places but it works as a piece of observation for me. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Well Mitch, there are always two sides to the same coin, people very meticulous about their profession, work, talent and public life can tend to lose control of their private lives... Sometimes indulgences are a way of escaping the reality...
As for being loose, you are probably right, I did not pay much attention to it, just wrote it...

sunken on 26-06-2010
The Moon Walker
Hello Ms. Zoya. I guess everyone has their demons. It's not nessesarilly a fame thang. Your avergae Jo doesn't sell papers though does he/she? It's a sad world if ya think about it. I should stop thinking... What can I do... Maybe watch Glee. No thinking required there. Though provoking as ever, Ms. Zoya.

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no straight jackets required

Author's Reply:
You are right Sunky, we all have our demons... Thinking is something you cannot stop, can you?

stormwolf on 27-06-2010
The Moon Walker
A very insightful bit of writing about a troubled soul Zoya. It was always my question that when he wrote "It really does not matter if you are black or white" why then did he spend his money trying to be white? It is a pity he did not celebrate his blackness instead and stay as the handsome young man that he was.
I think he had a beautiful heart and people did not understand him, caught in the childhood he never had, such a shame. My dad always said that peace of mind is the most treasured thing and as I have got older I agree totally.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Dear alison, It is amazing, how you always get my drift so easily and beautifully!
Yes, you are right he was not comfortable with his darkness of the skin and was desperate about so many things, including recapturing his childhood he never had... You know, it is amazing, how many great early achievers, like film stars, tennis stars etc. crave for simple 'normal pleasures of life', and would give anything for them including their fame; Still a lot many, reluctant entrants into the show-business, driven by their over-ambitious parents, who either in an endeavour to have the best for them or simply to earn money by making their children work, just want to live a simple 'normal life', go to school like other children, play in the neighbour hood streets and just be... They are basically lonely souls...
To be understood is another craving most celebrities have... People usually confuse their public persona with their actual person, and the real person is not known to anybody... All these cravings sometimes lead to their doom...
And of course peace of mind is of prime importance in life!


Summer Reign (posted on: 18-06-10)
Summer is warm, full of hope...

The summer in its glory blooms With flowers yellow and red The peacock with its pretty plumes Pirouettes on its dainty legs Dancing away its gloom… The Koel and the cuckoo black Sing their melodious songs The common Maina, the parrot green, And the Robin sings along… The morning dew, stays only a while On the flower petal, And as the sun begins to shine Evaporates, in a trice… Night's alive with a thousand creatures, Crickets, beetles and mosquitoes- All humming their evensongs… Life on earth celebrates itself, With vitality reverberates As the summer saunters along… Mother Earth spread thy worth, Rejuvenate thyself again! 'Till the chilly autumn comes, And the cold winds start their reign… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 27.05.2008
Archived comments for Summer Reign
stormwolf on 20-06-2010
Summer Reign
yes, beautifully said Zoya. Tomorrow is the summer soltice and then the years rolls on as the sun goes away. Time is a flying. Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, Yeah, the Sun is closes to the Earth today, and in our part of the Earth the heat is so oppressive, it is difficult to breathe even... But, the thought is relieving that at least it the last day, and Sun will start moving away tomorrow from us...
The Indian government has organised a "Watch the Summer Solstice Day" at the famous Astronomical Monument, "Jantar Mantar", Literally meaning, "Magic", where they are going to measure the angles with students and scientists, to understand the astronomical phenomenon better. You know we have two such Astronomical structures of Ancient Indian period, One is Jantar Mantar of Jaipur, the other this Delhi one, and no one tody knows how to make use of them!
It is such a pity, how ancient knowledge is lost to Time... Like the Mexican Pyramids of the Maya Civilisation in Mexico, the Egyptian Pyramids of Giza that still remain a mystery to Modern mind... Like the Indus Valley inscriptions on their famous seals, still not deciphered...


That Time of the Year… (posted on: 18-06-10)
I love that time of the year when cherry blossoms...

That time of the year, when cherry blossoms, When apple and pear trees bloom, When the boulevard's strewn with petals tender, In pink, white and mauve hues, Their faint fragrance lifts up the gloom Of drab, grey wintery afternoons… When the delicate red barks of the cherry trees Shine bright, fresh from the snowy womb… I think of you my love, my youth returns, and croons: World comes alive and the earth rejuvenates Every tree begins to sprout leaves, Young buds on green boughs appear, Smooth and shiny grass grows- Every blade has a life of its own, Soil turns warm and becomes fertile- Inviting all life into its womb- with open arms, it welcomes all living, a new cycle begins, of hope, of regeneration of renewal, of new life… my mind drift to you again… I begin to think, why can't we humans also, Year after year, rejuvenate- become new and young? Why can't we, like the whole universe, re-vitalise ourselves? Why can't the bygones returns again, year after year And like spring, life becomes fresh, after each year's snow? Alas, it is not so! Life for man, is meant to be lived once, To be born once, to die once and the only way to live on Is to create, procreate, reinvent yourself, spiritually if not physically… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 19.05.2010 4.30 pm Completed on 24.05.2010 11pm.
Archived comments for That Time of the Year…
sunken on 20-06-2010
That Time of the Year

Hello Ms. Zoya. Such wise words. I'm surprised you've had no comments on this yet. Particularly liked the opening stanza. Nice work missus.

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it's all about the apples

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky, darling, such lavish words of praise! I am really overwhelmed!
Thanks a pile indeed for the kind words!
I love apples!

stormwolf on 20-06-2010
That Time of the Year

Bravo! Sentiments I fully agree with put over very poetically. I reckon I become more connected to nature the longer I live and I feel the seasons just as you do. I guess our greatest challenge is to live in the moment
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Alison, Nature to me is a metaphor for more things than one, "Life" being the most important of them all...
We just have to look around and appreciate the wonder of Nature, God's most beautiful and free gift to us!
Drawing lessons, analogies and symbols from it then becomes so easy...
Like this summer we had the hottest one in many years, and I noticed that the May Flower started blooming in April itself, and the 'Golden Oleander', which comes at it heels in end May, early June, flowered soon after... By the time May came both the flowering trees had had their glory... I reckoned, then, it must be the temperature of the atmosphere and not the season, which is responsible for the flowering of these magnificent trees... I even have a poem revolving in mind on this amazing phenomenon, just got to get the time to pen it down.
Thanks pile for the lovely response!
Zoya

pdemitchell on 21-06-2010
That Time of the Year

Nameste, Zoya! Sorry I missed this. Lovely sentiment although the last two stanzas got a little unweildy in places, I enjoyed the sentiment. I am a great fan of Japanese art where the cherry blossoms are revered as a sign of renewal too. What do we get for our warped Celtic Spring celebrations in the U of K - chocolate Easter eggs! Give me a face-full of cherry blosom any day! Mitch

Author's Reply:
Dear Mitch, you are so right, the Japanese love Cherry Blossoms and consider it symbolic of renewal, regeneration, rejuvenation, procreation...
You can see the Cherry Blossoms everywhere in Japan in the beginning of the Spring. The Cherries blossom for a very short while, are very delicate and soon fall to the ground, and are the first trees to flower, heralding in the Spring!
No wondered they are revered in Japan!
They have beautifully captured this feeling in the film Memoirs of a Gisha, where the Gisha, when she meets her hero as a pre-pubescent girl, the streets are alive with Cherry Blossoms...


On the hinge... (posted on: 03-05-10)
Line between sanity and insanity is thin...

I often observe those dribbling in the streets: Delving into the inner recesses of the being Diving to get that coherent piece of wisdom, Which probably does not exist, or even if it does, it is beyond comprehension, anyway... Incoherent sentences, words struggling with each other To tumble out, one before the other, Falling over each other, loosing balance, confirmation… Or getting stuck in the mouth - blank expression! Complete black out of power of expression… Coherence and incoherence alternating each other… Complex! How do we define sanity, insanity, incoherence? Anything, which is beyond the realm of 'sane' understanding! But, is 'sane' really 'sane', and if so, how sane? These are the questions we often ponder upon... And what about the 'border-line' cases, Hinging between the clear-cut definitions? Life is insane; life is incomprehensible! And we go on labelling others, who seem inane... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 30.04.2010 Responding to Match's : "The art of no..."
Archived comments for On the hinge...
pdemitchell on 03-05-2010
On the hinge...
Well done, Zoya. You've moved your piece on. It's powerful observation and only needs minor tweaks to meter and repetition. it makes me think of Neitzche who ended insane though chloral hydrate or an inherited illness but could not communicate what he found there. In the end his sister, Elizabeth, parked him in a villa where he could wander in robes and be observed by visitors unaware of his eventual world-shaking impact on philosphy. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 04-05-2010
On the hinge...
Well Zoya, you bring up something I have wondered many times. Sanity seems to be judged by confirmation of operating between two boundaries of expected behaviour.....but...what if everyone but ten people in the world, took a drug that made you see the world differently? Now the percentages are reversed. Who is mad? the huge majority or the tiny minority?
It's enough to drive you insane thinking lol 😉
The second stanza highlights the difficulty finding the words...
we see this also after a stroke...but the words getting 'stuck in the mouth' and the accompanying fear in the eyes...In the final equation all we can do is love I reckon. Alison x

Author's Reply:

sunken on 04-05-2010
On the hinge...
Hello Ms. Zoya. My mate Dave used to work at a mental institution. He generally looked after the patients. He washed them and fed them and read to them. To be frank, it sounds like quite a nice place to go for a break. I'm sure I could qualify. You have to wonder who's really insane don't ya? I'd give anything to chillax in a padded cell for a day or so with complimentary room service. Ahem. A strong write and no mistake. Thank you.

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control alt delete

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To the Seagull (posted on: 30-04-10)
Seagull to me is a symbol of freedom, yet... this poem sort of wrote itself...

I saw you glide high in the azure sky, In suspended animation above the aquamarine blue sea: A virgin-white pristine speck, floating aimlessly, carelessly, free… And I envy your freedom- so innocent, so green! Till you came down an settled next to me- Your snow-coloured plumes, contrasting against the blood-red claws, sharp, keen- A fish, fresh from the turquoise-blue sea, struggling to be free, entangled in you talons- still alive, its round eyes, glistening over, threatening to go still - a few more moments, and it would be still… the battle is on, between its struggle for survival, and your wit… A little more patience on your part, tightly clutching the just-about–to-go-out-of-light creature, powerless in your grip- You, strong and determined, hungry and stoic, indiscreet… And I am strangely reminded of, how a creature Innocent, young, naïve, can turn to a predator, Driven by hunger and need… is he to be blamed? Is he to be sympathized with? Is he to be condemned or understood? Is he to be hanged, or remanded into safe custody? Is he to be forgiven, or rehabilitated? Or, is he to be punished and annihilated… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 14. 04. 2010, 11am
Archived comments for To the Seagull
pdemitchell on 30-04-2010
To the Seagull
Namaste Zoya - this was a great effort and enjoyable but the last stanza dissolving into a series of obvious questions just killed off the first two completely for me. Can I suggest that the third stanza be removed or made far more subtle to compliment the first two stanzas rather than detracting from them? Cheers. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Dear Mitch, as Sunken rightly guessed this poem sort of wrote itself...

It is possible to end it at 'is he to be blamed?'... But these questions are pertinent and give the final punch to the poem, a twist in the end you might say... And to me they are certainly not obvious!

sunken on 30-04-2010
To the Seagull
Hello Ms. Zoya. I do likes a poem that writes itself. They seem to flow more naturally and are generally more engaging. This is one such example. Like a big comfy duvet, crisp clean sheets and a marshmallow pillow, this is very satisfying. Thank you.

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he left his brain on the bus

Author's Reply:
Sunky, darling, how come you are that damn (excuse the expletive) intelligent? You guessed it right, the poem wrote it self, I had no idea, it would lead to this... But, once it did, I thought it was a perfect little piece, neat and unique in approach...
May be because we had a Naxal (a rebel group flourishing in the tribal area were innocent ethnic minority turns to violence because of sheer poverty and hunger and because their natural habitat is usurped by the multinational companies in the name of 'development'- and malls are build by cutting forests...) attack just before I wrote this and it was lurking in my mind
Any way I think those are pertinent questions and though Mitch suggests otherwise, I would like to retain them...

pdemitchell on 01-05-2010
To the Seagull
Hi Zoya - now that the reasons were explained - I'm won over! The seagull and questions as a metaphor for the Naxal - maybe you have a more direct poem in mind for that group or maybe the enigmatic Kogi of Columbia who are desperately trying to warn their younger brother (us) about the damage to the environment. As ever, I enjoy reading your work! Cheers. Mitch


Author's Reply:


To the Sea Waves (posted on: 23-04-10)
The sea waves fascinate me...

To the Sea Waves When the waves come and beat about the rocks on the sea-shore, They stir something in my heart; Touch somewhere in my soul: Turbulence rises deep in my core Like the rising and dipping of the waves on the shore. When they pound about the rocks Like a lover would beat his head against the wall In sheer frustration of unreciprocated love It troubles my soul, and I am reminded of you some how… When the sheer passion of the waves Breaks the rocks, and makes holes in it At places smoothens it to a silky sheen I wonder what power of love can do… So, beat waves, beat about the rocks! Beat till you make the hard rock comply, And yield to your perseverance… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 26.02.2010 1.00 am, while watching ''Under the Tuscan Sun''
Archived comments for To the Sea Waves
Corin on 23-04-2010
To the Sea Waves
I love waves too - like the flames of a fire they stir some primeval feeling of peace and belonging. A lovely reflective piece of writing Zoya.

I have 2 suggestions for this stanza:-

"When they pound about the rocks
Like a lover would beat his head against the wall
In sheer frustration of unreciprocated love
It troubles my soul, and I am reminded of you some how
 "

'Like a lover would beat his head against the wall '

Would flow better if you wrote

Like a lover beating his head against the wall

And

"In sheer frustration of unreciprocated love"

Would be stronger as:-

In sheer pain of unreciprocated love

As to me 'frustration' focuses on his or her sexual frustration rahter than the agony of rejection.

Best Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
Darling David, It is extremely sweet of you to analyse in such a great detail, this "Sea Waves" poem of mine!
Thanks for the valuable suggestion!
It is actually the word ''unrequited", and not 'frustration', which probably makes think of sexual frustration...
I will think of your suggestions, they are very valuable to me, as are most of your comments!
Love,
Zoya


pdemitchell on 23-04-2010
To the Sea Waves
Hi Zoya - like the imagery and I would Echo Corin's comments. It's good stuff but there's a lot more you can do with waves, finding onamatapeic words to reflect the violence and altering the rhythm and rhyming pattern a little can help - for example

When waves crash and beat about
the shore-line rocks and stones
they stir something in my heart;
echo something in my bones:
stirs my soul's turmoil to heed
the seagulls' raucous tones.

Hope this silly example helps. Cheers. mitch 🙂


Author's Reply:
Dear Mitch! This is a very well, constructed piece, and not in the least bit silly... I am almost tempted to go for rhyming! But, I am not particularly in love with rhyming... lol! If the rhyming comes automatically, off its own, I let it come, but, hate to remould my thoughts and words for the sake of rhyming!
Thanks for the effort!
Love,
Zoya

Elfstone on 25-04-2010
To the Sea Waves
This is more tightly constructed than any of your poems I have read previously Zoya and much the better for it. (Sometimes poems can have just too many words and it weakens them). I think this is the best I've read from you and of course I love the sea too! Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Elf, see, how different opinions can be about the same poem on the same issue-style!
Thanks a pile for the generous response! I am indeed humbled.
The sea has many connotations,
many associations and
many interpretations to it:
On the one hand is its vastness,
On the other, its endless depth,
It is at once calm and profound,
turbulent and violent,
powerful and strangely vulnerable...
Like life it keeps changing it self
and yet flows forever, endlessly...
Just like life keeps regenerating it self,
So does the sea...
Sea is generous, sea is destructive,
Sea loves, sea can hate,
Sea can create and hold life in it,
Sea can take life in a jiffy

Many analogies can be drawn from the sea


I have many poems on the sea, each exploring a different aspect of it, each drawing a different lesson from it...


stormwolf on 25-04-2010
To the Sea Waves
You know, when I read you Zoya, I always get the overwhelming feeling of your deep love of nature which shines out. I catch the greatness of the similarity in so much of nature to human emotions. I agree with Elf that a tighter contruction adds power to a poem.
The imagery of the powerful waves against the rocks stays with me. The sea scares me a bit. My father called it "The Cruel Sea" but he loved it with a passion. To me it speaks of the universal unconscious.....and the mysteries and the dangers that lurk beneth the surface in the deepest recesses.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison,
thanks for the lovely words!
sea does not scare me, but fascinates me deeply. On a seashore, I always experience calm... But, the mysteries of the deep always invoke awe in me... The sea is calm, the sea is soothing; the sea can be benevolent, it can also be powerfull, and cruel...
It has many moods...

sunken on 25-04-2010
To the Sea Waves
Hello Ms. Zoya of India fame. It's me sunks of origami fowl fame. You should see my paper folding representation of a chicken. It has to be seen to be believed. It's just a pity there's not much call for paper chickens around these parts. Ahem. I enjoyed the poem. Amazing isn't it, the power of water. Did you know that jelly fish are 95% water? I just thought I'd mention it. I hope it helps. Ahem.

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currently sponsored by desmond tutu

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 27-04-2010
To the Sea Waves
मेरी कविता मेरा दिल है. मेरी आत्मा के शब्दों में है.
I always rework a piece and if friends can lend a hand - all the better! it's fine as it is! cheers. mitch Sorry if the above misses the mark - my Hindi is terrible! Cheers. Mitch

Author's Reply:


Four Seasons (posted on: 12-04-10)
Four Seasons, Four Cycles!

Four Seasons Spring: When new buds start sprouting, When the birds nurse their hatchlings, When snow melts into rivulets frolicking, When over the azure sky clouds start floating, Know that it is Spring coming! Summer: When the trees start flowering, When the crops start ripening, When the wheat stands golden, dancing When the sun is mild, heart-warming, Know that it is Summer knocking! Autumn: When the leaves start yellowing, When the fruits are sweet with ripening, When the birds towards South start migrating, When the beasts and worms start hibernating, Know that Autumn's come calling! Winter: When hoarfrost on pine-needles starts gathering, When the snowflakes on the lips start melting, When denuded trees, soft snow starts dressing, When hearths in homes have fire crackling, Know that it is Winter chilling! Life's Four Seasons: So do the four seasons of life come calling: Spring, young and striplings, Summer, ripe and straddling, Autumn, mild and sobering Winter old, cold and chilling… So, make most of Four seasons, my darling, Listen at each stage to life's calling… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 11. 04. 2010; 9.30 AM
Archived comments for Four Seasons
stormwolf on 14-04-2010
Four Seasons
Hi Zoya
A lovely painting in words of the seasons which of course closely resemble the seasons of ourr lives.
I dont know what's worst knowing I am
Autumn, mild and sobering
or facing winter. It is a real clarion call to make hay while the sun shines and once the sun is gone to find something else to keep warm and happy on dark winter nights.;-)

btw does it ever get cold in India. Just wondered.
Spring is here in the UK and it's wondewrful.
Alison x


Author's Reply:
My dear Alison, Thanks for the lovely words...
There is a song in India, which loosely translates as follows: "Whether Spring comes or not; when the heart dances, it is Spring..." So, let your heart dance and remain forever in the Spring... And it is this dancing of heart, which keeps you warm on chilly wintery nighs...
In India,especially in Northern India, where I live the temperature dips down to 2-3 degrees celcious... In the North , in Kashmir and the hills of Uttar Pradesh and Himachal Pradesh it even snows; and off course in the Himalayas the peaks are snow laden through out the year... But yes, Bombay, Chennai, Kerala and other southern and coastal states never experience winters, they do not even have quilts and heaters in Bombay; but then in Summers, the temperature soars to 50 degrees in these parts of India... So you see India, just as it is diverse in cultures andlanguages,it isdifferent in climate in different parts of the country... India is fascinating-you should visit India Alison, be my guest!
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 15-04-2010
Four Seasons
That's fascinating Zoya. My late father was all over the world in the navy in the war and he always said that India was the only place he would love to have taken my mother.
I know he was in Bombay and was of course shocked by the beggars there at the harbour but he loved it very much. I am not sure where else he went. I love the Indian philsophy and beliefs too
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Alison, it would be a nice idea to find out/do some kind of a research on your father's journeys to the far off lands during war... It would be a kind of visiting of personal history, linked to the world history... It may just prove to be a great journey in self exploration, self realisation and personal quest for self... try asking your mother and paternal relatives and friends close to your father...
It might just help you understand your father and ultimately, yourself, better... It might open a whole new world to you...
Just an Idea!
I know an author, Vikram Seth who did this with his aunt and uncle who lived through the war, the uncle was a dentist practicing in London, the aunt was a German Jew who escaped the concentration camp, while her whole family perished, was exterminated... The result of the extensive research was a fascinating book-"Two Lives"... I loved the book!


Gone, With the Wind… (posted on: 05-04-10)
Flight of imagination... A short story!

You stand on the brink The cliff hanging in the wind Stretched far beneath you Is the valley, green and deep Wind plays in your hair Upon your lips a melody sweet Arms outstretched to take in the feel The heavenly fragrance of the breeze Your shapely form, the rippling muscles Taut, well-worked-out, compelling me To creep close to you and touch you, Desires of youth stir within me... You, oblivious turn to me: 'Did you see the seagull fly by? So joyous, so happy, so free!' While I, was already bound to thee…. You flew away with the bird, Mingled with the universe… Leaving me standing there Empty handed, in sorrow, in grief…. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 24.03.2010 2.30 pm
Archived comments for Gone, With the Wind…
stormwolf on 05-04-2010
Gone, With the Wind

The title and description are perfect, Zoya.
Minor typos and lack of punctuation a bit off putting.
You(,)oblivious turn to me:

If using capitals then full stops or commas but did not stop the imagery of the beauty of it all...or the sadness.
I do not care for old world terms like 'thee' if not in the style of the poem
While I, was already bound to thee
.
but I totally got the meaning and the passion and surely that is the more important thing?

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, for the useful suggestions, tips, corrections! I have corrected the typos.
Thanks for the rest of the appreciation.
(((Hugs)))
I hope you are doing well?
Zoya

e-griff on 06-04-2010
Gone, With the Wind

good theme to this (his thoughts away from her)

spotted one typo: 'Wind plays in you hair' 🙂

best, JohnG

Author's Reply:
Why, what is wrong with "Wind plays in your hair'; does have some other connotation, I am not aware of? Or 'Wind plays with your hair' is better? Or may be 'Wind plays through your hair'?
Any suggestions, John?
Love,
Zoya

e-griff on 07-04-2010
Gone, With the Wind

no, Zoya, you just left the 'r' of 'your' is all I was saying 🙂 --- typo.

Author's Reply:
Ha, ha, haaa! Sometimes we fail to see the obvious and go for something more complicated and long winded...


Whisper my name... (posted on: 15-03-10)
Just wondering about how mortal and perishable we actually are... and yet, we crave immortality...

I write my name on the wind I sing my songs to the air Scatter my thoughts in atmosphere, My verse dissolves in waters blue My pen is dipped in ink of truth… My blood colours my passion true My sweat fragrant in feelings strewn On the surface of parchment brown Perishable, destructible, mortal like me… The sands of time, I walk upon Leave no footsteps behind The wind keeps blowing over it Levelling them with grains so fine… All I leave, is my love behind… So look for me in the wind, Breathe me with the invisible air Feel me in the atmosphere… And when the cool zephyr blows Remember me; I am close... Whisper my name softly in the air And in your dreams I will appear… And when I am gone and you miss me Don't shed silent tears for me… Remember me, remember me As some one who loved life dearly… And when you touch a flower in bliss Know that I live in its chrysalis… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 23.02.2010; 8.30 am
Archived comments for Whisper my name...
RedKite on 15-03-2010
Whisper my name...
Man has craved for that cup of eternal youth since time began, enjoyed this read thanks Daniel

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear daniel, we all know we are mortal and yet, we crave for eternity...
Our words, our love that we behind can be the closest to we can get to eternity, if they are meaningful enough...
Thanks for stepping in to comment!
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 15-03-2010
Whisper my name...
Hello Zoya,
You have captured the essence of love that exists at once in all things and yet in a person's soul also.
The last two lines were perfect
Alison x

Author's Reply:
thanks Alison, you always get my drift, so beautifully!
Thanks for being therefor me!
Love,
(((HUGS)))
Zoya

pdemitchell on 16-03-2010
Whisper my name...
Namaste ji, Zoya! A worthy 7 and a worthy sentiment but I would rework the last but one verse as it's a little stilted with too many 'me' ends but the couplet was great. Cheers. Mitch





Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch, for the suggestion, I will try and work on it...

discopants on 18-03-2010
Whisper my name...
Quite thought-provoking- I think it captures a sense, not of seeking immortality, but of having made an impression and that impression/love living on in our loved ones after we're gone.

disco

Author's Reply:
yes, Disco, living in the memory of loved once-who does not want that and that if it can continue even after you are gone to me ins immortality... But, lucky are the few who can attain that...
Thanks for the valuable comment!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 23-03-2010
Whisper my name...
Hello Ms Zoya. Ya know, it's around this time of an evening that I like to compare the undersides of various bridges in and around the west midlands. Sadly, tonight, it is raining rather heavily and my pacamac is at the dry cleaners... I find that strangely ironic. Ahem. Anyway, none of this really matters. A fine write and no mistake. The last two liners are first class, like that of a stamp. Thank you.

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serotonin anyone?

Author's Reply:
Strangely enough, Sunky darling, I am reminded of these lines of the classic song: "Under the bridges of Paris with you..."
Only Bridges here are London Bridges, not that they are any less romantic, in fact I love London Bridges even more... My favourite is the Westminster Bridge, because the view in offers of the Westminster's Abbey from across the Thames from the South Bank.
Ahh, the last, but not the least, two lines...
Now, why am I sneezing, is it the pollen of the flower or your serotonin invitation?
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


Fragrance of Your Heart (posted on: 22-02-10)
Memories of another day on Valentine Evening...

I think of your doe-eyes, I remember your burning lips; I dream of the rose garden, where we first stole a kiss: My heart starts to beat faster; my skin begins to glow, Bloods rushes through my veins, turbulent its flow… I imagine your silken touch, your breath upon my breath, Fragrant as the flower, of the flush of our first love, You whisper songs of love tender in my ear, The warmth of your breath, you seem so near… And far away somewhere, in that chilly land You must think of me - so l like to understand: Tears glistening bright, at the corner of my eyes Reflect your anguish too; I'd like to surmise… My heart misses a beat, your voice melodious sweet Rings into the labyrinths, of my memory indiscreet; Sweet sorrow of separation, gnaws gently at my heart And plucks at the strings of the lyre in every part … Blood oozes gently, drip by drip, my soul is inundate With the river of memories- ere warm, ere sedate: Spirit rises high; heart sinks low, blood mellow flows My lonely heart is filled with light of your glow… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 05.02.2010; 7am
Archived comments for Fragrance of Your Heart
stormwolf on 22-02-2010
Fragrance of Your Heart
A beautifully sad lament on a lost love.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, The who has loved, knows, what it is like to love, to be loved, and to cherish the few moments spent in love worth a whole life time...

sunken on 24-02-2010
Fragrance of Your Heart
One of your best, Zoya. Certainly deserves more attention. I hope you don't mind me slapping a Bernard on you. Well done.

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Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky, darling, you know, I love your Beagle, Bernard!
Love,
Zoya


VIVA LA MAMA (posted on: 29-01-10)
More than 100,000 bodies have been dug out of the rubble caused by the massive earthquake in Haiti. An estimated 200,000 casualty is feared... As I pour over news papers, and see my T.V. set flash images of houses crumbling down like packs of cards, people running helter-skelter, corpses being dug-out of rubble; children crying inconsolably, women crying in anguish, and men helplessly holding the bodies of their children in agony; I can think of nothing else, even in my sleep, these images haunt me in my dreams, becoming nightmares of disturbing proportion. My mind flashes back to the earthquake of Ahmadabad; here is a true survival story of grit and courage, I wrote then; I hope it inspires some of those who are suffering right now to go on with their lives. This might be the story of thousands right now... Even as I post this, an elderly lady, sick and dehydrated, has been rescued full seven days after the quake in Port-au-Prince from under the rubble of a church building...

VIVA LA MAMA (A tribute to Nalini Khumbhare, whose courage and motherly sacrifice for her baby boy triumphed over the black-death-quake-Friday on 26th January 2001 in Ahmadabad) She lay beneath the rubble, In dark and gloomy sepulchre, Buried alive! Earth shaking beneath her, The roof just perched above her With chaos all around her Feet running helter-skelter, And the fear that it might just Collapse down upon her. She clenched her baby tight To her heaving breast, He shrieked and wailed, She shrieked and wailed, To no avail! When he stopped, she pinched him hard To keep his shrieks alive Lest someone becomes Aware of their plight And may just rescue them From this quake-ravaged site… Then it became quiet, Silent as the grave As she remained buried In the dungeon of her fate, She too became quiet Too exhausted to cry, She tried to reflect How it all came by: Her husband had snatched their daughter As he ran outside She hoped and prayed to God That they were still alive… Her whole life flashed before her eyes: How happy they were together On their wedding day In ecstasy of honeymoon Warm in his arm she lay The fruit of their love Their bonny little girl, Her eyes sparkling bright Her sweet sunny smile The chirping all day long Her eager way of response… Her eyes clouded over With anguish and remorse Then flashed an apparition Of her precious little soul: 'Don't worry Mama! I am perfectly alright!' She came to present with a jerk, Her baby boy was crying, With unbearable hunger-pangs; She searched high and low With nothing worth eating All she could see around, Were rubble, soil and sand She had to feed the baby to make him withstand She fed him sand! With trembling hands! He swallowed eagerly The gritting in his mouth Lunged deeply at her heart And she hugged him tenderly. But some kind of satisfaction, Albeit psychological, Quietened him a bit He sank into a slumber Of fatigue and exhaustion, She shook him violently- Afraid he might sleep The sleep of eternity- But his regular breathing Gave her certainty… Suddenly she saw a ray of light Through a tiny hole in the roof: A tiny ray of hope, Sent by Providence To enable her to cope… She counted days and nights By day howling loudly, By night clutching her baby tight. Thus passed four days and nights Four thousand deaths she died With each exhalation Holding on to dear life, It was then she realized: Death was just a breath away from life… It was the heart of a mother The sense of sacrifice, The spirit of survival, That kept him and her alive… Suddenly there was a great commotion, The roof shook above her She thought heavens are falling Angels of death were calling She closed her eyes tight, Prepared for the final flight! Then she was dazzled By a sudden light: She thought she was in Heaven- The luminescence so bright! Till she heard them calling: 'Give us the baby!' 'Give your baby to us!' It then dawned upon her They were the angels of Mercy It was heaven on earth! She could not believe her stars That she was still alive! But it was a second coming She had been to hell and back! What a blessing it was to be alive! She promised herself, Never to squander away this life… Now that she has triumphed Over death, Her boy in her arms, She made herself a pledge: To start all afresh! And try not to mourn The price she had to pay (She just heard that her bonny daughter had passed away). For whenever she looks up, She sees her daughter smiling Down from the clouds: 'Mama don't worry, I am perfectly alright!' And, I would like to see you, Alive, happy, and bright… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright© Zoya Zaidi 31.01.2001
Archived comments for VIVA LA MAMA
Jolen on 29-01-2010
VIVA LA MAMA
Hi Zoya,

It's a powerful piece. I think it could be pared down a bit and still be effective, but that's just a personal observation. It always amazes me at the determination of some humans to survive and this was an exquisite example.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen, I would try to 'pare' it down, if I can, in the mean while, I am open to any suggestions from you!
As for the courage, I think, here it is the power of a mother's love and sacrifice for her baby that worked in her case.
Yesterday a survivor came out after 12 days of remaining under the rubble-he got buried during the after shocks of two days later than the big earthquake.
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Zoya on 21-02-2010
VIVA LA MAMA
Thanks Admin for penning this poem!

Author's Reply:


Riding the Wind... (posted on: 22-01-10)
Just Musing...

We ride the wind in this world, to fly high and aspire at once for upper echelons of human spirit; To gain a supreme knowledge of all the mysteries of this life to carry with us till the end of our time; To share it with the others of our kind; To live to fullest till the death doth us claim and depart to other world with this realization that we have given our best to the world, And have got enriched in return... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 19.01.2010
Archived comments for Riding the Wind...
stormwolf on 22-01-2010
Riding the Wind...
yes! may I go out on a high draft 😉
Alison x

Author's Reply:

sunken on 24-01-2010
Riding the Wind...
I had a wee in my back garden last week when I locked myself out. Does that count as 'giving my best to the world', Ms. Zoya? I suspect it doesn't. A neat little piece and no mistake.

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he believes that bats can see perfectly and that they're just having a laugh

Author's Reply:


Solar Eclipse (posted on: 15-01-10)
Today, on the 15th of Jan, there is going to be a total Solar eclipse that will be observed from America to Africa to India. The Solar eclipse seen last year, had set me thinking... Though I don't like to philosophize, but this was written then...

Every morning the sun rises In its full glory Spreads its splendour Throughout the world Warming up hearts and hearths Ripens crops; raises vapours Drapes itself in clouds of rain. Its boundless energy it spreads, Before setting in the west. Gives off its rays to the Moon, Who shines every night, In the reflected glory of the sun Yet, every now and then- Once in every few years- The mighty sun Is eclipsed by the dainty moon That casts its shadow on the sun Obscuring it for brief hours and minutes Plunging the world in a gloom, In the darkness laden with Ultraviolet rays, so harmful to vision. Making birds and the animals; Trees and flowers, so restless That it causes a brief chaos. 'Till the Moon shifts its position And all is right with the world. So it is with our lives: Events, people and creatures small, Eclipse our lives to take centre stage, While we, no matter how strong, Recede quietly in the background, And let them enjoy, their brief glory. Every creature, big and small, Has his day after all… And every big thing has its fall… That is how it always is That is how life goes on… That is how it should be, That is how, it must be! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 02.08.2008 On the day of partial Solar Eclipse
Archived comments for Solar Eclipse
Jaws on 15-01-2010
Solar Eclipse
The sun, whose rays
Are all ablaze
With ever-living glory,
Does not deny
His majesty--
He scorns to tell a story!
He won't exclaim,
"I blush for shame,
So kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold,
In fiery gold,
He glories all effulgent!

I mean to rule the earth,
As he the sky--
We really know our worth,
The sun and I!

Observe his flame,
That placid dame,
The moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace
Upon her face
Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light
That, through the night,
Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell,
She lights up well,
So I, for one, don't blame her!

Ah, pray make no mistake,
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The moon and I!

W.S.Gilbert

Author's Reply:
What a lovely way of expressing similar feelings! I mean shining in the borrowed glory part.
Mine pales miserably in face of this masterpiece...
Thanks for introducing me to this lovely piece by Gilbert.
Love,
zoya

stormwolf on 15-01-2010
Solar Eclipse
I really relate to your love of nature Zoya and the way you see the teachings in it too. Lovely, insighful writing
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi, Alison,
May be it is my Indian-ness, where all the doctrines relate to Nature as a force divine, as a teacher of something Providence wants to tell us; May be it is, after all, my love for nature, who to me is all supreme and wonderful - full of surprises, magic and enchantment- you only have to observe it and you learn every day something new, some lesson for keeps...
Or,
May be, I just want to interpret things in my own way... I do not know!
But, one thing is true, I am a great lover of Nature: There is nothing more beautiful, more divine, more refreshing for me than a walk in the misty morning, an evening on a moon-lit beach, or a sunny day in the mountains - Himalayas, if you please!
Love,
Zoya

RedKite on 17-01-2010
Solar Eclipse
Beautiful piece will read more in the future Daniel

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daniel, Happy you like my poem!
Love,
Zoya

Munster on 17-01-2010
Solar Eclipse
A fantastic poem, one too read again and again, you write so well.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Munster, It is so humbling, when your work is appreciated!
Love,
Zoya


When I Die, I won't turn to Dust… (posted on: 04-01-10)
Who doesn't want immortality...

When I die, I won't turn to dust But, live in every flower that erupts Become a tall tree and reach the sky Bear fruits for every one to enjoy Fall off the tree in form of each leaf Float over rivers and reach the sea And become one with the coral reef, Like a treasure lie at the bottom of sea For the deep divers to discover and see Evaporate into cloud and condense to rain And shower on my loved ones mane Live in the memory of ones I loved Who loved me and were loved in turn… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 28.10.2009; 3.30 PM
Archived comments for When I Die, I won't turn to Dust…
sunken on 07-01-2010
When I Die, I won’t turn to Dust

Hello Ms. Zoya. I see the miserable sods haven't commented on you yet. I likes the sentiment of this. When I kick the bucket I want to come back as a thong (-; Ahem. I knew it wouldn't be long before I broke my New year's resolution of trying to be less smutty. Oh well, there's always next year (-; Nice one, Ms. Zoya of India fame.

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the fourth wise man brought the little fella an ice cream

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky darling,
No you are not being smutty at all!
Just your usual self!
I would be surprised if you were other wise, and obliged to think, if you were well or sick?
Just be yourself!
Stop trying to make impossible NY resolutions...
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 10-01-2010
When I Die, I won’t turn to Dust

Lovely imagery Zoya. We can never cease to be...only change our form of manifestation
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Alison darling,
This is at once the scientific theory of transformation of matter from one form to another; and the philosophy of Avagavan, where you keep changing bodies till your soul attains Nirvana!
Thanks for the thoughtful and thought provoking response!
Love,
Zoya

papaed on 15-01-2010
When I Die, I won’t turn to Dust

Beautiful. This is a wonderful thought and I must say I was caught by the parallel to two pieces I've posted. The words flow with a wonderful rhythm and a bit of rhyming, and the imagery catches with it's simplicity and clarity.
Peace,
papaed

Author's Reply:
Well, dear Paped,
Sometimes two people think alike, at the same time...
Happy to know you find parallels with something by you, that means you do share my thoughts!
Would you please tell me which pieces are these, so that I can also enjoy your poetry with similar thoughts...
Love,
Zoya



The Labyrinths of Life and Mind (posted on: 25-12-09)
Mind is labyrinthine, and so is Life...

The labyrinth of life and the labyrinth of mind inter-twine to create a maze that is difficult to define... Memories of yore Fragments of anguish Burning to core Strings of experiences knotted together to create a mesh through which Life sieves through… Dreams of love, like birds soaring high Falling flat on the face shattering to pieces that can't be put together to create a whole, A whole you… Fragments of broken heart A kaleidoscope of scars of painful colours and hues Of golden desires muted by the Time's cruel hand… All inter-twine To create a maze Difficult to define The labyrinth of life And the labyrinth of mind Injure the heart So tender, So vulnerable So innocent, So divine… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 21.12.2009
Archived comments for The Labyrinths of Life and Mind

No comments archives found!
YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN… (posted on: 25-12-09)
*

Years ago When light and darkness were being distributed: I HAD CHOSEN LIGHT! When smiles and tears were being chosen: I HAD CHOSEN SMILES! Of optimism and pessimism: I HAD CHOSEN OPTIMISM! So, Now On a dark and gloomy night, With tears in my eyes, I SMILE! And Optimistically, Try to See The LIGHT… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN…
Jolen on 26-12-2009
YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN

Happy Holidays, Zoya.

As your poem so rightly points out, how we live is our choice. Like you, I choose to smile. Thanks for the timely reminder.

blessings,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Jolen, these are our little secrets to happiness! Because, we the optimistic know that happiness is never given to you on a platter, you have to grab it and squeeze it out of the little moments of life...
Right?
Thanks for the lovely response!
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 26-12-2009
YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN

Trouble is though we aren't always giventhe choice. I know we can choose to smile when we are crying inside or act optimisisticall when we feel despair but sometimes itis better to just be honest about bad feelings.

How can your friends know you are in pain and offer help if you do not admit the truth?

David

PS typo 'off' 'of'

Author's Reply:
Dear David, it is not about showing or expressing your feelings, it is about feeling down in the dumps, and still think about how to make it better. It is about being in pain yet endure it to the best of your capability and tell yourself, it will pass. This the only way to fight adverse circumstances and overcome pain. Because pain and cold are felt the more you feel them...
So it is not about dishonesty, but about having courage to face up to, and being positive in life!
Thanks for stepping in a taking interest in my thoughts.
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 27-12-2009
YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN

Hello Ms. Zoya. When I'm asked if my glass is half empty or half full I often reply by enquiring - 'What glass?' Recently, however, a beautiful young lady has given me cause to believe that my glass is not only half full, but that it's actually half full of Guinness! Good times. This hasn't helped at all as it? I could maybe do a dance for you? How's The Twist suit ya - 'Come on lets twist again, like we did last summer....' Ahem. Thank you.

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you'll believe an owl can fly

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunky, this is being positive in life!
Good for you!
Last spring I was in Dublin and took a tour of the Guinness Factory, it is great and they give you free Guinness to taste, as much as you want, all varieties of it... You should try it!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 27-12-2009
YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN

Blimey! Really, Ms. Zoya? I'm not sure you'd get me outta there. I suspect they'de have to pour me out. I do like a drop of the old black stuff. I would like to go to Ireland one day. I like those little leprechaun fellas. I'm I stereotyping again.? A cousin of mine can do touch stereotyping. I believe his court case comes up in March. Ahem. I'll shut up. Hello?

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you'll believe a ball can bounce

Author's Reply:
Yes, Ireland is beautiful, Dublin is very literary and full of historical places and lovely Churches. The famous Book Of Kells is a real treat for the aesthetic senses...
Don't worry, they will find a way of getting you out of Guinness!
Love,
Zoya

macaby on 27-12-2009
YEARS AGO, I HAD CHOSEN

I think this is a good poem to start the new year with.
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac!
You bet it indeed is a good way to start the New Year!
Love,
Zoya


Blend with Me… (posted on: 18-12-09)
Sometimes you just want to be with your beloved, all blended with him into one whole...

Like the heat in the flame, Like the drop in the rain Like the stars in the sky, Like the tear in the eye, Like the seed in the tree, Like the waves in the sea, My love, Intermingle with me… Like the warmth in the sun Like the glow in the moon Like the colours in rainbow Like the Night in its shadows Like the fragrance in the flower Like the light in twilight hour My Love, Merge with me… Like the beat in the heart Like the blood in the veins Like the sight in the eye Like the air in atmosphere Like the soul in the body My Love, Blend with me, seamlessly… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 15.12.2009 1am
Archived comments for Blend with Me…
sunken on 19-12-2009
Blend with Me

Hello Ms. Zoya. A Kenwood food mixer of a poem and no mistake. I find it strange that Kenwood (famed for the manufacturing of high quality hi-fi components) should venture into the production of food mixers. I suspect there was some kind of memo mix up with the technical team. As a dj'ing audio mixer it's useless. As a food processor, however, it's top notch. Ahem. This really is my worst comment of the year, Ms. Zoya. At least I'm trying tho? Hello? Ms. Zoya? Ahem.

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in case of emergency brush your teeth - there really is no excuse for lax dental hygiene - good day!

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunky darling,
What can I say about such a 'foodie' comment on my poem; Well, if it has to be 'food', let this be a soul-curry, garnished with passion...
Dental hygiene, by the way, prevents heart attack, literally!
Love,
Zoya


Your Reflection in the Star (posted on: 11-12-09)
Some memories like guardian angels act as saviours in your hour of gloom...

Last night I plucked a star from Heaven And tried to see your reflection in it. The silver light was shining bright And you were smiling with it. I recalled the tinkling laughter that use to light up your face, The crinkling at the corner of your eye As the twinkle of your smile Made my heart warm up to you. That night I fell in love with you… And the night sky whispered softly: 'Don't wait for me, don't wait for me, 'cause I am not returning to thee…' And yet my heart, so full of warmth, feels your breath close by, talking to me… Tears glistening in my eyes quietly tell me: Memories are like Moon in the sky- Waxing and waning, waxing and waning Keep recurring, tenderly, inevitably… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh UP, India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 6.12.2009.
Archived comments for Your Reflection in the Star
Jolen on 12-12-2009
Your Reflection in the Star
Yes, indeed, Zoya, memories are like that and if we're lucky, we can appreciate them for that, as your poem clearly shows.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen,
it just came to me while I was sitting and contemplating on life in general...
Some memories are real treasures...
Thanks again for stepping in and leaving such kind thoughts on my page.
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 13-12-2009
Your Reflection in the Star
Your poem is a little treasure in its own right, Ms. Zoya. Well done, missus.

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where there's a crisp, there's a packet

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sunks, for a lovely response!
Love,
Zoya



Girl Abused (posted on: 20-11-09)
Nov. 19 is 'World Day for Prevention of Child Abuse’

Children of a Lesser God IV- Girl Abused He hugs and pats hers Plants too deep a kiss On her soft innocent cheeks; She instinctively knows There's something definitely amiss, Though she does not know what it is- She can't put her finger on it… He touches her in unforeseen places Caresses her thighs His embraces too tight His smooches too wet… She is a tad upset… Seeing the alarm on her face, On being touched 'there', He tells her, 'it is our little secret!' As he gently strokes her… By now she knows, she is a party to Something sinister something not quite fit… And gradually and imperceptibly, The intimacy grows- She becomes aware of some sensations As never before… He asks her to touch him 'there' She's shocked at the engorgement there! He suddenly grips her hand tight, Begs her to do 'all sorts of things'- She definitely doesn't want to oblige- But he thrusts himself into her mouth, Says, 'Suck it like lollypop!' Chocked-in by her mouthful, She wants to vomit it out- By now she's definite, she likes it not- But he oblivious urges her on- His face in a trance, his hand on her head, Pushing it down… She begins to flinch and resists… But is helpless in his grip… 'Till he has had his fill… Later, he tells her, he loves her Smothering her in his hug And cajoles her with chocolates Soft drinks and things she loves… As she cries, he pats her and rocks her tenderly After those sickening moments of slime… And sometimes licks her down there Saying it would pacify, And she, confused, calms down sometimes… She begins to lose her sleep, Her appetite and interest in her play things, As she is constantly distracted By the thoughts storming her head- Thoughts of guilt, thoughts of shame, Thoughts of helplessness to put an end to it- By day she walks like a zombie, At night she has strange dreams, And dreads the moments, he will pick her up And carry her away with him… Then, one night heavy with drink, He forces himself upon her- It is loathsome; it is painful; She is terror-struck! She cannot scream She only pleads… Her mother is out of town- And when she returns it is too late! The harm has already been done. The little girl knows not, Whom to share her secret with? She feels, she is guilty too- equally responsible for the 'sin'… She is positively sick, as she Goes through the living nightmare. That haunts her waking hours, prevents her sleep… All alone, Confused, terrified, Each night she cries herself to sleep… The world around her begins to collapse, She is on the brink. She begins to hate herself, Is ashamed, she thinks she is to blame… Guilt and self-loathing take root… And then, one night, her mother, Catches her sobbing in bed, Concerned, she questions her, And the little girl breaks down It all comes gushing out: Between her sobs she tells all, Not knowing how heinous it is- Whether right or wrong… She pours her sufferings out Clutching on to her mother Like a straw in a storm… The mother is horror-stricken! With the father she has a brawl. But sometimes, the mother is too weak- The father, a tyrant, has her in his power- And she tells her daughter to 'keep quiet!' To bottle it all up in herself, As the family 'honour' is at stake! Asks her to keep submitting to the fiend! The poor thing has no choice… And even if it comes to an end The scars are too deep- She grows up hating herself, With low self esteem… She is weary of relationships- She thinks all men are 'beasts'; Cannot trust them at all- She develops a warped personality Is insecure to the deep… No reasoning works here Emotions are too raw… And sometimes the wounds too deep The scars refuse to heal… Even if she able to exorcise The daemons of her past It is too late, too little, The solace is not enough… What is this little girl to do? A bud crushed, trampled Before she can bloom, long before She can flower, and bear fruit… Will someone stand up for her? Help this child-woman, Trapped in her own soul… Will some one deliver her? From her troubled core… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 22.11.2002 This poem is one of my 'Children of a Lesser God' series Note: UNICEF has declared 20th November. International Children's Day
Archived comments for Girl Abused
Zoya on 20-11-2009
Girl Abused
Well, just a few facts and figures, for those of you who are interested, to ponder upon:
Today, on the 20th anniversary of Day of Convention of Child Rights, Unicef report: 'Between 500 million and 1.5 billion children are estimated to experience some form of violence each year.'
India is coming out of its prudery, self-righteousness and hypocrisy to wake up to, and accept, the fact that child abuse does exist in our society as well.
In a first ever comprehensive survey of its kind, virtually across the length and the breath of the country- the National Survey on Child Abuse in India- startling revelations have come to fore:
A majority of children have experienced various forms of violation, physical excesses and sexual abuse.
This study shows that over 50% had experienced physical abuse such as slapping and corporal punishment from parents and teachers alike.
Of the many children who had been sexually abused, almost 70% stated that they never reported the matter to any one.
‱ Two out of every three children are physically abused and every second child faced emotional abuse.
‱ Of the 53.22% of children who faced one or more form of sexual abuse, 5.6% reported being sexually assaulted. The worst effected were children on the streets, at work and in institutional care.
‱ 50% of the abusers were known to the child and in position of trust and responsibility.
These are just figures for India, but the phenomenon is universal, and happens in every society.

Author's Reply:

Pughguy on 21-11-2009
Girl Abused
Seems child abuse has been gettin worse lately, or their just reportin about it more. I just saw where ah mother was selling her 4-5 year old daughter to men for sexual purposes. She reported her missing, then they found her in a room, raped and strangled. Luckly, they caught the man who did it. Theres some real sick people out there, and you captured it so well in your poem Zoya. THanks for sharing and for the information as well

Author's Reply:
Dear Pughguy, Yes, this a very serious subject and should be dealt with more severely by law, and with more understanding and caution by parents!
I suppose, it has always been there, it is being reported more now. People are also becoming more aware of it and it is less of a taboo now to talk about it. Child abuse has many faces and hues: from emotional trauma, to corporal punishment at school and by parents and other adults in the family, to child labour, to trafficking of children for labour as well as sex trading - every form of child abuse exists.
Unicef is working a lot on this problem by creating awareness and making new, more strict laws against the perpetrators of this heinous crime and more severe punishment for the abusers. From domestic violence to child trafficking, every aspect is being looked in to.
India has also made fresh laws recently and issued a new memorandum against child abuse, and an awareness campaign is launched in a big way in the last three to five years by the Ministry of Women and Child Welfare.
On this day, on the occasion of the 20th birthday of Convention of Child Rights, it is our duty to show solidarity and contribute our bit to it.
Thanks for dropping in a making the sensitive and thoughtful observations on this matter of great concern and importance in todays world. A subject most people like to avoid for various reasons- either to escape reality, or the hurt, or simply being prudish about it.
Love,
Zoya

RedKite on 21-11-2009
Girl Abused
This graffic poem sickens to the core, it is so sad , lets all pray for an end Thank you Daniel

Author's Reply:
Yes, it is! Yet, there are sick people out there indulging in it!
Think of the innocent victims of this abuse, who have to not only suffer it physically, but, are scarred for life. And the irony of it that the children do not even fully realize what is being done to them, and even feel guilty of the crime others committed upon them, while the perpetrators go scott free most of the time, or justice comes too late.
Yes, there is a crying need to create awareness about it, especially in the kids...
Thanks for stepping in and commenting!
Love,
Zoya

Slovitt on 21-11-2009
Girl Abused
Zoya: A literate and graphic tale of horror, and lifetime scarring. There should be an equivalent for honor killings in which the wife ends the abuser, her husband. Swep

Author's Reply:
Yes, dear Swep, such tales happen every day, everywhere on earth; every day a little girl is being abused somewhere on earth, which is such a shame. Consider this:
"The National Incidence Study of Child Abuse and Neglect was released in September 1996, following up on previous studies conducted in 1980 and 1986. The study found that child abuse and neglect were seriously worsening. Between 1986 and 1993 the number of cases doubled, going from 1.4 million to 2.8 million; and the number of cases involving serious injuries nearly quadrupled, rising from 143,000 to almost 570,000."
source:http://www.jimhopper.com/abstats/#s-sources
And this is only in USA, U.S. National Incidence Study, think of worldwide number of children and it makes your head spin...
Thanks for showing your concern on this important issue!
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 22-11-2009
Girl Abused
Well, you have described the experience very realistically here Zoya - terrible that it is so common. Hopefully the curtain of silence that existed around such events is brushed aside now, but still a terrible dilemna for a little girl to reveal such things about her father.

David

Author's Reply:
Dear David, Though not a true story, it is a story built on the basis of many true stories that I have read or heard from my patients during my medical practice, and the rest is my imagination, where I have tried to empathize with the poor victims of such abuse and violence and the trauma that follows...

It is the curtain of silence, you talk about, that is the most dangerous, where it exists... It is not so much the talking about it, but, imagine the first realization that the father can do such a thing, that betrayal of trust is the most traumatic of all, and the dilemma to face it and accept is as the truth, no matter how heinous, must truly much more torturous, they end up mistrusting all men, and probably never can love...

Children have to be protected till it is too late and the damage is already done...

Awareness of children and also the parents is very important, and it is high time we started talking about it.

That is the only way to prevent it, because prevention is better than cure, isn't it? Because, full cure, is probably impossible...

Strange that you talk about the dilemma of revealing her fathers behavior, and not the trauma of living the terrible experience...?

Thanks for stepping in and sharing your thoughts on this very serious matter.

Love,

Zoya

Ionicus on 22-11-2009
Girl Abused
Dear Zoya, you have painted a stark picture of a global malaise from which India - as many of its citizens have come to realise - is not immune. It happens everywhere and in certain countries which are male-dominated the wives meekly acquiesce in keeping these events under wrap.
In the UK a few episodes have come to light and a network of paedophiles operating via the internet have been exposed.
There's hope yet.

Author's Reply:
Sure, dear Luigi, there is always hope and with time probably this malaise will be reduced drastically and men will think twice before abusing children... When an end will come to it, is very difficult to imagine. But, it should come, as children are our future and we have to make their future happy and free of complexes..
In India, since the new laws have come up against child abuse, a lot many cases have started coming to light, and some are very bizarre: like a father was abusing his 21 year old daughter for nine years, because his priest said, it would bring luck to his business, the priest was a party to it, and even the mother was guilty of abetting the crime. It was only when her fourteen year old sister was being dragged into it, at the behest of the same priest, that the girl spoke up to protect her younger sister... The man, the priest and the mother are of course in jail now, and the trial is on... But, sadly enough what we know is still the tip of the ice-berg, a lot many cases still go unreported and unknown to the world and the victims suffer the trauma all their lives...
Thanks for a thoughtful response...
Love,
Zoya


Come Together! (posted on: 16-11-09)
If we keep drifting apart...

If we keep drifting apart, Like the ever expanding universe, We will one-day fall apart; And without each other we will be lost- Disintegrate and be no more… So let us contract and converge Come together and be one- Let us travel back in time, And reach the spot where we were One - together we can win the world: You love me and I love you, And we love the entire Universe… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 11.11.2009
Archived comments for Come Together!
sunken on 17-11-2009
Come Together!
That's all well and good, Ms Zoya, but where are we all gonna meet? I've only room for a few people and I run a very strict ship with regards to housework. I just can't see it working. The logistics are horrendous and no mistake. Nice sentiment though, nice poem also. Well done missus.

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banned from waterstones

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 18-11-2009
Come Together!
I enjoyed the universe theme here Zoya. It was as though the universe was breathing out in the first verse then inhaling in the second...which is in fact what is actually happening , so they say...and you used this metaphor to speak of growing apart and returning together in order to find completion. A very neat and worthy poem.
Alison

Author's Reply:

Corin on 18-11-2009
Come Together!
Now it is very interesting about the expanding Universe. The rate of expansion is very critical. Too fast and the Universe disappears into a puff of smoke without ever forming stars and galaxies, too small and it immediately falls back into a black hole. To have lasted 15 billioin years our universe must be expanding exactly at the critical point, like sending up a rocket into space at exactly the velocity required to escape from Earth's gravity. After many years it will just hang there in space neither escaping into the Solar system or falling back to Earth. So there is hope - perhaps you will not continue to drift but be forever within range either to just shout insults or blow enough kisses in the right direction to drift back together:-)

David

Author's Reply:


Winter's Setting in… (posted on: 02-11-09)
A surrealistic view of advancing winter, reflecting the inner mood...

Fog floats in and out and slowly settles on the town. Dew drenches the night long; Condenses on the shimmering pond Making hazy the images of weeping willows drooping to catch their reflection on the moonlit liquid Now, slowly freezing to piercing icicles… Fragile ice stays a while breaks into many pieces, Reflecting the moonbeam in every crystal it embraces. Autumnal leaves in myriad hues are strewn on the fractured surface, reflecting the Moon… Moon becomes smudged, shatters to thousand bits like the desire melts with the fading light As the night of gloom takes over the evening of hope… And advances to its inevitable doom… Winter, like life, is pressing onwards, Freezing every flicker of light… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 01.11.2009
Archived comments for Winter's Setting in…
sunken on 03-11-2009
Winter’s Setting in

Hello Ms. Zoya. Your poem gave me chills. Not in a Halloweenie kinda way you understand? Oh no, in a wintery kinda way. Ya got love winter tho haven't ya? You have if you're British anyway. We don't do summer. Another tip top piece, my good lady Zoya.

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but sir, my artificial limb won't conduct electricity...

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 18-11-2009
Winter’s Setting in

Very atmospheric zoya. I could feel the cold and see the moon on the water. The poem ends with a feeling of dark to come...
As the night of gloom
takes over the evening of hope

And advances to
its inevitable doom


Winter, like life, is pressing onwards,
Freezing every flicker of light


I could not agree more
Alison x

Author's Reply:


Ganga My Ganga (posted on: 30-10-09)
Ganga is the sacred river of India, a holy dip in Ganga is supposed to cleanse people of their sins, after burning the dead on the funeral pyre ashes are submerged into Ganga, lately Ganga has become extremely polluted.

Ganga My Ganga Oh! You Ganga!* Daughter of the lofty
 Snow clad peaks of Himalaya
 Born from the very tresses of Shiva**
 You so pristine, pure,
 Carefree, merry & virginal white,
 How gleefully you flow down
 From your lofty heights,
 Singing the lilting raga
 Of Malkauns,***
 Traversing along the hills,
 Gathering the fragrance 
 Of pine, cedar, gum & brush,
 Birches, eucalypti &
 Mountain-Chinars,
 Which dot the valley 
 Of Kashmir, ****
 Which adorn the gardens of 
 Nishat & Shalimar,
 Where weeping willows bend low,
 To kiss the waters of Dall & Jhelum;
 Now,
 All burnt to coal…
 You gather the black of the carbon
 With you
 That scorches the coal to core…
 You travel the muddy planes,
 Gather the blood of cast and creed,
 The corpses of hate and war,
 The carcasses of famine and starvation,
 The mortal remains of Sati & dowry,
 The sins of multitudes, who
 Once 'cleansed', embark 
 Afresh upon new sins…*****
 By the time you meet
 Your beloved Yamuna,
 (Overriding your mute 
 Sister 'Saraswati'),
 Your innocence's long lost, 
 Before the 'sacred Sangam': ******
 Corrupted & polluted,
 With the sins of multitudes,
 Red with blood of hatred,
 Yellow with tears of Brahmin
Widows on the banks of Varanasi,
 Blue with the shrieks of tribal women,
 Patience of 'fallen women',
 Tinkle of anklets of water carrier of deserts*******
 When you reach your delta,
 You are far from pure mountain rivulet,
 You, laden with misery & sin,
 With an anguished cry of grief,
 Jump into the bay (of Bengal),
 And become one with your 
 Lord & God….
 While, I your daughter, Ganga,
 Stand on your banks,
 Watching the 'funeral-pyres' burn,
 And gaze into the centuries of
 Grief, oppression, humiliation & discrimination,
 My 'Moksha', no where
In sight…
 My 'Nirvana', a far cry…


 Author: Zoya Zaidi
 Aligarh (UP), India
 Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
 


 *Ganga is usually represented as a beautiful woman with a fish's tail in place of legs, and she rides on the Makara, a water monster.
 **One myth about the origin of Ganga is that the god Vishnu once heard Shiva play the flute. Vishnu was so entranced by the music that his feet began to melt. Brahma caught the liquefied portion of Vishnu in a pot and from it created Ganga. Hence Ganga is also known as Vishnu-padi (she-who-was-born-out-of-Vishnu's-feet). 
Originally Ganga flowed only in the heavens, but then was ordered to go down to earth. Not wanting to, she threatened to flood the whole world. The gods were so afraid of her that they sought the help of Shiva. Shiva broke the fall of Ganga by capturing her in his mighty locks of hair. Since then, Ganga resides on top of Shiva's head as his second wife, the first being Parvati. – http://www.siamese-dream.com/reference/ganga.html
 ***Raga Malkauns: Malkauns:also known as Malkosh or Malav Kaushik, is one of the most beautiful, popular and ancient of the raagas in Hindustani Classical music. Raag Malkauns belongs to Bhairavi Thaat or scale of Hindustani classical music. Is a majestic pentatonic raga i.e. its type is Audav Audav and this raag is sung at late night. The notes of this raag correspond to Bhairavi Thaat i.e., komal (delicate) notes are used.
The raag is said to have evolved when Lord Shiva performed The Taandava dance. The raag thus evokes a feeling of vigour or we can say this Raag is a VEER rasa raga. And as traditions in Indian classical music ascribe, this is not the veer rasa of the battlefield but evokes a sense of conquering the self and reaching a state of inner satisfaction. This raga is said to have supernatural powers and can conjure spirits if rendered properly http://www.ragascape.com/Ragascapes/34.html 
 ****Kashmir, cradled in the lap of majestic mountains of the Himalayas, is the most beautiful place on earth. On visiting the Valley of Kashmir, Jehangir, one of the Mughal emperors, is said to have exclaimed: "If there is paradise anywhere on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here." 
''Shalimar'' and ''Nishat'' are the beautiful gardens built by the moghals. Jhelam in Srinagar is one of the five rivers (panjab) flowing through Northern India. Dal Lake is the famous lake of Srinagar.
Once happy valley with its peace-loving and crime-free people, Buddhism reached the zenith of its glory, Hinduism extended its philosophical frontiers into Shaivism and Shaktism, and Islam achieved a new meaning and practice in its tradition of Sufism, is now a victim of political turmoil, with terrorist insurgency spoiling the peace of this paradise on earth. http://www.kashmir-information.com/
 
 *****Ganga:
Is the goddess of the river Ganges, India's most sacred body of water. Hindus believe that bathing in her holy waters will help wash one's sins away, and hence they conduct repeated ritualistic washings in the river to secure a place in heaven.
Her power to wash away sins and liberate is so strongly believed that the ashes of the dead are spread over her. 
 --http://www.siamese-dream.com/reference/ganga.html ******The confluence of Ganga and the river Jamuna at Allahbad is called the sacred ''Sangam''(literally meaning mingling), It is here at the Sacred Ghats of Varanasi that the 'Holy dip' is taken. Sarasvati the mythical river is said to have become extinct.
 *******There are still places in India like the deserts of Rajisthan, where women walk up to 10 miles a day, with 4-5 pitchers balanced on their heads to fetch water. Though surrounded by water on three sides, India faces water shortage every year! Consider this- per capita water availability in India was 3,450 cu. m. in 1951. By 2025, the annual per capita availability of water is expected to fall drastically from the current 1800 cu m per person to 1200- 1500 cu m. (TOI-22 March 2006)





Archived comments for Ganga My Ganga
stormwolf on 30-10-2009
Ganga My Ganga
Hello zoya, this poem really moved me. I could feel your anguish on reading it. I loved the way you likened the Ganges to a young innocent girl when she sprung from source...then the progression along her flow and all that follows.
The Indian mythology was fascinating too.
My father was all over the world during the war but he always said India was a place he would have loved to have taken my mother. A land of great contrasts I am sure, hardship, suffering, spirituality and great beauty all in one.
You have written a beautiful poem that is full of incredible descriptions and contrasting emotions. Thank you for sharing.
Alison

Author's Reply:

sunken on 31-10-2009
Ganga My Ganga
Hello Ms. Zoya. I've never been India, but I have had the odd curry. I do enjoy a curry. This is possibly my worst comment to date. I only hope that you can find it within your generous heart to forgive me. An intriguing write indeed, my good lady Zoya.

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impressing her was gonna require more than chewing gum

Author's Reply:


Humility (posted on: 16-10-09)
The eye knows not what it sees...

The eye knows not what it sees, The body knows not what it eats, Heart knows not whom it'll warm up to… The sun knows not on whom it shines, The moon knows not how it soothes, The earth knows not why it orbits the sun… The sea knows not its depth The mountain knows not its height The river knows not why it flows all the time The pearl knows not it's bright The gold knows not it shines Diamond knows not it's glittering light Flower is oblivious of its fragrance sweet, Seed knows not in its womb it hides a tree, Cloud knows not why it showers and rains… The musk deer knows not the aroma it emits, A pheromone designed to attract its mate, The bee knows not its honey's sweet… It's not for love to know its depth, It's not for beauty to know its effect, It's not for me to know my worth… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India 12.03.2007 Inspired by Kabir Das
Archived comments for Humility
sunken on 17-10-2009
Humility
Ahem. So, let me get this right, Ms. Zoya - It is ok to smell a bit musky? I've noticed, that even after showering, my man bits can still smell a bit musky. It's not a bad smell or anything. I did wonder if it was a sex thang. I'll be frank, it's not attracting much in the way of lurve. Perhaps I should waft my balls about a bit more. Ahem. Hello? I do like a poem that educates. Nice one, Zoya.

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half man, half undressed

Author's Reply:

Griffonner on 18-10-2009
Humility
I love the poem, Zoya. I fully appreciate the viewpoint that you are expressing. Yet, for me, the concept is the reverse. Maybe these things are not known as they happen? Imagine: the wind blows and knows not why, until all is still?

Perhaps it is just a glimpse of some kind of understanding that is beyond our puny brains.

In any case, you poem was nicely structured and a very fine read.

Allen

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 21-10-2009
Humility
The mystery and wonder of creation and the never ending inner questioning.....
lovely
Alison

Author's Reply:

Corin on 22-10-2009
Humility
No - all people are worthy - some have devalued their worth but not you Zoya.

David

Author's Reply:


The Serene and the Angry Sea (posted on: 12-10-09)
Sea is benevolent, sea is serene Sea when destroys, creates havoc unseen…

The sea when calm is vast and endless Beautiful in the joy of creation of numerous lives held in its depth Pregnant with mysteries of the deep: Red of corals Blue of sharks Scent of stingray Glow of pearls Multiple arms of octopi Schools of tiny colourful fish Weeds of endless varieties to feed Treasures of numerous drowned ships Fossils of human and animal remains devoured by the sea over centuries of gales Home to endless turbulent rains Joy of flying whooping cranes Cries of seagulls' so pristine Croaks of frogs brown and green Fruits of the coconut palms Ecstasy of lovers on the beach Through the sifting sands of Time Glow of shimmering moonbeams Shine of golden sunrays Blue of the azure sky Dew of the mornings serene Tears of the nimbus clouds Shouts of thunders, Glow of lightening Swish of waves, kissing and caressing the shores so calm Whispers of the passing wind rustling through the palms… And when the sea stirs up a storm: Rages wild and unbridled, Thunders black and blue High waves rise and touch the sky Drowning beaches and islands and the dwellers of the shores, seekers of sea's bounty, in one big sweep of fury, Uprooting the lives of millions within and right next to it Engulfing every thing in its wake. Birds fly, frightened, away to far off lands People run for their lives Home, dwelling, crops are swallowed Till it has vented its rage… Next morning in the wreckage Pearls and hidden treasures are swept up the devastated shores- But, there is no one to pick them up strewn among the bloated, rotting carcasses of human and animal life. A sacrifice too dear At the altar of the furious restless, fuming sea… It takes ages before the damage can be restored… Sea is benevolent, sea is serene Sea when destroys, creates havoc unseen… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 07.08.07 1.30 pm Inspired by Tagore's 'Stray Birds'
Archived comments for The Serene and the Angry Sea
sunken on 13-10-2009
The Serene and the Angry Sea
Blimey, Ms. Zoya, your poem has left me quite breathless. The last time I felt like this I'd just... ahem. Anyway, yes, a storming poem and no mistake. And now, if you don't mind, I breaths to catch.

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his left nipple can read braille

Author's Reply:

sunken on 14-10-2009
The Serene and the Angry Sea
Oh bum, I've done it again. I keep missing words out when I'm typing, Ms. Zoya. Do you think it's some kinda medical condition that I'm suffering from? I did of course mean to say: And now, if you don't mind, I 'have' breaths to catch. It was hardly worth correcting really was it? Ahem. I'm glad I re-read your poem again this morning tho. Is it based on the recent tsunami? Many excellent lines, Ms. Zoya. I hope you won't mind me slapping a Bernard on ya. A strong write and no mistake, in my sunky opinion.

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Author's Reply:


Each Journey a Pilgrimage (posted on: 09-10-09)
I do not consider a journey an escape from the daily drudge, but it takes me out of myself and makes me think, turning into a learning experience and awareness of self, like a pilgrimage...

When I journey to a foreign land, And I have journeyed far and wide, I do not escape from my inner self, but Intermingling with the seemingly strange I listen to my inner voice, while I hear them talk in different dialects: I observe them and watch their expressions, Changing in quick succession, sometimes happy, Sometimes sad, sometimes agonized with self, Sometimes angry and disturbed, Sometimes impassioned and full of love, And though I may not know their language at all, Their voice intonation and facial expressions, Tell me all… And it sets me thinking, and I contemplate- All men, no matter where on earth, are the same- They laugh, cry and communicate, only the means they use might differ in ways. And happiness touches them all alike, And grief does not spare any one in life, And ecstasy fulfills every strong and frail, And when I see those moments grand, when Human spirit triumphs over hurdles great, My heart warms up in reverence of them- Not so much the churches, mosques and temples, But those who created them- That faith blooms in every heart alike That God lives in every soul, every life, That human endeavour is great and unmatched And lives in every town, every era, every age. And when I sit quietly near mountain ranges And soak in the beauty of natural images, A lake serene, a quiet flowing stream, A sea calm or turbulent, as the weather may be, With waves beating against the rocks in ecstasy, With sunrise that is the same in each land, With sunset colouring all horizons red… Then, when I learn that life everywhere is the same, Why should I lament; of my own turbulence complain? So, each outward journey becomes an inward pilgrimage, And the World takes on the role of a vast tutelage. The knowledge that all are alike enriches me Giving me new inspiration, new courage, new serenity… To face this world, this life, with renewed vitality, Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 22.07.2009; 1.30 pm
Archived comments for Each Journey a Pilgrimage
sunken on 09-10-2009
Each Journey a Pilgrimage
Hello Ms. Zoya. I was once described as being like a pilgrimage... Or was it a pillock? Blimey, that's really going to bug me now. This is one of those pieces that takes a few reads (for a sunk at least). Worth the time tho. Nice one, Ms. Zoya of India fame.

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...so i told him that he could have the cd's but that the parrot was going nowhere...

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 11-10-2009
Each Journey a Pilgrimage
I can so relate to this.
True teaching comes from within but we are given teachers all around us in the ordinary people you describe. If we could see and embrace the similarities that bond us together as the family of man...instead of concentrating on the things that make us different (all superficial at the end of the day)
I feel that we would evolve into a race superior to what we have now.
We all enter the world the same..and leave it the same..and all those who try to portray themselves as 'superior' will be the first to be shocked in the day of reckoning..wherever that may be.

There was a real feeling of being able to look through your eyes as I read the poem..I could see you on the train etc...
Alison.

Author's Reply:

Romany on 12-10-2009
Each Journey a Pilgrimage
I love this line : sometimes agonized with self

but I think there may be a word missing from this one:

And ecstasy fulfills every strong and frail

I can see what you mean here too, I often find myself feeling more in touch with myself, for want of a better phrase, when I am away from home. I think it makes you examine your self more closely, and even appreciate better what you have waiting for your return. Very original subject.

Romany.

Author's Reply:


Inevitability (posted on: 09-10-09)
The Moon its mallow beams must cast...

The Moon its mallow beam must cast upon the face of Night. The Night must leave its tears of sorrow on the petals of each flower, The Dew must evaporate with the first ray of the Sun. The Stars must twinkle, no matter how dismal the wakeful night. The birds must great the mallow dawn with lyrical melody sweet. The Water must flow from Mountains to Sea through tortuous rivers' course. The flowers must bloom with the advent of spring, After the chilliest of winter. The Bees must spread their pollen- Every flower must bear fruit… When Summer passes on to Autumn, hoar-frost must cover each leaf. The leaves must change their colour and fall And scatter with the West Wind. The snow must cover the world with white And hibernate till Spring... So the Four Seasons of Life must pass And lovers must meet in Spring: Procreate, give birth to their offspring Wither away and die, like flowers Mingle with the soil And give way to the young… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 19.08.2007- 8.30 pm Modified: 07.10.2007
Archived comments for Inevitability
Jolen on 11-10-2009
Inevitability
Hii Zoya,

I really love the idea of this and the truth of 'the circle of life'. There are some lovely images throughout.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 11-10-2009
Inevitability
A lovely poem that goes all round the medicine wheel.
There is a divine order to everything...and when we accept our place in it..it can bring a sense of peace.
Alison

Author's Reply:


NAMESAKE - Gandhi! You have a Namesake (posted on: 05-10-09)
Mahatma Gandhi had said: "I may not be born again and if it happens, I would like to be born in a family of scavengers so that I may relieve them of the inhuman, unhealthy and hateful practice of carrying head loads of night-soil." The 2nd Oct. is Gandhi Jayanti, Mahatma Gandhi's birthday, now declared the International Non-Violence Day.

Gandhi, you have a namesake: Every morn At the crack of dawn He carries the night soil With his bare hands; His name is Gandhi, Charandas- (literally: Slave of the Feet) He could be Ramdas, Or even Mohandas- But Always a Das, A slave, A Das; All your life you fought for his rights, To set him FREE From the bonds of caste-ridden society, He is free! But, firmly bound, to the shackles of Customs of centuries- Cast and Creed; 'Mehtar', You had renamed him- Meaning a higher cast- But After half-a-century He remains where he was, He remains what he was: A tonsure of heads, A skinner of hides- A Chamar! The word is used as expletive, ''Chamar!'' In 1993,they passed A bill: 'It's crime to make one handle someone else's excrements!' And yet today he, HELPLESSLY OBAYS… It's not that he did not try to alleviate his plight: He started a teashop! ''A TEASHOP?'' ''By a CHAMAR- The Untouchable?'' they said, Made a hew-and-cry! No body came to drink his Chai! And in the fear, lest, they beat him up, burn his shack of Chai, he closed his nonexistent shop And again began to mop To lift the night soil… Merda! Merda! Merda! Merda in the day Merda in the night! He drinks-he says- he has to drink Every night: to benumb the pain! to drown the stink! Or he cannot exist. Gandhi you have a namesake, In Kanpoor, Maharashtra and Gujrat… His name is Gandhi, It could be: Charandas! Ramdas! Haridas! Or even Mohandas! But Always a Das! Born a Das! Will Die A Das! Because That what he essentially is And will always be (And must remain so) A Das! A Slave! A DAS! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Written on: 2nd October, Gandhi Jayanti, 2005 Inspired by a true story in 'Times of India' of the same day. Gandhi is one of the 22,000 manual scavengers in Bihar, who continues to carry night soil manually even though employing humans for such work is illegal. He gets Rs. 20/- per container of night soil that he cleans up. Living in a stinking Bhangi settlement in Phulwarisharif, Gandhi-who is a Mehtar (scavenger)-dreams of other work but is resigned to his fate. (1) The Times of India daily- 2nd October 2005. Sadly enough the work is done almost exclusively by the low caste Dalits in India. Das is a very common sir-name in Dalits and literally means- a 'Slave'. 'Merda' - Spanish for excrement. Mahatma Gandhi (Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi), a great champion for the rights of Dalits, the Untouchables, the Lower Casts, and those living on the fringes of the society, had said: "I may not be born again and if it happens, I would like to be born in a family of scavengers so that I may relieve them of the inhuman, unhealthy and hateful practice of carrying head loads of night-soil."(2) (2) http://infochangeindia.org/2003080242/Health/Changemaker/What-to-do-with-our-waste-the-Sulabh-solution.html For those who are interested: Night soil lifters in India: 'In the dead of the night, when the city of six million goes to sleep, groups of jobless low-caste Hindus, known as Dalits, eke out a living by removing human excrement from pits in the poorer neighbourhoods of the city. The failure of the civic authorities to provide a proper sewage system has forced the residents in these localities to build these pits, a common feature particularly in rural India's poorer neighbourhoods of the city. Ashok Salappa, a member of the government-run Safai Karmachari (sweepers) Monitoring Committee, estimates the number of Dalits employed in cleaning toilet pits in Bangalore to be around 10,000 to 15,000.' (3) (3) http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/2231011.stm For those who want to know, what is being done: Dr Bindeshwar Pathak, founder of the Sulabh Sanitation Movement and 'Padma Bhushan' awardee has recently been selected as one of the ''Heroes of Environment 2009'' by the Time Magazine, under the 'Scientists and innovators category' Sulabh has been declared one of the global best practices and conferred a special consultative status by the economic and social council of the United Nations. Sulabh International has constructed over 650,000 toilet-cum-bath complexes and 62 human-excreta-based biogas plants over the last 25 years in India, including the largest such facility in the world in Shirdi, Maharashtra. More than 10 million people, many of whom have never had access to a proper toilet all their lives, use Sulabh shauchalayas every day, helping to push the number of people in rural India with access to toilet facilities from 27 % five years ago to 59 % today. (2) Excerpts from an interview with Dr. Bindeshwar Pathak on October 01, 2009: ''To my mind this is not just a caste issue it is also a status issue" Mrs Gandhi initiated the scavenger rehabilitation programs. Ram Vilas Paswan asked in parliament: "Will Brahmins not do this work (of human scavenging)?" Indira Gandhi replied she had already done it during her stay at the Sabarmati ashram. Gandhiji followed it as a rule and expected his visitors to do the same. "The sad reality is that a scavenger cannot escape the trap of his or her birth so easily" Like a blacksmith becomes a blacksmith, a scavenger becomes a scavenger. They feel like they don't have anywhere else to go. read more on: (2) http://infochangeindia.org/2003080242/Health/Changemaker/What-to-do-with-our-waste-the-Sulabh-solution.html
Archived comments for NAMESAKE - Gandhi! You have a Namesake

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Whispers in the Mountains (posted on: 02-10-09)
If you have ever been alone in a vast mountainous range, with nothing, or nobody, but the nature as your companion, if you listen carefully, you can hear the hum - the hum of the mountains whispering, softly, tenderly...

Whispers in the Mountains Winds in the lonely mountains swish past the ears Whisper the lilting songs of love with mysterious air Brush past the cliffs, strumming sounds of soft strings- Lilting enigmatic lyrical tunes have a life o' their own liking Their mysterious lure is charmed with magic of the spring Bluebells, daisies, pansies frolic Geese take wing. A spell's cast on the being of the soul Heart sings in delight the songs of yore; wakes up to the voices of its inner core… Awareness of the vastness of universe appears in both inner and outer animated spheres... Awesome peaks do speak in mallow, hushed tones Talk to the spirit directly in a language of the soul: No words are needed here to convey the deep meaning- Soul responds directly to the vast awning… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Written 13.07.2007 Modified: 25.04.2009, 12pm.
Archived comments for Whispers in the Mountains
sunken on 03-10-2009
Whispers in the Mountains
Hello Ms. Zoya. A smashing write. I felt as if I were there. This is a good thing as I'm really growing tired of the decor here. This room is so 1990's. I blame aztecs patterns of a garish nature. Again, I have no idea what I'm on about. I feel this has been slightly overlooked, my good lady Zoya. I hope you won't mind me slapping a smelly beagle on you. Well done and no mistake.

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Author's Reply:
Some what like the whispers in the mountains, which are largely drowned in the hub-hub of the noises all around...
I love the beable and consider him a big complement-in this case a huge consolation!
Thanks dear Sunky Munky, for the warmth of Bernard's shaggy, but comforting coat!
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 03-10-2009
Whispers in the Mountains
Awesome peaks do speak
in mallow, hushed tones
Talk to the spirit directly
in a language of the soul:

oh yes! such a gentle feeling of awe and wonder permeates the poem Zoya.
Alison

Author's Reply:
Yeah, isn't it soothing to hear those swishing, humming, slithering and sometimes chirruping soft whisperings in the mountains, they really do talk to your soul - the soul that we tend to forget, or sub-consciously tuck away into the deeper recess of our core, which burst forth when you are brought face to face with yourself, such as in this poem, in the quiet, vast mountains...
Thanks for appreciating my drift, Alison!
Love,
Zoya

woodbine on 06-10-2009
Whispers in the Mountains
Like all the best poems this masterwork tells us as much about the loving and generous spirit of the writer as it does the lure of distant peaks.

John xx

Author's Reply:
Wow! Dear John, this is such a lovely complement! Coming from a master poet like yourself, it is so humbling!
Mountains have their own magic, they make you thoughtful, soulful and spiritual... They take you it to another world- the real world, where Nature is God and God is Nature- You feel closer to the divine!
Thanks for the lovely comment!
Love,
Zoya


Sheshadri Hills (posted on: 28-09-09)
Recapitulating my near transcendental experience at the Malabar Hill of Western Ghats at Mahabaleshwar near Pune on Nov. the 30th 2008.

We stood on the edge of the precipice, Atop the Sheshadri Hills Cliff jutting out into the space Called mischievously the 'Monkey Point' The deep valley beneath us Mist filling it like clouds Floating high above the earth In nature's mystery shroud… I spread my arms wide Kneel a little outwardly And feel I am flying high, Higher than the eagles Gliding smoothly in the sky. And you were right behind Your breath warm and kind… The illusion only lasted A few seconds or so But I lived in an eternity In those blissful moments few… Blessed are such moments Of transcendence few When we rise above The day-to-day woes… These hills and cliff spread wide, Green, yellow, indigo- Brown rocky cliffs dotted With moss–laden blue, With undulating valleys Interspersed with lakes few, Rivers merrily wriggling through, Blood-red strawberry-fields Neatly arranged in rows, And crops of gladioli, Blooming in countless hues- Are nature's gifts to us, To forget a while, Our lives full of care, These experiences atone for Years spent in despair… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (U P), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 22.12.2008 Note: Moments such as these are few and far in between our lives, and are every inch well worth their while... cleansing our souls...
Archived comments for Sheshadri Hills
stormwolf on 28-09-2009
Sheshadri Hills
The last stanza sealed it...
I have had several of these transcendent moments of cosmic consciousness..and they are when the world as we know it stops..fades away..and we become aware of our total connection to "all that is"
Those moments are indelibly etched on my memory for all time and as you say Zoya..are gifts to enable us to keep going.

Alison

Author's Reply:
Yeah, you are so right about the world fading away, leaving you with one consciousness... it is an awakening of the soul!
Leaves with yourself totally- or is it, that it takes you away from yourself to the divine supreme experience self... there you go, it is 'self' again!
Thanks for that 'pondering over' my poem!
Love,
Zoya

CVaughan on 30-09-2009
Sheshadri Hills

Hello Zoya, just had a short time to visit before commitments call. Will revisit this as ever lovely writing of your true life experiences later, promise. My last day of the month as wotsit of the month, tinged with sadness, fading away like a firefly from the light, ah. Back later to your page, Frank.
... quick PS, one of my family was born in Poona by the way.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, dear Frank, the Western Ghats near Pune have an awesome range of mountains along the coast line... the valleys are deep and undulating and really create a aura of mystery around them, the 'Points'-actually the peaks jutting out into the valleys-chosen and named so exotically by the British, really present a fascinating view... The experience is really spiritual!
Come to Pune some times to swish away your blues and to pay tribute to your 'family ties'...
Love,
Zoya


Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams (posted on: 28-09-09)
We used to spend our Summer Holidays sometimes on my grand Father’s Estate. He lived in a big mansion surrounded by acres of Mango Orchards. I have never seen so many fireflies in my life, as I did on that surrealistic night:

Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams… Somewhere far away in the labyrinth of Time In the maze of memories in mind There is a scene etched in time- Engraved clearly like a fairy tale, Oft-repeated to become slowly over time, A dream perched precariously On the brink of your own reality: There is a garden full of Jasmine bushes Trees laden with fruits of Lemon and Lime, Oranges and Mangoes in bloom coming alive, Intoxicating aroma of Queen-of-the-night… I come out to take a peek At the full Moon on its peak And suddenly I see the sky full of stars has descended into our garden- Paradise! To create an illusion of firmament Full of twinkling stars on the Earth To my innocent gullible mind… Only to realize, it is a swarm of Fireflies- Such is the abundance of their flight- Glowing like stars in the night sky… And I get a feeling of riding high Floating in the celestial sky Of my own fantasy – dreams In the garden of delight Of my childhood Paradise… Perched between the thrill of Illusion, fantasy, reality and dreams… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright © Zoya Zaidi The scene is etched like a dream in my memory - a mid-summer-night's-dream…
Archived comments for Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams
Griffonner on 28-09-2009
Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams
Zoya, that must have been the most amazing experience. Lucky are we if we see the odd one - in some corner of the garden. To see a swarm... wow!

You've presented this in such a way that the reader wouldn't be sure if it was in one of those three fantasy states that this was experienced - if it were not for your introduction, that is. I think that is a nice slant.

I can't explain why (maybe it is the country this event happened in?) but when I read this, I am reminded of the work of one of my all-time favourite poets: Laurence Hope.

Thanks for sharing this, Zoya.

Allen




Author's Reply:
My dear Allen,

There are certain memories, which really over a period of times become like fantasies and dreams, because they are so far away in the labyrinth of mind, and so pleasant and perfect that it seems that they happen to some one else, or may be you imagined them, when you know that they are true... That is why, I keep this narration perched between dream and reality, fantasy and illusion... Kind of surreal!

You really caught that slant well!
Now, I must educate myself on Lawrence Hope...

Love,

Zoya

e-griff on 28-09-2009
Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams
I know it was deliberate, but I found the rhymes distracting: peek/peak, time three times, sky/sky. On the other hand, I liked 'realise/fireflies' a lot.

I did have a problem at one place: 'descended down/ right into. 'down is redundant, and right is unecessary. I'd suggest: descended now/into ... which seems to work.

just my thoughts. I like the idea. I once dined at a restaurant in Tokyo where, at a certain point in the meal, everyone got up and promenaded around a circular path which went round some trees. It was timed so the fireflies were swarming as night fell. Really lovely! then back in to finish the meal ... happy days.

Author's Reply:
Dear John, You know, I am not a stickler for rhyming- it works like this with me: if the rhyming comes, it is completely spontaneous, then I let it come just as it does- that is why there may be these repetitions, like sky/sky etc...
I accept the redundancy of 'down' and 'right' and have deleted them.
About the three 'skies', I will have to think and work on them... any suggestions?
Thanks for the constructive- as always- criticism!
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 28-09-2009
Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams
Loved the third stanza....my mind's eye saw it as best I could. We have no fireflies in Scotland but I have heard others write about the magic that attends them.
Alison

Author's Reply:
You know Alison, we don't see so many fireflies these days... May be because the tradition of having big gardens is over, may be because there is so much pollution in the atmosphere these days... I really do not know!
That is why this poem is more like a dream and that is from where it gets its title.
Thanks a pile for the lovely observations!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 28-09-2009
Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams
Smashing! Really like how this flowed, Ms. Zoya. Fave bit has to be -

And I get a feeling of riding high
Floating in the celestial sky
Of my own fantasy – dreams
In the garden of delight
Of my childhood Paradise



Stand back, Ms. Zoya, you're about to get Beagled...

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Author's Reply:
Sunky darling, you know I love Bernard, especially that lost expression on his face- he looks even more lost when he comes up to my page- like he is thinking 'To bark or not to bark, that is the question!' Gosh! isn't he Shakespearean in his thought?
Love and warm hugs, to you too!
Zoya

Jolen on 29-09-2009
Illusions, Reality, Fantasy and Dreams
Hi Zoya,

I tend to agree with Egriff on some of the rhyme placement. However, over all, I found this absolutely lovey and I can only imagine the experience must have been beyond this world. Aptly titled, as well.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen for the lovely comment. As for the rhyme pattern, I will have to really sit and work on it, in such a way that it improves without compromising the spontaneity of the write!

Love,

Zoya


Time's Theory of Relativity (posted on: 21-09-09)
Time is eternal and yet, It is what we make out of it...

Time is what we make out of it Time is how we spend it Time is how we feel it Time is how we perceive it: Time can be too short Time can be too long Time can stretch to an eternity Depends on how, when, and with whom, we spend it Time can be too short when well spent As on a rendezvous Time can stretch to an eternity When we wait for our beloved And When spent in the arms of the loved one It becomes eternal Because it always stays with us Like the fragrance of a flower As fresh as the lover's breath Rejuvenating our senses anew… Time is too short Time can be too long Time is eternal Time is... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 19.09.2009
Archived comments for Time's Theory of Relativity
stormwolf on 22-09-2009
Time’s Theory of Relativity
Oh yes! You have taken the concept of time and displayed if from every angle.

When spent in the arms of the loved one
It becomes eternal
Because it always stays with us

SO moving..and so very, very true...
Deep thinking transported into wise words.
Alison

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Time is single most important entity in our lives; every thing else is perceived, understood, conceived and measured against it.
It is also most precious of all, and we take it for granted, and do not value it the way it needs to be valued- how we really waste Time and go through life like zombies...
Thanks a pile for appreciating it!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 23-09-2009
Time’s Theory of Relativity
Hello Ms. Zoya. Time is indeed eternal when spent in the arms of a loved one. I must find a loved one... Hello? Anyone... Hello? A perceptively wise piece and no mistake, lovely Zoya of India on the green.

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Author's Reply:
Keep looking Sunky darling, for you never know when Time will smile on you...?
With best wishes,
Love,
Zoya


Moth and the Firefly (posted on: 14-09-09)
A nocturnal Haiku

Both fly by the night: Moth seeks light; Firefly Is light personified… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligrh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 13.09.2009 Inspired by Urdu poet, Allama Iqbal's poem 'Firefly'
Archived comments for Moth and the Firefly
e-griff on 14-09-2009
Moth and the Firefly
a nice poem.

(there is a discussion about haiku on the poetry discussion/workshop forum)

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,!
That coming from a perfectionist like you is a great compliment!
Thanks a pile again!

Love,
Zoya

PS I will see, if I can find time to visit the 'Haiku Forum'...

sunken on 14-09-2009
Moth and the Firefly
Lol. Cute. I wonder if moths follow fireflies around then? My mate's new teeth attract moths. Ahem. A neat little Ikea and no mistake, Ms. Zoya.

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isDel inside? pentium 4

Author's Reply:
If it did that, they would both perish,and we would have a 'moth-fly' or would it be fly-moth...
Dear Sunky, what a 'fertile' imagination you have- and no pun intended!
Love,
Zoya

Jolen on 15-09-2009
Moth and the Firefly
I don't understand these haiku thingies, but I love seeing what everyone comes up with and I loved the idea of this one!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
I reserve these 575s, and their likes, for those moments of sudden inspiration, when something 'profound' comes to mind and I do not have words to express myself, or the gumption to develop the idea into a full poem...
The Japanese have the most complicated 'sign-n-symbol' language in the world, and you never know how symbolic they can get with their Haikus...which in any case do not have any definite form...
Thanks for stepping in and commenting, dear Jolan!
Love,
Zoya

Zoya on 15-09-2009
Moth and the Firefly
I reserve these 575s, and their likes, for those moments of sudden inspiration, when something 'profound' comes to mind and I do not have words to express myself, or the gumption to develop the idea into a full poem...
The Japanese have the most complicated 'sign-n-symbol' language in the world, and you never know how symbolic they can get with their Haikus...which in any case do not have any definite form...
Thanks for stepping in and commenting, dear Jolan!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
Oops! the wrong slot!!
I' will just put it in the right column.
Z.

macaby on 17-09-2009
Moth and the Firefly
I liked this Haku. The moth and the firefly, could be a spiritual meaning behind your words. Nice one.
mac

Author's Reply:
You bet! That is a bit of an idea!
Come to think of it, the seeker is in dark, while the other, that is light personified, is oblivious of its virtue... Thus both in a way remain in darkness... One in real, the other in virtual darkness!
Thanks for reading that in-between-the-lines meaning!
Love,
Zoya

shadow on 17-09-2009
Moth and the Firefly
Now this is the real thing! Puts my efforts in the shade.

Author's Reply:
dear shadow you are being humble or underestimating yourself! Now I must look up your Haiku to prove my point!

Till then, Adios!
Oh, yeah, I have in fact seen your 'Hi Coos'... That is a mammoth effort, this is just one 575!

Thanks for the humbling compliment, anyway!

Love,

Zoya


Women of True Love (posted on: 14-09-09)
Pondering over my favourite classics I realized they were all feminist in nature... I recall reading somewhere that real true love can only be adulterous, or forbidden in nature- may be, because it thrives and survives against all odds?

Oh! Anna, Hester, Emma and Tess, You, the embodiment of Cleopatra, Nefertiti, Helen and Bathsheba* – The goddesses of true love! Must have felt alone and oppressed, Ostracized for the sins never committed Punished for Love- Love from your life-book omitted… Hated because you loved to love Misunderstood because you understood the meaning of life, the meaning of love, Because you had the courage to strive for higher meaning of life… You, who so loved to live, Oh! The humiliation you had to bear At the hands of others, who happiness fear Made to wear a scarlet 'A' Over your bosom, Your very heart, where, your life blood flowing was made to stay… Who understood your passion unbridled for love, to which you were so Fidel? You gave up life of comfort and peace to wander in the dark woods of agony- Agony that follows ecstasy- Ecstasy, which is so short-lived, That ends up always in such tragedy; Named by orthodoxy as heresy… Who understood your thirst to live? Your cravings for the heart to beat To experience the flow of blood Through the veins like flood To taste the wine of passion deep; To live your life full-bloodedly was not what world wanted of thee Envious of you inwardly It would rather you submitted to the arduousness' of the meek and weak- Who live by the rules, made to defeat the very meaning of love and life by deceit To be 'prim and 'propeh', Living the life of mock pleasure (Always in the realm of love a pauper…) It would rather you conformed to the rules - Deception and treachery- Of passing the life by, unlived, unfelt And remain That which you're meant to be: 'Everybody's-Fool'! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Few clarifications: *Anna Karenina- main protagonist of Lev Tolstoy's Russian classic of the same name *Hester- Hester Prynne of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Classic Scarlet Letter *Emma- Emma Bovary of French classic Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert *Tess- Tess of the d'Urbervilles of Thomas Hardy's masterpiece of the same name *Cleopatra- Cleopatra (69-30BC) Queen of Egypt, wife of Julius Caesar of Rome, consort of Anthony, who fearing humiliation in Octavian's triumph in Rome committed suicide by getting her self stung by a poisonous asp. *Nefertiti- or Nefertete (fl. c.1372-1350) queen of ancient Egypt, wife of Ikhnaton & aunt of Tutankhamen, their rule was of great social and cultural change, she an epitome of beauty grace and power *Helen- Helen of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, daughter of Zeus and Leda, wife of Menelaus of Sparta, whose abduction by Trojan prince Paris led to a ten year siege and subsequent sacking of Troy *Bathsheba- Bathsheba first adulterous beloved of David (c.1012-c.972 B.C.), the king of Judah (former Israel), slayer of Goliath, the Philistine giant, later his wife and queen
Archived comments for Women of True Love
Mezzanotte on 14-09-2009
Women of True Love
Dear Zoya,

what a great idea for a poem and brilliantly done too. I loved the first stanza as well as

Hated because you loved to love
Misunderstood because you understood
the meaning of life, the meaning of love,

I had to read tepnultimate stanza a couple of times to make it work for me. But other than that, brilliant.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:
Dear Jackie, The idea has been in my heart, I only realised it accidentally that it can be expressed perfectly well in a poem.

Yes, it is easy to be misunderstood- I mean people call, infidelity, that which is most 'fidel' of all the loves, the lovers are so true to their feelings that they are ready to take all the torture meted out to them, rather than betray their love!

Thanks for a lovely comment!

Love,

Zoya

stormwolf on 14-09-2009
Women of True Love
A poem that I can only describe as stirring and moving to the depths of me.
“The heart has reasons that reason cannot know.” Blaise Pascal

I totally agree with the passion of this poem which to me (at the risk of sounding over effusive) is a work or art.

It is the easy option to settle for mediocrity and acceptability...the strong and often tragic women who chose the other options are lifted up in print for recognition here for the often heart-rending sacrifices they made...and all for love...the highest emotion we are given.
Alison

Author's Reply:
My dear alison, I have a strong suspicion, we are forming a 'mutual admiration society'!
What I love about your comments is you deep penetration and quick understanding of the central idea behind the poem-hitting the very core of the poem, spot on... Getting my drift exactly!
Thanks pile for understanding!
It is so easy to live conforming to the so called 'societal norms'- which keep changing with times any way-and so difficult to listen to your inner voice, listen to your heart, and it requires even a greater courage to follow your heart.; People who do, get the deeper meaning of life, and for them the suffering that follows, becomes naturally bearable, because they know the passion, the brief period of ecstasy, the transcendence to that state of being, which is next to only divine, is worth all the trouble...
I wrote this poem one day, when after speaking at a seminar on feminist literature, I realized,I was siting the examples of these famous protagonists, the idea struck me there and then: 'why not write a poem on them?' And there it came out, just like that-sort of wrote itself...
It had been lying in my laptop all this while, I came across it the other day to realise, I did not post it on UKA.
I am so happy, it found an appreciative audience in you!
Thanks,
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 14-09-2009
Women of True Love
oops rated 10

Author's Reply:
Oops!, I just checked my email to realise, I was not wrong- you have picked this, and the much humbled me, as your 'hot favourite!
Gosh, I am absolutely stunned! Thanks a pile!
Love,
Zoya


I Often Wonder… (posted on: 04-09-09)
Whenever I see natural phenomena, occurring day in & day out, with clock-like precision…I wonder: are they trying to tell us something? My soul gets troubled; my heart fills with indescribable sorrow! Thoughts come chasing one another & I wonder: ''Why?''

I often wonder, why the setting sun, paints the sky blood red, in a last attempt at passion, before the final good-bye… Why does the dry Earth, Eagerly absorb the first rain-drop In its parched bosom Like the love-sick and lonely, welcomes her lover… Why do the leaves pale, in mortal fear, of the approaching Autumn, turn colour and fade and finally disintegrate, like the sacrificial offerings at the feet of Sage-Winter… Why do the evening shadows, quietly merge into the darkness of dun Night, without a murmur, or a sigh… The pure and pristine Snow, from the virgin peaks, melts down in a stream, merrily flows from the lofty heights, undertakes an arduous journey through the tortuous planes, to merge with vast ocean deep, Like a fair maiden melts ardently into her lovers embrace… Why do the birds migrate, undertake a pilgrimage of thousands of miles, to return to same shores, year, after year, after year… Like the believers return for a holy-dip in rivers again and again to purge their sins… Why does the Nightingale Sing, songs full of sorrow, As the forlorn sings 'Birha'- the 'Raga' of separation- In waiting for her beloved… Why do the flowers bloom, give off fragrance to attract, wilt, fall down and merge with the mother Earth, without a trace… What do they long for? What do they crave for? What are they eternally in search of? Why does my heart throb, My bosom heaves heavy with thousand sighs, In the silence of the night? Why do the precious pearls of my hot tears, scatter every where, on lonesome wintry eves? Why does my heart sing, With every bird in wing, the songs of sorrow? What do I long for? What do I crave for? What am I yearning for? Why my soul is troubled? Why my heart is in turmoil? Why? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for I Often Wonder…
stormwolf on 04-09-2009
I Often Wonder

I cannot answer the 'why' exactly...for to me all you wrote about and described so eloquently was the wonderful dance of creation...which carries on year in year out if left to its own devices and should elevate the spirit ...however,'''''

I too can feel such anguish at times like this for some reason..maybe its 'homesickness'..that's how I describe it to myself...almost like I am part of all that...but not 'enough' being part..I sometimes yearn to dissolve into it and that being in human frame is somehow a barrier in a way...not sure...maybe I just think too much...but the beauty and expression of nature is so glorious upon my soul at times its almost painful...and I think you captured that here Zoya..

Why do the flowers bloom,
give off fragrance to attract,
wilt, fall down and merge
with the mother Earth,
without a trace


What do they long for?
What do they crave for?
What are they eternally in search of?

I think we are all lost children wanting to find our way home and in some esoteric way...even flowers and birds are aware that while in form they are separated although in a small way as I believe we are all related and that the universe is multi dimensional and actually the mind of God so its almost too much to conceive of but we are sentient beings who feel at soul level things our minds and even hearts cannot decipher.

of course...I may be mistaken ..I may also be simply nuts lol
Alison

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison, what can I say?
It is such a beautiful reply, so much in sync with what I feel, such an in-depth analysis of a feeling that can only be described as deeply-stirring, at the wonder that this nature of ours is... It (Nature) talks us all the time, if only we care to listen...
That is why I like to travel to far off places, wander through the meadows lush green, because they take me away from my self and leave me reflecting on the natural phenomenon and thus on my life, our lives...

Thanks a pile for the lovely response!
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 04-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Well - the 'WHY' question is dangerous because it begs another question (and this is the real meaning of 'beg the question - i.e. skips over an underlying question)
The other question is, 'is there a intelligent decision maker controlling the phenomanon?'

The sun and its light are just automona reacting only to blind natural laws - no one put them there or designed the laws so the correct question is, 'how does the setting sun paint the sky blood red.'

The answer to which is f course that dust in the atmosphere diffracts all the shorter wavlengths more easily than red light and so filters them out.

This may indeed seem very reductive and an attempt to detract from the beauty of the world. Indeed when Newton first published his explanation of the rainbow Blake was furious and accused him of trying to destroy the mystery and wonder of the Cosmos. Infact I think that when you fully understand such a phenomana it is more beautiful. If you look at te night sky and see all those countless stars and the milky way knowing that it is just a small part of one spiral arm of our galaxy and that some of those apparent stars are in fact distant galaxies and that if you look at a tiny random patch of sky through the Hubble Telescope there are as many galaxies in that small patch as there visible stars in the sky at night then you surely have to say that Walt Whitman was quite wrong when he wrote:-

When I heard the learn'd astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and
measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much
applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.


And here:-

Why does the Nightingale
Sing, songs full of sorrow,
As the forlorn sings ‘Birha’-
the ‘Raga’ of separation-
In waiting for her beloved


Of course we do have an intelligent mover here but it is the cock not the hen that sings and he sings not sadly but in in a cocky attempt to seduce a mate and an angry warning to all oyher cocks to keep out of his territory. Same with the flowers.

The final three questions only you know the answer too I guess.

Scientifically flawed though the poem might be neverthe less the poetic questions were beautifully expressed.I hope that your sorrow is in reality as apparent and unreal as the nightingales and that any longings, turmoils yearnings and troubles are soon resolved. Or are you just infected with the disease of life?

love

David



Author's Reply:
My dear David, You probably forget, while lecturing me on the above phenomena, that I am a scientist too and know most of the scientific explanations to the questions I ask, and as a doctor also know that heart is only a machine that pumps blood...By that standard, I should not have been a poet at all, but just a a prosaic scientist...
But, I am a poet too, at heart, and the question here are asked from a poet's sensibility and sensitivity...
And if you notice, they are all symbolic in nature...
I keep my 'cup of poetry' separate from my 'scientific bowl', and I don't 'mix my drinks'!... lol!
Philosophers and scientists co-exist together in this world, and sometimes within the body of the same person... like yours truly!
So much for your scientific inaccuracies- answer is poems are not meant to be scientifically correct!
As for the Nightingale, it is a 'female' in India and the 'Raga Birha' is an Indian 'Rag' (tune) sung by a woman... That is why I use the word Raga and not a symphony, or Nocturne...
I think, dear friend, you got off the wrong foot this morning, read this when you step out of bed on your poetic foot (no pun intended), next morning.
By the way, I have, and do, make use of my scientific knowledge in poems sometimes, like I talk about the Milky Way, the 'Big Bang', and Supernova in my poem: 'I Will Think of You Tonight' (Posted here on UKA).
Thanks for the in depth analysis anyway, even if it was a scientific one, but it showed your concern for me.
I suppose, I am, what you call, 'infected by the disease of life', a bit...
You can wish me 'All the best!' all the same!
Love,
and (((Hugs))
Zoya


Zoya on 04-09-2009
I Often Wonder

My dear David, You probably forget, while lecturing me on the above phenomena, that I am a scientist too and know most of the scientific explanations to the questions I ask, and as a doctor also know that heart is only a machine that pumps blood...By that standard, I should not have been a poet at all, but just a a prosaic scientist...
But, I am a poet too, at heart, and the question here are asked from a poet's sensibility and sensitivity...
And if you notice, they are all symbolic in nature...
I keep my 'cup of poetry' separate from my 'scientific bowl', and I don't 'mix my drinks'!... lol!
Philosophers and scientists co-exist together in this world, and sometimes within the body of the same person... like yours truly!
So much for your scientific inaccuracies- answer is poems are not meant to be scientifically correct!
As for the Nightingale, it is a 'female' in India and the 'Raga Birha' is an Indian 'Rag' (tune) sung by a woman... That is why I use the word Raga and not a symphony, or Nocturne...
I think, dear friend, you got off the wrong foot this morning, read this when you step out of bed on your poetic foot (no pun intended), next morning.
By the way, I have, and do, make use of my scientific knowledge in poems sometimes, like I talk about the Milky Way, the 'Big Bang', and Supernova in my poem: 'I Will Think of You Tonight' (Posted here on UKA).
Thanks for the in depth analysis anyway, even if it was a scientific one, but it showed your concern for me.
I suppose, I am, what you call, 'infected by the disease of life', a bit...
You can wish me 'All the best!' all the same!
Love,
and (((Hugs))
Zoya


Author's Reply:
Oops, posted in the wrong column!! sorry, shall post in the right slot!
Zoya

hoopsinoz on 04-09-2009
I Often Wonder

I will not comment too much at length for that has been done in both the artful and the scientific - sufice for me to say I look at the form of a tree and think that with all our cleverness and science, our art and culture we (the human race) cannot even manage to make two protiens and a bunch of amino acids combine to form a single cell lifeform yet nature in her beauty and might forms intricate, beautiful structures like an oak or elm or ash, or nightingale (be it male or female) and this poems captures my wonder at such things. there is no answer to why other than at least i am alive to wonder why not....

Author's Reply:
Dear Hoops,
That is the spirit and in tune with the real core of the poem!
To be able to wonder at the rising sun, the waning and waxing of the moon, the change of seasons, with the same clock like precision; To be in awe of the fist of a baby, its small finger, podgy and soft; each vein of the leaf, each petal of the flower, identical to the other, year after, year after year, never changing with time... is the child quality, every one should be able to retain, no matter how learned and mature he or she is...
This keeps inspiring one to learn more, inquire and thus search, a quality essential for growth, which I think, every one should (keep growing) all his or her life.
Thanks a pile for such an understanding response!
Love,
Zoya

Griffonner on 04-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Another briliant observational piece, Zoya. I love the way you have structured this. And I think, too, that you don't really expect an acceptable answer to those inevitable questions. 😉

Nevertheless I hope you don't mind me putting my scientific hat on for a moment when I say: actually, no two flower petals are the same, always changing with time. The never ending genetic change applies to everything that is alive (in the sense that we know it) and I think, also, in the sense of ways that we don't know. (This would be reflected in change to minerals and so on.)

That contradiction in no way detracts from your poem, because your words are of course the words of a poet, and are just as true as the scientific facts. The progressive merry-go-round of material existence: the birth and the rebirth are indeed cyclical and ultimately divinely mysterious.

It seems that the further science investigates, the more complex and fragmented the subject becomes.

Takes hat off twice: once to turn off scientific mode, and secondly to acknowledge your wonderfully mastered poem.



Author's Reply:
Dear Allen, what can I say?



I am humbled!



As for the comment/ content:



Now that David has gone on that tangent, the ball he has set rolling will have to traverse the tangent, I hope it touches bottom soon, and my next reader/friend would see it purely in poetic light, it is meant to be seen in...



Having said that, the variations you are talking about are the mutations that happen when the flowers, animals, trees and all creatures adapt to the environmental changes (Gosh, I hope, I was not doing this!), like the Bangal Tigers of Sundarbans, being dwellers of the largest delta in the world, unlike other cats, have learned to swim and not only that, but, also to leap from water(where they lie waiting) and attack their victims plying boats on the surface of water, catch them literally by their necks, and dive back into water; like the Polar bears have started building their nest and give birth to their young not in snow, but on land (which of course is a dangerous phenomenon and is indicative of the hotter times to come (what if the ice-cap completely melts?).



But, every human has two eyes, one mouth, one nose etc. in that they are similar, but every individual has distinctively unique features... So much for science!



Scientific hat off! (Gosh! I hope I don't have to don it again!)



Poetic cap on:



It is you who is so observant this time, dear Allen!



Yes, the questions are not meant to be answered, they are more to myself... and in fact, as you correctly observed, every question has the answer inherent in it, there runs a fine thread of an idea that every thing, every one, gravitates towards its logical conclusion and end, which by an large is love and something more and even more... (Ahem!)



On that I note, I leave the rest to your imagination...



Departing with poetic cap on...



Adios dear friend!



Love,



Zoya

sunken on 05-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Oh bugger. My comment's going to stand out like a sore thumb against these clever dicks' comments, Ms. Zoya. Why do I put myself, and fellow ukaneers through it? There ya go, there's another why for ya (-; Hello?

s
u
n
k
e
n

mummy, stacey's cut my hair again

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunky, I am the one who is asking questions here, you are not suppose ask.

You are only supposed to give clever answers?

Besides, you forgot to comment!

Hope to catch you next time with longer hair and some gyri and insuli underneath...

Love,

Zoya
By the way, Delhi chief minister's name is Mrs. Sheila Dickshit

Corin on 05-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Dear Zoya,

Of course I did not forget that you are a doctor and have a scientific education. I was being a bit provocative I suppose but also making a serious point about the use of this kind of argument by religionists to 'prove' the existence of God and a transcendental world. Science of course answers 'how' questions not 'why' questions, but it does not follow, I think, that that allows theologians and metaphysicians a wide area in which to parade nonsense free from scientific and logical probing.



As to the notion that having a scientific education somehow disqualifies you from being a poet - that I think is absurd and my feeling is that you are better qualified to be a poet because you have a trained scientific understanding of the nature of the world.



Many difficulties of the modern world come about because the people who make the decisions do not understand science. If we had had more scientists and far fewer lawyers and economists in the parliaments of the world during the last 30 years we would not be standing now close to a global catastrophe from Global Warming.

I am not sure that is good to keep poetry and science in different baskets. I do not criticise your work in saying this -- I understood perfectly well that you were speaking metaphorically, but as I argued before, Walt Whitman tried to do this and, I think, got it wrong.

There is of course a cure for the disease of life. When Socrates drank the hemlock after being found guilty of corrupting the young with logical thoughts. He asked his friends to pay his debt to Aescelepius by sacrificing a cock since he had now been cured of the disease of life. But you wait until Atropos cuts your thread before offering to Aescelepius - the world needs poets like you who understand metaphor and science.


David

Author's Reply:
How absolutely sweet of you dear David to clarify yourself after my near (or is it?) tirade on you! The idea just did not cross my mind that it be misunderstood/misconstrued in that light! Not being religious at all, in the sense of defending the metaphysical or the transcendental or a believer of the reincarnation etc. etc. I sort of missed that point all together.Now I completely understand your 'scientific explanation'.

For the rest of the stuff about being a poet and the analogies of Socrates, I can only thank you for your kind words but think this time you go over board in trying to make up for what you probably think was your faux pas (It wasn't), I have no intentions of, or even if I had, lack the competence and intellect to even dream of reaching even the footstool of Socrates and the much revered others; and certainly have no intension of, or inclination to drink the hemlock! (LOL!!)
I love, this disease called life too much for that!
As for Atropos, I hope, in my case, her sisters Clothos and-who was that-Lachesis? betray her and never find the correct line and length, or material of my thread: if there will be no thread, so there will be no shears to cut it, and then I would become immortal much to the chagrin of the 'invincible' one... LOL!!
I must confess, I'm really getting scared of the Three Graces-oops!- I mean three 'Fates'... I can imagine her hovering over my head and threatening with her 'abhorred scissors' to cut my thread, if I dare ask another of my stupid-or as Sunky would put 'dick-smart'- questions: "One more 'Why' and I go 'Snip, snip'!! ... LOL!
I think I must quit before the lord, or rather the ladies, of fate come themselves to admonish me. Poor Zeus and Nyx must be cursing the day the created the three...

Adios till the next 'thread'- or is it the 'shears'...?

(((Hugs, David for amusing me the first thing in the morning)))

Love,

Zoya






sunken on 06-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Ahem. I apologise for forgetting to comment when I commented earlier, Ms. Zoya. I was hoping that you wouldn't notice. It's technique I've used since my school days. I once answered an exam question on 'land irrigation' without once mentioning land or indeed irrigation. I used approx five hundred words and said absolutely sod all. I still got a B+ though. That's pretty good going I reckon? So anyway, what's this 'gyri and insuli' you mentioned? It all sounds rather painful. I hope this 'comment' has served to rest your mind with regards to my prevarications. I blame the following - Mtv, semi clad pop stars of the female persuasion and food. And now, dear Zoya, if you'll excuse me, I have videos to peruse and bacon to fry. Good day. Hello?

s
u
n
k
e
n

it was stacey wot made me do it, mummy

Author's Reply:
Yeah, I remember some of those 'dick smart' students in my college, advising us to write the first para of the answer sheet, beautifully, then the story of 'Mughal-e-Azam (The 'Cleopatra'- I mean the movie not the queen-of India) and conclude again with a smart paragraph, and come out with flying colours in the exams.

Love,

Z

o

y

a



Ahem!

Here I go 'sinking'!
Have a nice bacon and egg breakfast!

Corin on 07-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Dear Zoya - WE still, I think, seem to be talking at cross purposes here. I don't think I misunderstood your poem at all. It was just that in posing those 'WHY' questions you gave me an opportunity to to present that point of view about spiritual experiences of the kind you were describing so effectively. It was a general comment not a a criticism really of what you had said. So I did not think my comment was even the smallest Faux Pas but I am sorry if it came over as criticism rather than general comment on religious ways of non-thinking by people who believe in transcendental existence.
O I see now, after rereading my original comment that I said that the poem was scientifically flawed. That was careless of me and implied that I thought you did not understand the science behind the the phenomena you were describing - I should have said something like 'metaphorical rather than than scientific that the poem is' - Ireally did not intend to criticise your unerstanding of some basic science.

As to the reference to Socrates, this was not about any philosophical comparison between you and him.

You said "I suppose, I am, what you call, 'infected by the disease of life', a bit... " Calling Life a disease was because I was referring to Socrates idea that that is a good metaphor for all the slings and arrows that life fires at us and and that when he was ordered to kill himself with hemlock he told his friends that they should thank the god of healing, Aescelepius, on his behalf by taking a cock to the Aescelepion (i.e. the healing centre because the hemlock had cured him of a great affliction - Life:-(

Sadly I do not think the fates are so easily assuaged or befuddled - As Gloucester says in 'King Lear'

'As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, they kill us for their sport' !

It has long seemed to me that the Greek's mythical interpretation of the world is far closer to our experience of it than any of the other main religions - especially the three Biblical/Judaic ones.

David

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 11-09-2009
I Often Wonder

Yep, you're a poet, for sure, as these are the things we tend to wonder about. Very finely conveyed in this piece with some lovely lines, Zoya.
A pleasure to read.

Blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks, dear Jolen, for such sensitive understanding and the lovely comment!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya


Dream of Doom (posted on: 31-08-09)
The stirrings of subconscious, sometimes, can be really bizarre!

Strange dream I had last night, my love I was alone in a vast wilderness, Not a soul was anywhere in sight, All around it was dark and dun… Gloom was settling deep in my soul, Not even a streak of lightening to show, Where was the way and where I should go? Suddenly, I saw a shadow ahead, Like an apparition it sped away… I started following it to ask the way, Desperately I tried to keep up with it, But the distance between us grew instead, Till the earth suddenly gave way under my feet And I was sinking into a pitiless abyss I shouted for help with all my might, The shadow then turned and gave me a smile, An eerie smile; To my horror, I suddenly realized: It was You!! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Dream of Doom
e-griff on 31-08-2009
Dream of Doom
a nice bit of suspense. - did you mean 'pitiless' by the way?

my only little niggle is what appear to be accidental rhymes which slightly confused me:
show/go
ahead/sped/instead
away/way

I was not sure if these were deliberate, but there was no scheme to them.

thanks or the read. JohnG




Author's Reply:
Dear John,
Nice to have you on my page, Whenever you leave a word, I know it has to constructive bit of criticism! I like it!
No, I mean pit-less here, and am going to add the (-) there.
The rhyming is not meant to be, it is purely accidental and therefore not strictly 'rhyming'! You know , I am no stickler for rhyming... Neither am I 'scheming'!-pun intended...(lol)
I am happy to know you were intrigued...
Love,
Zoya

chrissy on 31-08-2009
Dream of Doom
This is very scary, the sort of dream that you really don't want to have too many of.
I once did a modern version of Macbeth and found I was accidentally rhyming at the end of each scene. Accidental rhymes are good but buggers when you realise it's happening and try to force them.
What is the meaning of pit-less abyss here, I'm not quite sure I understand that. Surely by its nature an abyss is a pit. Probably me being thick.
Good poem and it interested me enough to read it a couple of times.

Author's Reply:
OK OK, I'll make it pitiless...I hope that would be fine by you and Griff, and all the rest of perfectionists?

I'll let the accidental rhyming be...
Zoya

sunken on 01-09-2009
Dream of Doom
Hello Ms. Zoya. I am reading this in the dead of night, actually it's the morning, but ya know what I mean. Hello? I am slightly spooked by your sub and have had to resort to putting my Bucks Fizz CD on. I just hope you can live with yourself (-;

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'...makin' ya mind up....'

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Sunky, it is scary, especially if you are right in the middle of the dream and somehow want to get out of the situation, but find yourself helpless, waking up that time is a blessing, especially when you know that the pit is bottom less and you might just go on falling endlessly like Alice in wonderland...
Love,
Zoya
I am living with myself alright

hoopsinoz on 01-09-2009
Dream of Doom
mmmmm- if the aim of poetry is to conjure emotions in others then this works for me - I don't care - pit-less pitiless - the key for me was " shouted for help with all my might," which seemed to capture the despair for me....

Author's Reply:
Hi Hoops, thanks for reflecting on the 'content' and not the 'form'-poetry is about expressing emotions and not about sticking to grammar, it is about breaking rules and not about sticking to them- I am so happy you understand that essential aspect of creativity is beauty...
Yeah, the idea here is to convey the horror, helplessness and desperation, which expresses itself in form of dreams, and dreams, as always, are bizarre...
Usually, whenever I write poems describing my dreams, I try to analyse my dreams at the end of the poem, but here I leave that to my readers - more like the anticlimax of a short story!
Thanks a pile for the lovely comment!
Love,
Zoya


Agony of Endurance (posted on: 28-08-09)
Indifference of a loved one can be really agonizing...

Every time I meet you I am disturbed: I am reminded of the love You once showered on me, and when I juxtapose against the indifference I see in your eyes now, My anguish is even more than the pain of separation. And yet, when I am away from you I miss you even more... I crave for the days When one hug, one kiss Would be such bliss! I long to snuggle close to you To sit doing nothing in your arms Or, just run my fingers through your hair As we watch a movie on television; Or exchange sweet nothings- the hallmark of togetherness... I remember the days we would lie down together And read a book each in complete silence without the need of words for assurance of our unspoken love for each other... When I never had to tell you what I needed When you always gave me even before I asked When you took care of everything And graciously accepted everything I did... Now you resent even a hug A kiss from you is a far off thing How you cringe, even if I try To hug you or even steal a kiss... Your cold indifference is a torture for me- Unable to get used to, impossible to bear... Meeting you is even more painful- More of a trail of endurance of wits than the trial of separation from you- It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to bear this state of agony... I hope I will survive this insufferable task... Author: Zoya Zaidi New Delhi, India Copyright (C): Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Agony of Endurance
Romany on 28-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
I agree, indifference is deeply hurtful when it comes form someone you care for, and very hard to endure. I hope this is not you now?

Romany.

Author's Reply:
It is Romany, Only things are better now, or is it that I am learning to come to terms with it?
Which is even worst, I think?
Any way wish me luck!
Love,
Zoya

sunken on 28-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
Hello Ms. Zoya. A strong and sensitive write. I actually think the first verse/stanza stands well on it's own. It's all gravy tho (I must stop talking like Beyonce). Ahem. Hello?

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can you keep up, baby boy...

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky darling, thanks for the suggestion, next time I am writing a Haiku, I will shrink the first stanza into it...
I save Haikus for those times when I have to say something 'profound' and don't have many words for it...
I am happy you do agree with my observation about endurance of a situation like this...
Love,
Zoya

hoopsinoz on 28-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
What a wonderfully insightful take on the most horrid of emotional circumstances... well captured.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, dear Hoops,
It is most agonizing a situation and impossible bear, and coming to terms with it means accepting it, and giving up all hope...
Which is even worst... One can only hope for time to clear the air... I am trying my best, in as dignified a manner I can, without compromising my self-respect!
Thanks for being so understanding!
Love,
Zoya

Griffonner on 29-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
God these words hit home, don't they! That any love has to wane, or change, or be blown off course, is reason for tears. And that's a two way thing I mean: tears in the fabric of the soul almost, and tears in the eyes and heart.

Sometimes it is change itself which can bring this intolerable longing to return to the comfort of preferred normality. It is, after all, a loss of such enormity.

You express this pain ... this agony ... that is felt, so brilliantly. My heart ... well, it goes out to you, for you have brought the sense of the suffering right into our own minds with your skillfully crafted words.

Blessings and love to you, Zoya.

Allen

Author's Reply:
Wow! Allen, coming from you it is a big compliment!
I think, you are just being kind...
Yeah, I am coping with it, I hope to revive the old feeling, I am really working towards it, as best I can without falling from dignity
It can be very trying, I know. Sometimes things happen, which are beyond your control and you never dreamt they could, yet, you try to come out of it a winner...
I suppose, it only teaches us never to take another person's feelings for granted... right?
Thanks for taking time out to go through this.
Take care!
Love,
Zoya

Griffonner on 29-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
I have to come back on this, Zoya. I may be kind, but I am genuine, and I think you underestimate yourself here. This is good poetry IMHO.

The sad thing is, as with every aspect of life: things can never be the same again. Never take another person's feeling for granted? Oh, yes, you are so right there. Very important.

But everything changes. Sometimes it changes in ways we wouldn't have wished.

There's another adage about love: true love is unconditional.

Have a lovely day.

Allen
x


Author's Reply:
Dear Allen,


I think it is extremely sweet of you to come back to me with these words of assurance; with respect to the poem as well as to that of my situation. It is a great comfort to be understood! I guess that is what friends are for... a friend is a friend not so much by the number of times you meet or talk or how well you know each other, but, by how well you understand each other, and by that standard I can consider you are friend, I hope you do not mind?


I kept this poem aside, thinking it was too simple and more of an outpouring of my feelings than a piece of art. But, did not want to change it, because, I wanted to remain true to it and to my feelings...


Well, it seems, as the famous poet of Urdu Iqbal has said: 'Dil say jo baat nikalti hai usar rakhti hai', simply put: 'Whatever comes from the heart goes to the heart'...


Thanks again for this gesture, I am touched!


Love,


Zoya

woodbine on 29-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
Dear Zoya,
Your poem of unrequited love and the baring of your soul to the reader suggests that your heartfelt desire is for a degree of intimacy and openness of which your former lover isn't capable. Very few people are able to share a love that says 'I love you so much that I will open my defenses because I trust you not to hurt me.' Such a person has learned to always hold something back and can't hold up a long term relationship that will grow and change over the years.

Thank you for taking us to such intimate places with such honesty, observation, and anguish to which poetry aspires.

Much love,
John

Author's Reply:
Dear John,
Honesty, I consider is prerequisite for not only poetry writing and artistic expression of any kind, but, for life itself...
it makes things and life so much simpler... It is also, I think, a brave thing to do, because it apart from keeping you overboard, also brings you face-to-face with your self and teaches you to accept reality instead of escaping it... To be honest to yourself is the most difficult thing to do... And who can understand that better than you-you who is so given to self-analysis, introspection and philosophizing, and that I mean in a good sense, situations in life...
Thanks for taking time out to go through my work, and this wonderful, elating and comforting comment!
Love,
Zoya

wfgray on 30-08-2009
Agony of Endurance
Hi Zoya, I don't know what is happening to this world. They are thinking that the grass is greener elsewhere. I gather that this is a traumatic and a true poem. Let's hope that your poem reaches out to whom it refers to. A well thopught out poem, Will

Author's Reply:
Dear Will,

Thanks for the kind wish!

But, as Mir, a famous Urdu poet says:

'Putta, putta, butta, butta, hal hamaara janay hai/Jaanay na janay gul hi na janay, bagh to sara janay hai'-

" Every tree, every bud knows my plight/

Only the flower knows not, the whole garden knows alright"

Mir Taqi Mir.

So, it is quit likely, it will never reach the desired person, who in any case, is not in the least bit interested in my poetry...

But, let's hope your wish comes true?

Thanks a pile for the kind words, any way!

Love,

Zoya



At the Waterfall (posted on: 14-08-09)
Moments spent under the magnificent waterfall...

Water falls with force and power From the lofty heights Sheets and sheets of it creating Effervescence light…. Tiny droplets spray my face Cooling my tormented brow Kiss my cheeks caressingly Tingling my tactile nerves Goose bumps of awe and thrill Cover my supple skin… I see the tiny prisms of droplets Refracting the rays of Sun Coming together to produce A magic Rainbow wand Delicately perched over the fall- A permanent virtual ring… And think how the waterfall With all its power and might, Still needs a precarious rainbow To soften its pomp and pride… And how that raging water later Into a calm river flows And hides in the thick green foliage That along its banks grows… Why can't we, with all our stature Be humble in our grace Sublimate our ego, Give up the vanity and show And in calm streams flow…. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Note: Hidden in the thick foliage of the green forest is the Cheonjiyeon Water fall, one of the many on the picturesque honeymoon island of Jeju, in South Korea.
Archived comments for At the Waterfall
sunken on 14-08-2009
A the Waterfall
Hello Ms. Zoya. I've always fancied having a waterfall shower. I don't know where I'd put the soap tho. Please, no suggestions. I particularly liked this bit -

'A magic Rainbow wand
Delicately perched over the fall-
A permanent virtual ring
 '

I guess it would be a different kinda ring if I got my shower wish. Ahem. Sorry. Feel free to report me via the 'Report Abuse' button. I'm a disgrace, Ms. Zoya. A refreshing poem and no mistake.

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destination topshop

Author's Reply:

sunken on 15-08-2009
A the Waterfall
Hello again, Ms. Zoya. I've just re-read this and think, sadly for you, that it deserves a Bernard. I trust this won't ruin your weekend too much. Thank you. Hello?

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Author's Reply:


Nightmare of Terror (posted on: 03-08-09)
When there is a thin line between reality and dreams...

We were on a college trip Somewhere in the North East Climbing the lush green, vegetation rich, Mountains majestic, quiet and serene Collecting samples of rare species Of plants and fauna; watching Birds nest in the lofty trees, Recording their chirruping- Each more melodious than the other Gathering their plumage- Each more colourful than the other Each more exotic, some rare varieties… Suddenly, there was a commotion Gunshots were heard piercing the peace And the tranquil mountains were filled with Shrieks of terror echoing in the trees The valley turned into horrendous being Chirrups were replaced by human shrieks The birds flew up from their trees… Then they came rushing out In their camouflage-fatigues AK-47 and Kalashnikovs in hands Their faces smeared black and green… They started gathering-people-up: Chose a few and lined them up Against the lush green mountain tops And with their machine guns rattled bullets in their flesh soft and some of our friends unsullied and young had guns put into their mouths; and we, more afraid to watch them blow their brains out, then to die, me and my friend began to run and climbing a ruined fortress wall we jumped on the other side… From parapet to parapet we ran We ran with all our might We kept jumping down till we reached The firm soft green ground… We ran and ran scaling the cliffs Negotiating the ups and downs At top speed through the forest With foliage tearing against our skins Trees rustling, animals shrieking Snakes slithering between our feet But, we, oblivious, terror-stricken, Just kept ceaselessly trudging on… Then some how we found ourselves In the front yard of my friend's home She quickly explained the situation to her kin And taking the key to her car We clambered in to it and started off Driving through the lanes and by-lanes Narrow alleys and vast planes Through the dangerous mountain terrain Through those undulating serpentine roads At times broken by land slides At times flooded by mountain streams- Over flowing following the rains- But we braved all and just drove on Till we reached the railway track And had no choice but to drive On the very railway line And then we suddenly saw the train Heading at us at top speed Whistling and chugging with chimney of the heritage engine Spewing black sooty clouds And as the thought struck us- Out of the frying pan into the fire- With a massive jerk I woke up First bewildered, I examined my surroundings And found myself peacefully snuggled In my soft feathered bed With the covers of white lying over me I smiled and took a big sigh of relief! Why was it that I had such a dream? I began to analyze the reason for it- My Freudian instincts in full swing- Is it my own fear of violent death? Or, is it my way of sympathizing with Thousands of my fellow men Caught amidst the terrorist activities Who die every day at their cruel hands Of terrorists engaged in guerrilla war-fares Naxalwadis, ULFA and other terror outfits Or, is it the result of watching the images Flashed every day on the TV screen… I do not know… But, I do know this that I often wonder: Why does man kill his own fellow beings? Innocent and helpless and peacefully living To gain his own, misplaced, political mileage To satisfy his need for the savage in him That at the behest of a few men in power To gain their selfish ends Thousands of innocents die every day And are sacrificed, at the altar of peace…. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi (On waking up sweating from a nightmare on 25.11.2008- 4.30am Pune, Maharashtra)
Archived comments for Nightmare of Terror
Ionicus on 04-08-2009
Nightmare of Terror
"Why does man kill his own fellow beings?"
A real 'cri de coeur' dear Zoya. It is the stuff nightmares are made of. Like you I shall never understand the motives inherent to the crazy violence we seem to witness daily.
Good, powerful poem.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:

sunken on 05-08-2009
Nightmare of Terror
Ahem. That Luigi fella is cleverer than he looks. What's a 'cri de coeur'? Powerful indeed, Ms. Zoya. Just like your good self and no mistake.

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left behind in woolies

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On the River Bank... (posted on: 31-07-09)
He sat on the river-bank, and watched the water flow...

There he sat alone on the bank Watching the water flow, and recalled: How this muddy water once Looked so fresh and blue. Or was it his imagination- In tune with his youthful glow? Or, is it that as time passes, Like all things old, once new, Take a certain charm all their own, And connive with nostalgia, to create a rosy picture in gloom: When everything in present looks stale, Past seems a dream, a pleasant dream… But today, he definitely was blue, And the water, clay brown, seemed sad too… Does it mourn the passing of time? Death of those who sat by his side, Friends and foes alike, Who shared with him their joys and woes- Some even cried- As it quietly flows all the time… And what about those youthful couples so engrossed in love that they did not notice The river was wallowing in their fun, like a voyeur watched their love making, Sighed and shared their peels of delight. And now he recalls those years of carefree spring When the old river was also young and sweet To him it looks, the river was a metaphor of life Ever flowing, ever lasting, from one bank to, the other bank of life- When young-pristine and pure, When old, polluted, with false pride- With the burden of sin and sorrow Sluggish with lack of drive… He sat by the river and contemplated On his past life: He had no where to go, No one to talk to No one was waiting for him at the meal No eyes red in his pursuit… He just sat, sad and gloomy, and watched the water's flow… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 22.03. 2009
Archived comments for On the River Bank...
sunken on 31-07-2009
On the River Bank...
Ya know, Ms. Zoya, that's pretty much how I felt earlier this week when my washer started leaking. I blame myself entirely. I have a tendency to overfill things... It saddens me to think that I will likely never hear those words spoken by a beautiful lady. Ahem. Anyway, yes, a smashing sub. Well done and no mistake. Thank you.

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he made it thru the rain without the help of special effects

Author's Reply:

shackleton on 01-08-2009
On the River Bank...
Hi Zoya. Always good to catch your poetry. I love the soft, reflective sadness of this piece. I've reached the time of life whereby I'm often sitting and reflecting by a river bank.

Your poem reminded me of the lyrics of a Bob Dylan song: 'Not Dark Yet'.

Shadows are falling and I've been here all day
It's too hot to sleep time is running away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal
There's not even room enough to be anywhere
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there

Your poem has left me thinking about life's lost horizons and all that malarky. Bye for now. Stay well!

Author's Reply:


Flash Backs of Life (posted on: 17-07-09)
We'll all flash back one day, And look back upon our lives:

We'll all flash back one day, And look back upon our lives: As movies flashing in front of our eyes, As if it happened to some one else, Especially the time well spent. While time regretted, always stays, The time cherished tends to slip away from the treasure house of memory. Isn't it strange my friend? We are affected by the saddest part, While happy part of our lives, Just becomes a dream of sorts… And sometimes we deliberately push Some thoughts away from our minds Bury them deep in to the furrows And recesses of our memory And try to remember only the Pleasant and the memorable parts (Of various experiences of life) To save ourselves the suffering and Torture of remembering the Unhappy and unpleasant past… But those very memories Tend to remain at the back of our minds, And have a way of popping up Just when we least of all want to Be bothered by their onslaught; But we find ourselves helpless In front of their persistent assault On our senses and our thoughts… It is at such times that we Wish our memories would fail us And save us the torment of Agonizing days, sleepless nights… But, Memories have a mind quite their own… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Conceived: 23.10.2006 11:01 PM Developed: 4.10.2008 5:28 AM
Archived comments for Flash Backs of Life
sunken on 17-07-2009
Flash Backs of Life
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. I agree about our lives being like movies. Mine is based on 'Herbie goes bananas'. I must admit, it wasn't the greatest film ever made... Ahem. Hello? Enjoyed the read. Thank you. Isn't it warm?

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removing the bicycle pump took first priority

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 17-07-2009
Flash Backs of Life
"And sometimes we deliberately push
Some thoughts away from our minds
Bury them deep in to the furrows
And recesses of our memory
And try to remember only the
Pleasant and the memorable parts"
How very true dear Zoya.
A deep and revealing reflection on life. An enjoyable read.

Luigi x


Author's Reply:


Boy in the Hammock (posted on: 12-06-09)
It was so hot, you could fry an egg in the sun- and yet he slept so peacefully by the roadside, under a tree...Today, the 12th of June, is 'World against Child Labour Day'!

In the sweltering heat of June, As the sun dazzles at high noon, He sleeps in the hammock of plastic loom He sells to dispel his life's gloom. The hot air rises up the asphalt-road, Threatening to melt n' evaporate the whole world. The boy has coarse and naked feet, Curled up on his chest in a bundled heap. His clothes are encrusted with dried up sweat, Yellow beads of perspiration rise on his upper lip Where a down of hair is just beginning to creep. His hands are folded on his breast, Which heaves rhythmically as he sleeps. The heat has probably dulled his senses, Lulling him to a few moments of oblivion. He has to sell all the hammocks before sundown, Which his mother and sisters spin by the night, Knotting them into colours bright, In contrast to the colours of his own life- Dun, gray, ashen, black and blue … He has to feed his family today, And marry-off his many sisters one day… His father succumbed to diarrhoea and heat, His mother threatens to follow suit. He is the sole bread earner today, His worries gnaw at his soul night and day. But for the moment he slumbers a little, Forgetting his troubles just for a tittle… Tomorrow is another day… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Note: I took a photo of this boy, check it out, if you like, on: http://www.poetbay.com/viewText.php?textId=12197
Archived comments for Boy in the Hammock
Sunken on 12-06-2009
Boy in the Hammock
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. Your poem brings the picture alive and no mistake. Sleep is where it's at (if you can get it). I've always said so (-: Enjoyed the poem muchly, as did Bernard.

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Author's Reply:


Tower of London (posted on: 08-06-09)
The Tower of London, with its history of macabre deeds, is at once intriguing and fascinating...

Slip down the stairs of memory lane Dip deep into the drain of history Where waters flow ceaselessly Through ages, again and again- Yesterday, today and tomorrow, Intermingle in the age-old waters of Thames… Many changes it has seen along its banks Many a scene witnessed as it swam In and out of lives of Tudor lords, Normans, Romans, Victorians and Scotts… Thames has seen it all… Now it stands privy to the thought of William the Conqueror's fears of wrought: A fort mighty is conceived on the 'Motte', Between the bank and the Roman wall. Deep trenches are dug in its soft bosom, Stuffed with hard concrete rock. A castle white of limestone and rock begins to rise, as Thames watches shocked: Heavy rocks are plied across it, day and night, as it quietly bears and sighs, as if foreseeing the doom of mankind, about to take place when the Bell Tower chimes, Ticking away the minutes and hours of Time… Time takes a walk into history- Thames flows and its waters carry the burden of society; of murky ancestry… First prisoner, Flambard, escapes in the year eleven hundred and with him escapes a secret murky, of that of Tower's bloody history… Richard I went on the crusades deadly And Longchamp behind him got frisky: Dug up more motes and walls around the Tower. John the king's brother did not like it. Laid a siege on the tower, and had him arrested Longchamp fought, but had to give up when the food got scarce… he was imprisoned and then executed. Thus, the tower established its bloody history… Boy king Henry III was severally invaded By the nobles and Louis of France, So the Wakefield and St. Thomas towers were added, Which shielded him thrice, when he retreated (in 1230s)… And the river bore the burden quietly… Edward, the merciless, came and ruled: Conquered Wales, invaded Scotland, expelled the Jews. Built new walls, dug up new motes and The Towers of St. Thomas and Beauchamp were built. And when the 'Traitor's Gate' was nearly complete, The first Ghost of Sir Thomas a' Becket came (in 1240): Raking up a mighty storm and collapsing the gate, He struck the walls with the crucifix, And as the lightening and thunder raged- so the legend goes- he proclaimed: The building was not for the common good, but for the 'injury and prejudice of Londoners', my brethren'… And yet the evil deeds did not stop here, they were in fact only beginning to take shape… The Peasant's Revolt came in 1381, the largest revolt in English history, due to hugely unpopular type of a poll tax. Richard hid in the Tower with his family, While 20,000 rebels ransacked the tower extensively. The revolt ended when the king promised to meet The demands of people- A promise, he never meant to keep… Yet, water flowed down the Thames quietly… The Tower saw the 'War of the Roses', For along time into the fifteenth century, When two noble families of Lancaster and York Fought tooth and nail for the English throne, With the tower playing its key role: Two kings, Henry the VI and Edward the V, Are both killed in mysterious circumstances… The princes, Edward and Richard, aged 12 and 8, Sons of Edward IV, disappeared in 1483, Never to come out again… Years later their bones were discovered buried in the ground Under the Bloody Tower, While their uncle Richard the III wore the crown… And today, sometimes in the dead of the night, The Yeoman Warder can hear the sobs of the boys in the casement, Dressed in white night gowns their apparitions appear, If you approach them they get scared, And dissolve in the walls, they say… The innocent inmates of the Bloody tower, Still haunt the macabre place… And every stone in the Tower knows their secret hiding place… And Thames has heard their real cries hundreds of years ago… And some of their tears still flow, in the cold waters of Thames… The Civil Wars ended with Richard the third's reign. And the Tudor kings Henry the seventh and eight came… The formidable Henry the eight, made the Tower into the most famous prison-gate: So many innocent lives, including his own five wives, Were imprisoned and executed here, Till the Thames went red with their blood… First it was the need for a second wife, Supposedly for a son, that made him change the Catholic Church, to protestant Parish, through out England- The faith of a whole country was changed at the whim of a king… In went the Lord Chancellor, Thomas More, Soon followed by the Bishop of Rochester, To be imprisoned and later executed on the infamous Tower Hill; Because they would not allow him to divorce his first wife Catherine, and marry the beautiful Anne Boleyn! Who also bore him a daughter, Elizabeth I! So, she was charged with infidelity and treason and soon imprisoned, She met her death in the Tower Green, where she went under the axe, The golden axe that beheaded her was ordered from France Specifically for this purpose…. And right behind the Bloody Tower, on occasional restless night, Walks the 'head-less' queen… And sometimes, they say, she is seen heading a procession of nobles in the St, Peter ad Vincula's Chapel… That was in 1536, and all along whoever would oppose him was imprisoned, and removed by Henry the eighth… In 1542, Catherine Howard, his 5th wife, was executed too… In a habit to slay his wives, three more of total seven were imprisoned for life… They say the Thames was always red in his bloody reign… And when Mary I, the catholic daughter of Catharine, Ascended the throne, in true Tudor tradition, She carried out the saddest of execution Of Lady Jane Grey… A pawn in the hands of Protestants, she was beheaded eventually in 1554… And the Shackles of the old iron Chains, Remember many more prisoners there… The executioners have perished too, But the axe remembers the 'head it has slain'… And in the heart of the stone on the walls of the Tower Their names are engraved- Each telling a tale… Of long years in prison, darkness and torture… And the instruments of torture are still displayed… The famous Guy Fawkes of the 'Guy Fawkes Day' Was caught red-handed, trying to blow up James I and the House of Lords and Commons; He was imprisoned, tortured and forced to confess, And finally was hacked in year sixteen hundred and five... The day is celebrated, still with fireworks, on fifth of November… The most famous prisoner was the explorer, Sir Walter Raleigh; Was imprisoned out of jealousy by Elizabeth one, But, let off on the promise of sharing the spoils of his expeditions… A high profile pirate of sorts he made, with the queen happy with a share in his loots… But James I keen to make peace with the Spanish, In 1603 imprisoned him again in the Bloody Tower, Where he remained a prisoner for thirteen years. Despite the scientific experiments and the books he wrote, He was finally executed, in 1618, in Westminster… And now he roams the Tower on stormy nights, They say he comes to meet his old friends on such nights… Then there were prisoners like the famous Nazi leader Rudolf Hess, Who came flying over England in a plane, Was caught and imprisoned and tried for his crimes, And was imprisoned in 1945 for life… And in Germany he died, at the ripe age of ninety-two… And the Tower has witnessed these evil deeds happening in it over the years… And time takes stroll through history, The Thames flows, and the water washes the bloody deeds, Laden with the bodies of those slain, God only knows how many lie embedded in the riverbed, People more dead than alive are in there, And the black Ravens sit and Watch over and guard the tower of history… And Yeomen, the Beefeaters, maintain history: They wake up at six thirty and unlock the Tower And lock it up again at 6pm, in the Keys Ceremony… And the water of Thames flows down in Time, And remains mute observer of history… Yesterday, today and tomorrow merge Time sees all and tries to purge… Author: Zoya Zaidi London, 2oth July 2006 Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Tower of London
Sunken on 10-06-2009
Tower of London
Blimey, Ms. Zoya. What a beast of a poem. It's like a history lesson in verse. Impressive and no mistake.

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loosely based on a discarded crisp packet

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky Munkey for going through this! Yeah, I have been visiting the Tower quietly and educating myself on its history, which is shocking to say the least- that England has been cruel to other countries is well known, but to be so unforgiving and autocratic towards its own people is something hard to swallow, especially the acts of the gluttonous, sensuous and formidable king Henry the eight; of whom it is said that at the time of his death, he was so heavy and reeking with decay that it required four men to lift his chair, where he got stuck in death... I suppose it was God's way of doing poetic justice to him...


Here I have used Time and Thames as witnesses to the events of history, therefore the 'water turns red' and Time and Thames remain 'mute and helpless' 'quiet witnesses' to the evil deeds...


I am happy you enjoyed the 'history lesson' which not meant to be, it was more of expression of horror and loathing of the macabre deeds...


Keep smiling!


Love,


Zoya

Corin on 17-06-2009
Tower of London
Great stuff Zoya - I thought at first you had just been to London. The Tower of London is an iconic place from my childhod. My grandfather lived just down the road from there and I often went with him to watch the boats and barges and cranes on the river and its docks. Tower Bridge opened regularly in those days 50 years aga and I would sit on the canons lined up outside to watch it. There actually used to be an artificial beach below the tower - see
http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/museumoflondon/images/microsites/derivatives//exploring/130/mid/HG1391_08.jpg

Thankyou for the memories.

David



Author's Reply:
No, dear David, I was in London in 2006, when I just strolled into the Tower, whose existence I was oblivious of till then. I went back to it twice, and read up on the history- it was shocking- I wrote this then, but when I was in London again last year, I used to take the Thames walk along the South Bank literally every day, cross over the Tower Bridge to the North Bank, and go and sit in front of the Tower and make sketches of it in charcoal. This time I also took the tour around it, guided by the famous Yeomen Warders, dressed as beefeeters ( I had only seen on the Gin bottles of the same name before this); Embellished with their typical witticism and humour, the trip was a treat in history.
I saw the black Ravens and of course the famous Koh-i-noor diamond stolen from the throne called Thakht-e-Taoos (literally meaning 'the Peacock Throne') of Nadir Shah, which now adorns the crown of Queen mother and is housed in the 'Crown Jewels' section of the Waterloo Barracks of the Tower. It truly dazzles with its inner light!
I enjoyed the picture you have given the link to, imagine an artificial beach, right in the middle of the town on the banks of Thames! Did you live some where around the Saint Catherine Docks, it has a lovely museum of old boats.
Thanks for the lovely comment and the trip down the memory lane...
Love,
Zoya
PS and yes, sorry for the late-very late- reply!

CVaughan on 01-09-2009
Tower of London

Hello Zoya, remember me. I tuned in to read your latest and noticed the London one. You have written quite a history here on the life of an iconic building in good poetic form, very well done. I thought this deserved more recognition. Regards, Frank.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Frank, as it so happened that, tough I have been visiting London of and on since my student days, but, for the first time chanced, literally chanced, upon the Tower of London, on my visit to London the time before last. The macabre history was so much at variance with the quaint white sandstone building that it at once intrigued and fascinated me. Invoked horror and inquisitiveness at the same time, I kind of became 'obsessed' with the Tower's history and educated myself on it extensively and had to write this to get it out of my system, to purge my emotions...
Thanks for the lovely, thoughtful comment!
Love,
Zoya

PS Of course I remember you and even miss you sometimes... I hope you are doing well?



Essence of Elements (posted on: 25-05-09)
Every thing is Nothing and Nothing is Everything...

Every grain of sand is a whole desert in itself, What is a vast desert, but a grain of sand! Every drop of ocean holds the entire depth of ocean, What is the deep ocean, but a multitude of drops! What is a mirage, a totally internally reflected ray of light. What is Truth, but a ray of light dispelling the dark! What is life, but a breath of air taken in 16 times a minute, What is death, but a breath of air chocked in the throat! What is rain, but a condensed cloud rose from the ocean, What is draught, but a dry parched piece of land! A seed holds a lofty tree in its bosom, What is a tree, but a seed sprouted from earth. What is honey, but the flower's nectar sucked by a bee, What is poison, but bitterness in a sting of a bee! Earth and stars, every night, look up to the moon, Moon is but a reflection of glory of the Sun! A ray of light holds the entire heat of the Sun, What is the Sun, but millions of rays bundled in to one! Moon goes around the Earth, earth around the Sun, Sun is but a middle aged star in the universe. A flower is but the mother of fruit; the father of seed, Seed in itself is the father of a mighty tree! Heart is a pump that pumps blood into the body, Body is a shrine that houses our soul! All things small are potentially big, All big things have a small beginning… Everything is Nothing and Nothing is Everything In this paradox lies the essence of things... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Essence of Elements
Sunken on 26-05-2009
Essence of Elements
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. There's a lot to take in here and no mistake. I may have to return when I've had my bran flakes. They're fortified with vitamins and iron ya know? If you rearrange the letter of this comment you might eventually end up with something meaningful. I hope this has helped. Thank you.

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his sunday best isn't that good

Author's Reply:
Oh, Sunks, you don't need to fortify yourself for this!
Just my musings...!
But, do return after breakfast!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 29-05-2009
Essence of Elements
You were right, Ms. Zoya. I need not have breakfasted on Bran flakes at all. On closer inspection I have discovered that your delicous poem even contains honey -

'What is honey, but the flower’s nectar sucked by a bee...'

Tasty.

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bee sting, 5 - sting from the police, 1

Author's Reply:
Sunky darling, I can only thank you, for finding time to come back to my poem twice, even if it is for the sweetness of honey; (of the UKA, I suppose, finds it indigestible, or not palatable enough!)... For that matter, there are trees to sit under, oceans to dip into and even mirages to get lost in etc. etc. there is a lot you can find entertaining in this poem, even if you want to take it on its face value... Right? Well, if you choose to delve deeper, there might be some pearls in there, but forget about that...
Thanks a pile again!
Love,
Zoya



Light (posted on: 22-05-09)
Light is such an integral part of our lives, both physically and metaphorically... Inspired by Earth Hour Day, which fell on my Birthday this year.

The light that shows the right path Leads from ignorance of the dark, Into the radiance of knowledge and wisdom; Into the glow of intellect and freedom From the Thamas of difference of hate To the Rajas of love and brotherhood The light of the pure soul- Living in truth and innocent spirit- With the glow of the inner fire Fire of passion and desire Fire of suffering and unhealed wounds Smouldering in the very core Slow and consistent, that purifies the soul Purges one off sins and ill deeds So that I emerge cleansed indeed With the light emanating off me To light the life of those in need. The Tapas of the meditative mind That gets enlightened with a Wisdom of kind, emitting warmth others can bask in; A light that can illuminate the path Of those in need of right direction A light that can be of use to others; Dispel the shadows of their lives. Or, is it the light that dazzles others To the blindness of ignorance Who endeavour to harness it Make their lives more miserable: Pollute the atmosphere, Deplete the ozone layer, Choke the air with carbon dioxide, Melt the ice cap at the poles Raise the sea level; shrink the earth Drown it in to the briny sea Shorten our own lives on earth… The light that is measured in Power of watts and in candlepower That very light makes man powerless. I would rather glow with the inner light, than to dazzle the earth with too powerful a light that blinds the man and plunges the world into perpetual darkness- not just metaphorically, but actually, in physical reality. Today is my birthday and also The Earth Hour Day, I would switch of f the lights Sit quietly and contemplate in silence Turn towards my inward eye And try and light my life and heart, My brain, my wisdom and intellect With the glow of my inner light… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 28.04.2009 Note: Thamas: Darkness; Rajas: Light; Tapas: Meditation (Sanskrit, from Bhagavad Geeta)
Archived comments for Light

No comments archives found!
The Poet- Fishmonger (posted on: 22-05-09)
To a poet who sells fish for living…

I can feel your pain On that Monsoon night When you lay on your grass mattress Spread on the clay floor Clenching your tiny knees To your cold chest Watching the Kerosene lamp Struggle with the wet wind trying to snuff out its pale light, And you tried to figure out, Was it the hunger, Or the cold, that kept you awake, or was it the thunderous wind that howled outside? I can feel your preplexion when your mother came to you on that rain drenched night, 'Child there is a treasure trove amidst the bamboo grove, a little way out side' she whispered gently, 'I am going to look for it, You be a good boy and go to sleep!' Leaving you alone she Went into the wet night Only to came back at mid night, Without the treasure trove, but clutching at a wet five rupees note, And tried to dry her hot tears By the flickering lamp… I can feel your realization on that tortured night- That would haunt you all your life- that robbed you off your innocence, your boyhood pride... I can feel your anguish When once your drunken father 'Sold you off' for five rupees And your mother again went out 'Treasure hunting' at night To 'buy you back'… And then again and again- Whenever you and your little sister Howled with hunger pangs… I know how you must have felt. When, out of poverty and starvation Your father went crazy, And spend the remaining thirty years of his life Roaming half naked on the streets, Drinking and begging- While you bore the humiliation Of being jeered at by your peers and neighbours As the son of a 'mad-father', a 'harlot's offspring'… The deep scars of the burning memory of your mother's nocturnal sojourns, Your father drunken scenes, Would turn you into a poet- Pouring out the molten lava Of your painful experience Into your reader's hearts… Sitting today, on the rock near your home Reeking of fish, you sell during the day To feed your family of four- A wife, a daughter and an infant son- You reflect on your growing up years: You grew up literally on the street Doing odd jobs as restaurant-waiter, Digging Telephone-cable pits, Barber, chef, stonecutter, Head-load labourer, And occasionally a beggar, But you supported your self and some how went to school Which poverty forced you to leave after high school You married early at twenty, for money, a girl who was hardly educated, And with the dowry money, Married your sister off To save her from the clutches of poverty That the marriage never lasted, is another story… Now you thank the fish vending Which has given you A thatched roof over your family's head- has anchored your vagabond life… You even contemplated committing suicide, Out of sheer poverty and hunger, When you wrote those poignant lines: 'Is death more painful than hunger- Harder than starvation?' You went along with your entire family and lay on the railway line, but minutes before the train came your three years old daughter woke up and howled in thirst and hunger, this woke up the infant son, And while you tried to pacify them, They refused to go back and lie on the railway line… and thus you were thrown back Into the throes of life, to struggle again with the travails of day to day existence… That night the rain poured on the street of Kerala, And all four of you slept in a shed… Now you sell fish by the day, Your only source of sustenance, And pour your heart out into your poems By night to feed your soul That keeps you going in this hard life: Your poems, they say, smell of fish, Of 'scorched reality of life', And now you are recognized, Author of eight poetry books, And several awards, (including Sahitya Academy Award). But the fish-vending still keeps you alive… Or, is it the poems you write? I can feel your pain Pavithran, Which means, the pure, The unpolluted one! And indeed your soul has retained Its purity, its innocence… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India, Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Inspired by reading about the true-life story of Pavithran Theekkuni, a resident of Aayancherry village, 60km from Kozhikode, Kerala, in Hindu, Sunday edition, 12th Nov. 2006. A poet who sells fish for living…
Archived comments for The Poet- Fishmonger
e-griff on 22-05-2009
The Poet- Fishmonger
what a nice new word I've learned! - perplexion.

this was mightily interesting, Zoya, atmospheric and moving, and I switched off my critical eye as I read as this poem was not the place for it.

However, on a very mundane note, I can't help but wonder if the poem might not be more powerful and effective if it was distilled, concentrated into a shorter and more selective account of the poet's life.

Author's Reply:
OK, OK, John, you have me there this time- I will refrain from taking too much liberty with my 'poetic license'- I have made the necessary changes...
As for editing, give me a couple of days, I will try and find time to work on it during the week-end.
Any suggestion in the mean while?
Love,
Zoya

Jolen on 22-05-2009
The Poet- Fishmonger
A very moving tale, Zoya. I wonder if you realize that 'fishmonger' is derived from a word for prostitution though. Regardless, this was a good piece although I agree it might pack a mightier punch if condensed a bit.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
No, Jolen, I am not aware of such a connotation to this word!
I will try to find time to work on the condensing...
Love,
Zoya


e-griff on 22-05-2009
The Poet- Fishmonger
I wasn't complaining about 'perplexion' - just admiring it.

Author's Reply:
You were not? Then I will promptly go back to it!
Do you really think that
'I can feel your preplexion'
is better than
'I can feel how perplexing
it must have been for you,'?

Love,

Zoya

orangedream on 22-05-2009
The Poet- Fishmonger
Clearly, you have put much work into this, dear Zoya as with all your poetry, of course. I found it a most interesting read.

I particularly liked these lines hauntingly atmospheric as they are:-

"Watching the Kerosene lamp
Struggle with the wet wind
trying to snuff out its pale light,
And you tried to figure out,
Was it the hunger,
Or the cold,
that kept you awake..."

Well done!

Love,
Tina


Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina, you are such a darling!
Yeah, when I read about this unique poet, I was really moved, especially by the fact that he schooled himself, in order to be able to write, and then married 'for money' to publish his works, all the while struggling with poverty to barely keep himself and his family alive... He has to be a true poet, since as we all know it is extremely difficult to be creative on an empty stomach; and here is someone who actually uses his hunger to create the highest form of art- poetry!
I can only salute such a human being, and this the least I can do- write a poetic tribute to him.
I am happy you enjoyed it!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 22-05-2009
The Poet- Fishmonger
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. I've read this twice and think it's bloomin marvellous and no mistake. To be frank, in my head, I used a stronger word than marvellous. As you are a lady though I have decided not to use said word. If it was that Mezzanotte woman or Andrea I would have let rip, but you are a lady. Don't worry, they won't read this. Neat poem. Muchly enjoyed. Hello?

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star wars 2 - bran flakes 3

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky darling, I am 'muchly' happy to know, how 'muchly' you enjoyed my poem!
Hello back!
Bran flakes are better digested than Star War!
Keep fighting-fit!
Love,
Zoya


Gray Dawn (posted on: 18-05-09)
Inspired by Sylvia Plath’s poem 'The Morning Song'

Our voices echo, Our breaths whisper, Our hearts are heavy, in a storm. The raindrops fall in quick succession The glass is glazed like sweating morn. Dew drops on the flower petals like pearls gleam and are gone Your touch upon my moist skin Your tears upon my cheeks Take my breath away in sorrow that weighs heavy as a beast looming large in my breast escaping in sighs deep… And I stand at the windowsill watch the graying dawn Fresh flowers in the garden bloom Roses wilt in my drawing room And I await the rise of the day with a heavy heart… Melancholy stark Mourns the death of dark… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Dated: 23.03.2009
Archived comments for Gray Dawn
Mezzanotte on 18-05-2009
Gray Dawn
Dear Zoya,

yes, I can certainly see that this is a Plath-inspired poem. I love the first few and the last lines. Who is the 'you' in the poem? A lover? or is it a child as in the Plath poem?

A lovely dark poem.
Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:
Yeah the 'darkness' certainly is Plath-ian... As for the 'you'- I am certainly not telling, it can be any body, I leave it to your imagination, dear Jackie...
I like Sylvia Plath's moody, gloomy and dark confessional poetry- She was unique in this respect. I am happy you liked my poem!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 18-05-2009
Gray Dawn
Hello Ms. Zoya. Yeah, like Jackie, I too liked the final lines. Melancholy and beautiful. It seems, like fish and chips, the two often go together. Perhaps that wasn't such a great example. Anyway, a neat poem, in my sunky opinion. Thank you.

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Author's Reply:
Wow! or rather Bow Wow!! I am happy the most loved beagle on UKA is finally barking up my tree! lol!
Convey my thanks to Bernard. I think he really is a cute comrade!
Love and thanks for the bark!
I think Sylvia with her political leanings would have loved him too...
Yeah, melancholy is the hall mark of her poetry.
Love,
Zoya

Rupe on 19-05-2009
Gray Dawn
Delicate and elegaic. I particularly liked the internal/external contrast in these very neatly expressed lines:

'Fresh flowers in the garden bloom
Roses wilt in my drawing room'

The imagery is evocative throughout - though I felt 'take my breath away' could perhaps be reworked slightly, as it's rather a well-worn expression.

Rupe




Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile for the lovely comment, dear Rupe!
How about: 'Alleviate the feeling of sorrow'?
What do you think?
Love,
Zoya

Rupe on 20-05-2009
Gray Dawn
I'm not sure. 'Alleviate' is a little bit abstract perhaps - while 'take my breath away' definitely is not - but I can't think of a better solution (this shows the danger of criticising people's lines without having any idea of how to improve them).

Rupe

Author's Reply:
You are right! Well worn or not 'takes my breath away' definitely expresses what I want to convey best. So I think we will leave it at that.
anyway, thanks a pile for taking such deep interest in my work. I am flattered indeed!
Love,
Zoya

stormwolf on 31-07-2009
Gray Dawn
Beautifully dark and brooding..such a haunting air of solemnity through it I could see it all so plainly....

Alison

Author's Reply:


Mahabaleshwar (posted on: 18-05-09)
On return from Mahabaleshwar, one of the very few ever green forests in the world, situated on the Western Ghats of India...

These rolling hills of Western Ghats have a beauty strewn in their parts unparalleled by any other world's ramparts, Blue-green dotted with yellow spread vast Remind me of the Blue Mountains in Aussie land. For miles and miles together, unbroken stand The hills carved by the Nature's own mighty hands The highest Plateau in the whole of Asia grand. Known by the exotic name of Panchgani, the five mountains all flat-topped, create the impression of a close-knit clan, just like the Pandav's of Mahabharata, who lived on these planes masquerading in various garbs as the common man to hide from the roving eyes of enemy, as the legend goes… And the clouds in the lofty valley, come row after row envelope you in a soft quilt, as the visibility goes low the Nature rocks you in its lap; your inner self glows And when the Sun suddenly, from behind the hills peeps A feeling of warmth creeps in and takes you in its sweep The dew drenched leaves of exotic plants seem to weep mourning the loss of comforting darkness in the forest deep. And your heart takes a flight, swishing sorrows away making way for sheer delight, as Suns glory holds sway You run down the undulating slopes, hopping o'er rocks in the way and feel on top of the world, mist carrying you away to the edge of the Earth; Heaven wards you fly your imagination runs rife, in excitement you cry I am free, I am me, my soul is full, my spirit's on the high... A certain kind of contentment sets in, as you celebrate the very fact that you are hail n' hearty, and simply alive… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 4.12.2008
Archived comments for Mahabaleshwar
Mezzanotte on 18-05-2009
Mahabaleshwar
Beautiful, vivid images as usual. I liked the strong rhyming scheme, the last stanza made even stronger in that it didn't rhyme.

Lovely.

Jackie

Author's Reply:
I am not a stickler for rhyming dear Jackie, I let it come when it does, and do not force it if it doesn't... Believe me I was not even aware of the rhyming or lack of it in the last two lines, while writing it... That is how it came, and that is how it stayed... I am so happy, you like my imagery.
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 18-05-2009
Mahabaleshwar
Wonderful picture Zoya. I envy you seeing it. Lots of lovely images. My favourite verse
And when the Sun suddenly, from behind the hills peeps
A feeling of warmth creeps in and takes you in its sweep
The dew drenched leaves of exotic plants seem to weep
mourning the loss of comforting darkness in the forest deep.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Daff, yeah, it is beautiful and the vastness is awesome, its scenic beauty does really transport you into another world. Knowing your love for rhyming, I can understand your loving it... and the stanza you have chosen is my favourite too.
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

royrodel on 18-05-2009
Mahabaleshwar
do you work for the Mahabaleshwar tourist board?
isn't this where krishna originates?
a very peaceful read.

RODEL

Author's Reply:
No, dear Roy, sorry to disappoint you, but I do not work for the Mahabaleshwar, or any other tourism board, I am a doctor, and was attending a conference in Pune, Maharashtra, and took a day trip to Mahabaleshwar- it was really worth it.

In fact I have written another poem, called Sheshadri Hills, as these hills at Panchgani are called.

Yes, this is where the famous Krishna River originates and is joined by its tributaries Koyana, Venna(Veni), Savitri, and Gayatri. Interestingly, as the legend has it, they all originate in different places from Nandi, the Bull's mouth, (which is supposed to be Lord Shiva's sacred animal), and merge with the Krishna, which also originates from Nandi's mouth in the ancient temple of Mahadeva in the old Mahabaleshwar- incidentally, I visited theis temple too.

Would love to work for tourist board though, as I love travelling...

Thanks for the comment!

Love,

Zoya

Jolen on 18-05-2009
Mahabaleshwar
A beautiful portrait you've shared with us, Zoya. Thank you.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen, It is so sweet of you to step in and comment.
By the way congratulations on the release of your book. It looks impressive, I am sure it is doing well.
How are you doing?
Love,
Zoya


Sunken on 19-05-2009
Mahabaleshwar
Ahh yes, Ms. Zoya. I can see it now. I'll be frank, it sounds a little like Rhyl Sun Centre. You have done well to convey this to a sunk and no mistake to be sure. Well done. Hello?

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chesney hawkes, 2 - cheese on toast, 4 (late kick off)

Author's Reply:
"Et tu, Brute'?" I think it is unfair of you, Sunky darling, to tow Roy's line! Tell me which tourist centre offers you the spiritual delight of celebrating life, and just being alive?

Seriously, just kidding, thanks anyway!


Hello back!


Love,


Zoya

macaby on 19-05-2009
Mahabaleshwar
A very visual and somewhat peacefull poem , I thought.

And when the Sun suddenly, from behind the hills peeps
A feeling of warmth creeps in and takes you in its sweep
The dew drenched leaves of exotic plants seem to weep
mourning the loss of comforting darkness in the forest deep.

I really liked this stanza, great images. I really enjoyed it, thanks for sharing.
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac!

I tried to recapture in my mind's eye, the beauty of the place and the elating experience it offered to my soul...
Interestingly, Daf also liked the same stanza!

Love,

Zoya



At the Sonmarg Glacier (posted on: 15-05-09)
Inspired by a unique experience of transcendental nature years ago when I climbed the Sonmarg Glacier in Kashmir and was so lost in thoughts, I did not notice how the time passed by, till they came looking for me…

And then I began to climb the Glacier Ice crunching under my feet As I toiled upwards My chilly limbs gathered heat I began to sweat inside my tweeds And the cold and frigid snow Began to melt under my feet… When I reached the summit I turned and looked around And sat down awe-stricken On the frozen ground- World was under my feet! The sky was vast, clear and blue, Blue, as blue can be, The snow pure, pristine, white The heavens above, the earth below The majestic world glowed with pride… The stars and the planets seemed closer And a thought suddenly struck my mind: If God was Nature, Then I am just a little cog in the wheel of Time- An infinitesimal, minuscule speck In the scheme of universe… And I had thought, I am the world! Till, I really saw the world… And then I noticed the fountainhead- the font of the mountain river- gushing forth from beneath the ice cutting and melting with its warmth the massive mass of frigidity- And the mass of ice actually moved by the warmth of the ardent stream! And I understood The meaning of love: The value of a loving heart that can melt a mass of frigid ice Move it above the earth Just as the coldest of the hearts Is moved by warmth passionate love… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for At the Sonmarg Glacier
Sunken on 15-05-2009
At the Sonmarg Glacier
Blimey. Did you really climb said glacier, Ms. Zoya. Or was it all transcendental-like. There's more to our Zoya than people realise and no mistake. I got chilly just reading it. Hello?

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best before bedtime

Author's Reply:
Dearest Sunky,
Of course I climbed the glacier, the transcendence came later after reaching the top of the glacier and seeing the world under my feet...
There is always more to it then meets the eye, isn't it?
Thanks for the lovely comment!
Love,
Zoya




Barren Tree (posted on: 15-05-09)
I saw this old tree, knarred with tortuous branches in the fall…

I am a tree barren in fall With branches dry, haphazard Tortuous, tortured, over the years Entangled, entrapped, unable to escape Gnarled, knotted, roughened in effort to break free With few dried up beans still hanging, proof of former glory… Always looking heaven-wards Dreading the winter- cold, sans comfort, Getting fortified, with whatever energy left, To face the hard days ahead, with courage and grace Trying to conserve the precious life juices, buried deep within To rejuvenate, sprout green leaves, flower and flourish, in the approaching spring… I am a tree, always standing, Tall and firm, stoic and staid, dependable, Weathering storms, fighting the odds, never giving up Flowering, flourishing, bearing fruits, when spring comes Shorn off all my apparel in the fall, guarding against the cold winter, One day I will fall, but not before I have borne fruit, to benefit the world at large… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 8.10.2008- 8am
Archived comments for Barren Tree
cat on 15-05-2009
Barren Tree
Hi I just happen to have a soft spot for trees lol, I kinda like to think of them as guardians (I'm not like one who flew over the cuckoo ... I swear ... although) Anyway I waffle, sorry.

You're poem - it made sense to me, enjoyed and liked.

Love and my best to you x

Author's Reply:
Thanks cat!
Yeah, trees have different meaning to different people- they are suppose to canopy the herd, protect and give shade in hot summer days. We have trees of Neem, with medicinal qualities, it is supposed to have cooling effect if you sit under in in the hot summer afternoons. Then there is the Banyan Tree, where a single tree can grow into a forest, by spreading its prop roots; it is supposed to be a tree of wisdom- Sidhdharta, the Buddha, got his wisdom while sitting and meditating under a banyan tree. I also love trees, especially the flowering trees. These day so many trees like the Yellow Oleander, the Gold Mohair and the May flower, the Boganbella and many other trees, I don't know the names of, are in full bloom. It is a magnificent sight!
Thanks for the lovely remark!
Love,
Zoya

cat on 15-05-2009
Barren Tree
Hi I just happen to have a soft spot for trees lol, I kinda like to think of them as guardians (I'm not like one who flew over the cuckoo ... I swear ... although) Anyway I waffle, sorry.

You're poem - it made sense to me, enjoyed and liked.

Love and my best to you x

Author's Reply:
Ditto!

Sunken on 15-05-2009
Barren Tree
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. Have you ever hugged a tree? My mate has. I'll be frank, I found it all a little unsavoury and no mistake. I'll get him to read your poem. Perhaps then he'll treat them with a little more respect. Thank you. Hello?

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Author's Reply:
No, sorry to disappoint you, Sunky dear, but I have climbed many in my childhood, especially the Mango trees, and eaten the unripe piquant raw fruit... it is delicious!
By the way we had what was called the 'Chipco (literally -tight hug) Movement' in the Gharwal area of North India, where more than thousand local village women hugged the trees and saved them from being cut and fallen. They are supposed to be the first real environmentalist of India, who had not even heard the name of environment.
Don't hug the wrong tree though... Lol!
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 15-05-2009
Barren Tree
"One day I will fall, but not before I have borne fruit"

That's the spirit, Zoya. Never giving up and still full of zest in the face of adversities. A lovely poem and an apposite metaphor on life.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi, for the kind words. I guess we have to keep trying, keep hanging in there, in face of adversities. Otherwise life would be meaningless...
Love,
Zoya

Leila on 17-05-2009
Barren Tree
I love trees and they feature regularly in my own poems, you have detailed very well your own thoughts at that particular moment. I like the spiritual element to your work also...Leila

Author's Reply:
Thanks Leila,
Trees are a great metaphor of life. We have so many aphorisms related to trees in Indian folklore and literature, like 'A tree uprooted from its ground can never thrive in another soil' etc.
Thanks for sharing your love for trees!
Love,
Zoya


Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow (posted on: 20-04-09)
Sometimes the Natural phenomena become metaphors of human life on earth...

Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow As the mighty Sea- Endless and deep, Urges towards the Moon- Dainty, distant and small; Forever-in ebb and flow, With the waxing and waning of the lunar glow; Forever in flux Over the unreachable goal; Yet, never giving up, Adjusting to its flow, To the whims of This celestial sojourner… Leaping with joy Sometimes with big waves Trying to touch the beauty Of the full moon's face; Or, receding far and away, In dejection, as if it would Hide behind it's own banks… Sometimes in enraged agony, It breaks into a storm, Only to subside next moment To a calm… So do I crave for you- Forever-in ebb and flow, Waxing and waning with you, Waiting forever, for those minutes few- Ecstatic with you; In agony without you… Passion and craving Alternating always- Driving me crazy either way- with you or without you… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 08.09.2008
Archived comments for Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow
Mezzanotte on 21-04-2009
Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow
I love poems about the sea...constantly changing there is so much you can do with it. Also works as a fab metaphor.

This is a lovely line...one of many.

Trying to touch the beauty
Of the full moon’s face;

The only problem I see with this poem is that the beginning of each line has a capital letter. I think that this is all well and good in formal poetry, where each line will have a self-contained meaning, but I think it doesn't work too well with run-on lines...it sort of breaks up the flow of the poem, as it the poems got hiccups if you like.

Anyway, hope you don't mind this criticism...it's the only one...honest.
Best Wishes
Jackie




Author's Reply:
Dear Jackie,
Thanks for taking time to comment with so much sincerity and concern.
Yes, Sea and the Moon have a connection which fascinates me, all of us in fact, which is both real and metaphorical. I have tried to use this in the poem, or rather this very connection inspired me to write the poem.
Thanks feeling the same way I do!
As for the capitals, I am used to it this way! I really do not know where this small letters idea has sprung from? In the net-world all sorts of liberties are taken with the ways of writingEnglish language: some people write even I as small i; Americans, including my computer here, keep correcting all my colours, honours, sojourns etc. as color, honor, sojorns... I would rather stick to my good old English way of writing, because it is easy to lose good habits and very difficult to form them.
Anyway that is how I think- why lose a perfectly good old habit?
Thanks for the suggestion anyway!
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 21-04-2009
Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow
A beautiful poem, Zoya. My favourite lines:-)

"Adjusting to its flow,
To the whims of
This celestial sojourner
 "

I hope you are well. We have just enjoyed our first taste of summer today and it is so welcome. I hope it stays and seeing as the swallows are back, I think it is a good omen.

Love,
Tina:-)



Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Tina for stepping in to comment so beautifully, as always!
Summer is always so welcome!
Have a nice sunny day!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 23-04-2009
Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. What is a sojourner? Although I enjoyed the poem, I am now scratching my head over said word. Please help at your earliest possible convenience. Thank you. Hello?

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his nipples are removable

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunks,

Sojourner is a traveller on a long journey, who makes a very brief stop. Well you can say, it is a bit of a poetic license with Sojourn...

Love,

Zoya



I suggest, you keep them on




Zoya on 11-05-2009
Moon and the Sea- Ebb and Flow
Dear friends, I want to apologize for this late response! I had serious internet problems, for more than two weeks now, which just got solved, therefore the delay...
I hope you will forgive me this rudeness, which is not entirely my fault.
I also want to thank you all for the lovely congratulatory words on my selection as WOM for the month of May on UKAuthors. I have just registered myself on the forum and shall thank all of you personally as soon as my password is confirmed. Please bear with me till then!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:


Essence of Living (posted on: 20-04-09)
The very essence of living is in dying...

The flower lives for the fruit, When the fruit comes the flower withers… The bee lives to gather honey, When the honey is gathered, It dies in its own sweetness… The seed lives to bloom into a tree, When the sapling sprouts the seed dies… The musk deer lives to produce aroma While its killed for its very worth, Though a sad state of affairs… The very essence of things living, Lies in their doom and death… Life is the other name of Rejuvenation, Reincarnation… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India, Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 12.03.2007. Note: Inspired by Kabir Das, the Sufi saint poet of India- '' The flower blooms for the fruit, When the fruit comes the flower lies dead…''                                                     Kabir Das in Kabir Bani
Archived comments for Essence of Living
Elfstone on 20-04-2009
Essence of Living
Interesting poem Zoya. I see what you have described here as transformation rather than death - another stage of life if you will: the flower *becomes* the fruit; the seed *becomes* the sapling. On the other hand
"The very essence of things living,
Lies in their doom and death
 "
- now there is a huge and complex issue!
Elf.

Author's Reply:
Dear Elf,
Yes, death is the precursor or rather prerequisite of transformation, rejuvenation, rebirth, reincarnation... Like the death of caterpillar leads to pupa, pupa bursts to release the butterfly- if we look at it, in a way it the sacrifice of one form to bring about the birth of the other...
Just a bit of pondering over...
Thanks for the lovely remark!
Love,
Zoya

PS I also want to apologize for the late response, the reason being the failure of my internet services.

Sunken on 21-04-2009
Essence of Living
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. I want to be reincarnated as a toad. Some people say I'm toad now, but I just think they're being rude. Others wonder why I don't want to come back as a poet... Again, just rude. Disgraceful behaviour! Ahem. Sorry, not the best of comments is it? I'm tired but can't sleep. I blame coffee. I've gone and spilt it all over my mattress. Still, it could have been worse. I managed to miss my dangly bits. Some people say it's quite easy to miss my dangly bits... Again, just plain rude! Neat piece. Your poem I mean, not my genitals. Ahem.. Good day.

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come on baby let me know

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunks,
I bet you want to be reincarnated as a toad, because you want to be kissed by your princess, and transform into a handsome prince- That, I think is your secret desire! Not that you are not handsome now... but to be an Adonis is entirely another thing. Isn't it, dear Sunky?
Here is wishing you a kingdom in your next 'Janam' (next life according to Hindu mythology).
Love,
Zoya


Mezzanotte on 21-04-2009
Essence of Living
Dear Zoya,

the truth expressed with beautiful words and images. I really like the bee dying in its own sweetness as well as

The very essence of things living,
Lies in their doom and death


Your poetry doesn't always address happy issues, but there's a tranquil tone to your poems which I like very much.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:
Yeah, dear Jackie, when the beehive is shred (if I may use the term here), you can see the bees lying dead in the honey- actually it is due to the physical phenomena of osmosis, where the viscosity of honey is higher than that of honey bees' tissues, and water tends to flow from higher osmotic pressure inside the honey bee to the honey outside it, the honey bee gets dehydrated and dies... in its own sweetness... strange isn't it?

Well, I write what touches me, may be happiness I take for granted, and sadness/ unhappiness moves me... lol!

But, seriously, I do address happy issues too- read my 'Nocturne', 'David at Michelangelo Square', 'Enchantment of the First Kiss' and 'Sometimes I feel I am the Rain', I think they are quite 'happy'...

As for the tranquility-there is a storm brewing beneath the surface calm...lol!

Love,

Zoya

discopants on 23-04-2009
Essence of Living
An interesting poem which reminds me of the theory I had that the most reliable way to figure out how I felt about a girlfriend was to judge how much it hurt (or didn't) when we broke up. I had to scrap the theory when I met someone 16 years ago who just won't leave!!

disco

Author's Reply:
Now, the question is: Do you want her to leave?
On the other hand, we really do not realize the worth of things/ people till we lose them... isn't it?
I hope she stays forever...
Love,
Zoya

reckless on 06-05-2009
Essence of Living
I agree with Jackie - there is tranquility in this (and others) and I like it for that and also for the thoughtfulness and sense of hope it conveys. I like renewal, I like the idea of becoming again, of flux and change, the eternality of the moment. Good poem.

Author's Reply:
Dear Reckless, You are an optimist like me- you like to see the positive side of things, which is the right and the healthy approach.
Stay an optimist, it really helps in life- doesn't it?
Thanks a pile for the comment!
Love,
Zoya


Spring (posted on: 10-04-09)
An Acrostic

Spring Saplings in the moist earth sprout, Parrots in the jungle shout, Roses bloom, Peacocks strut about, Ibis from its nest flies out, Nosegays through the snow scout, Gay Spring is taking a walk out... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 02.04.2009
Archived comments for Spring
orangedream on 10-04-2009
Spring
I get the distinct impression that you really enjoy, springtime, Zoya:-) So would I, if it ever actually comes. Tipping down heavens hard today as it is.

Your poem paints a colourful picture. Especially like the line:-

"Nosegays through the snow scout ..."

Much enjoyed and please send some of 'your' spring, my way. If you can spare it, that is:-)

Love,
Tina

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina,
I really do love the spring! I realised this when I went to Moscow to study medicine: There would be snow for six months at a stretch, we would get tired of the white and grey all around us; finally when the snow started to melt and the buds started sprouting on the trees, we would watch the progress of each with such excitement. I realised for the first time what chirruping of the birds means at dawn in the spring; you see they would also hybernate in the cold icy winter.
Here I am placing a bit of 'my spring' on the palm of my hand and blowing it your way- got it?
Wishing you an early spring!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Mezzanotte on 10-04-2009
Spring
A lovely little poem, full of images and life. Lovely.

Here in Italy we don't have spring, and are cast from winter straight into boiling summer. It's very hard.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:
Really Jackie? No spring at all? How sad! I really have to take your word for it, because when I was in Italy it was June- July summer in full bloom. But, isn't the mediterranean winter also rather mild? No spring, and yet italians are such romantic and passionate people!
All the best to you!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 10-04-2009
Spring
Hello Ms. Zoya. Tell me, what's a nosegay? I had no idea that specific parts of the body could be homosexual. This puts a whole new slant on things and no mistake. As if life is confusing enough? Is that Jackie woman talking balls? No spring in Italy? I'll take her up on this at some stage. I've a feeling she's making fools of us all. A tip top sub and no mistake to be sure. Thank you.

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lest we forget the boiled egg

Author's Reply:
Sunky darling,

Nosegays are flowers, just like Pansies... given in a bunch, typically as gifts... They became very popular during Queen Victoria's time, they were worn around the head or bodice to ward off the unpleasent smells, literally to keep the nose gay (gay, as in happy)!

Sorry to disappoint you on this, but flowers are mostly hermophrodites, having male and female parts in the same flower... or may be that is why they are gay? lol!



I prefer the sunny side up!



Love,

Zoya

Ionicus on 10-04-2009
Spring
A very charming acrostic poem, Zoya. Enjoyed it.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi,
It was really kind of you to step in and comment!
Love,
Zoya

Andrea on 12-04-2009
Spring
Lovely pome Zoya - spring has finally sprung here!

Silly Sunk - a nosegay is a small bouquet of flars wot maidens used to sniff. You need to read more Georgette Heyer...or perhaps not.

HERE IS A NOSEGAY

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Andrea, I can feel the pleasent smell!
I am sure Sunky reads more of PG Woodhouse and Oscar Wilde than Georgette Heyer! Otherwise where would he get such splended sense of humour from? Correct me if I am wrong Sunky!Incidentally, it was PG Woodhouse who siad: "Flowers are happy things.”
And Oscar Wilde said: " Anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there."
Thanks Andrea for coming to my help!
Love,
Zoya

freya on 12-04-2009
Spring
Delightful and melodic read, Zoya. I could see sprites and nymphs dancing about! Shelagh 😉


Author's Reply:
Thanks Shelagh,
I am reminded of the forest scene from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".
Leprechauns, faeries, goblins and nymphs, no matter how mythical, always enchant me! I was a big lover of Fairy tales in childhood... Spring some how brings that fascination alive! Doesn't it?
Thanks for the lovely words!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 14-04-2009
Spring
How rude! But Thanks. I had no idea. I's a strange word and no mistake. I'm a big fan of sniffing. Thank you. Hello?

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currently without pants

Author's Reply:
Hi again Sunky!
Ofcourse you had no idea!
When I was little, there was a book lying in my parents book shelf 'Ideas Have Legs', and the title always fascinated me...
I wonder if your legs have ideas, such as this one to go without pants...
Here is another of Oscar Wilde's qoute for you on ideas: "An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all."

How about putting them on?

Love,
Zoya




Come, When… (posted on: 06-04-09)
As the spring makes its advent, longing begins to fill my breast...

When the vessel of my patience is empty Come, fill me to the brim with love. When the tide of my passion is rising Come, meet my turbulence. When thirst parches the desert of my soul Pour over me; fill me with your flood When the sky of my hope is clouded Bring your sunshine, warm me up. When desire fully engorges my being Fulfill my craving with your soothing touch. When my sorrow touches its peak Give me solace with your tender-speak. When I am lonesome and weary with life Be my companion; my pain imbibe… When my spirit is suffocated and oppressed Fill me with the fresh scent of your breath… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 01.04.2009
Archived comments for Come, When…
orangedream on 06-04-2009
Come, When

A lovely poem, Zoya. Can't pick a favourite line or stanza - they are all beautiful.

Love and hugs,
Tina:-)

Author's Reply:
Thanks, dear Tina,
Your appreciation means alot to me.
((Hugs Back))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 07-04-2009
Come, When

Blimey. You're a passionate woman and no mistake, Ms. Zoya. Nothing wrong with that of course. In fact, there's everything right with it. I'd drink from your poetical cup any day of the week. I'm guessing you're a D cup. Ahem. Sorry. Enjoyed the pome.

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Author's Reply:
Thanks, Sunks, and ofcourse, Bernard is a top dog. I must thank him too for the top bark!
Yeah, passion does at times pours out indeed...
Take care of yourself!
Love,
Zoya

Mezzanotte on 10-04-2009
Come, When

Dear Zoya,

I loved all of it. The first and last stanzas are special...lovely.

Jackie

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jakie, it comes from the heart. and 'what comes from the heart goes straight to the heart'. I am happy to know you loved my poem.
May God Bless You!
Love,
Zoya


Spring Came Stealing In... (posted on: 03-04-09)
How quietly the Spring stole in this year...?

This year the spring came quietly, stealing in… I was so engrossed in my thoughts, So lost in day dreaming, worldly chaos, I did not notice till the playful east wind caressed my cheeks, with its tenders touch; The faint fragrance of jasmine came wafting in with the gentle blowing of the breeze; Till the leaves began sprouting on oleander boughs; Till the crescent moon cast its spell enchanting the craving sea, fascinated the tide rose high to reach it… Till that strange longing filled my heart with the sweet sorrow of parting- You had said, when the west wind whistled: 'We shall meet in the spring…' The ache in my heart tells me: 'It must be spring!' Your voice in my ear whispers: 'It is spring!' Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 30.03.2009
Archived comments for Spring Came Stealing In...
orangedream on 03-04-2009
Spring Came Stealing In...
Zoya, this is beautiful. My favourite lines-

"The faint fragrance of jasmine came wafting in
with the gentle blowing of the breeze;
Till the leaves began sprouting
on oleander boughs ..."

We are still waiting for spring here, in my neck of the woods,
unfortunately:-)

Love, Tina xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Tina,
Yes, It is very pleasant in India these days. I have Jasmines and the 'Queen of the Night' in my garden, when I come back from the clinic and am rushing back home, I stop short in my track, the delicious aroma of the flowers does not let me pass by without taking a deep breath and exclaiming, 'Oh, How Heavenly!'
Fragrance, I think, is the other name of love!
What says you?
(((Hugs for the lovely response)))
Wait, and the spring will knock at your door!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 04-04-2009
Spring Came Stealing In...
Ahh yes, Ms. Zoya. The spring, a time when things start to rise. I'll be frank, I personally get that rising feeling all year 'round (-; I blame tits and arses primarily for this anomaly. Thank you my dear and no mistake.

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gushin 3 - pretence 1

Author's Reply:
What can I say dear Sunks, except, 'to each his own'...

But, don't forget, 'what goes up, must comes down'... lol!.

Love,

Zoya


And Slowly in the Subconscious (posted on: 23-03-09)
Creative process is the fruit of the subconscious... Or, is it?

And slowly in the subconscious A thought steals and stays Perches in the nest of dreams Snuggles in the poetic quays... Slowly do the dreams harboured Long in the craving heart Come to fore and are shaped Into a beauteous cast… Imagination takes a flight Soars high in the sky Into the realm of fantasy Heart nestles, never says die… Hope floats the river of desire Slowly ignites the fire And the dream becomes reality Gradually mingling with fantasy… Words pour out into poetry Take the shape of lines writ In sheer ecstasy… Author Zoya Zaidi Aligarh UP, India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Completed on 19.12 2008 Created 09.08.2006
Archived comments for And Slowly in the Subconscious
Sunken on 24-03-2009
And Slowly in the Subconscious
Blimey Ms. Zoya. Have you been sniffing coco pops again? I swear they have that effect (or shaould that be affect) on me too (-; Your poem suits my morning, sunny, birdies chirrping and a bacon buttie in my gob. Sometimes life can be good. I hope this helps. Thank you.

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his theory of slugs has been rejected by Nature magazine

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunky,
Isn't that a nice sunny response,
crisp as the first ray of the morn,
fresh as the newly laid egg
with sunny side up on your plate!
lol! You tickled my funny bone...
Thanks!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

freya on 25-03-2009
And Slowly in the Subconscious
Zoya, This is lilting and dreamily hypnotic. Yoga-like or Tai Chi-ish in its slow, controlled and meditative quality. That sort of letting go of all around you to focus on the art

Particularly struck by:

Hope floats the river of desire
Slowly ignites the fire
And the dream becomes reality

In fact so much, I 'm wondering if you've given thought to ending your poem at this point? For me, it's so much stronger. Some really nice end-line and internal rhyme here.

BTW, I did go to the site address you posted to House Of Life Lessons. Read both poem and article, with which I was very impressed. Did you get the message I left for you? It didn't seem to post to your work, so I was unsure. Anyway, a cool, gracefully unwinding premise here. Like it. Shelagh 😉

Author's Reply:
Dear Shelagh,
Thanks for the in depth analysis of my poem. I shall certainly consider your suggestion about the ending.

As for the Article: "Devadasi System in Indian Temples", I did not see your comment in the 'feed back' section. If you can click on the 'Comment on this Article' column, at the bottom of the article, and then leave your response, I am sure the Web-master will get back to me with the feed back news.

Thanks a pile anyway for finding time to go through my article and the poem. I am really obliged!
(((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya


The Mighty Deep Sea (posted on: 16-03-09)
The Sea holds in it self such mysteries of the deep - a metaphor of life itself...

The vast and mighty sea Holds so much in its belly: Thousands of school of fish And jelly fish of all variety, Countless Coral reefs- The skeletons of live species; Mammals like great whales Of such mammoth scale; And fauna of all variety Finding their food to satiety… Giant waves like tsunami Are fractions of the massive sea Who roar like giant beasts- Provoked by the earth shifting Its plates in protest against mankind's quest For the so called progress- Playing havoc at the sea… Wreckages of so many ships Are buried in the deep sea And skeletons of human beings Sacrificed to the ocean's fury Their eyes turning to gems Like diamonds and rubies Still shining under the sea… Some pearls are washed ashore When high tide recedes to deep But the treasure held by cavernous sea Are unfathomable to man kind, We can spend a lifetime, Unraveling the mysteries of the multifarious sea… The sea repairs itself after every storm And lies calm and at peace For days at a stretch Recovering from the havoc, But, the chaos that Man creates After every carnage; After every Nature's wreckage; Is lost, irreparably, irrevocably… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 23.12.2008
Archived comments for The Mighty Deep Sea
Sunken on 16-03-2009
The Mighty Deep Sea
Hello Ms. Zoya. Enjoyed the poem. It gives us much to think about. I once lost an Action Man in the sea. He had eagle eyes and a snorkel. It was a limited edition. I never fully recovered from losing him. He was named Barry. I forget why I called him Barry. I hope this has helped. It hasn't has it? You can tell me, I don't mind. I'll be frank, I'm very, very tired. I definitely shouldn't comment when I'm this shagged out. I blame cosmic anomalies and lumpy pillows. I'll shut up now. Good to see you on planet uka again.

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barry? barry? barrrryyyyyyy!

Author's Reply:
Sunky dear, it is always hard to lose dear ones...
I hope you don't miss him too much?
Barry is a nice name...
Love,
Zoya

cat on 16-03-2009
The Mighty Deep Sea
Dear Zoya,

A beautiful write. I could almost here the ocean as images overlapped like the waves when I read this.

Love Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Cat, I love the sea too... It always fills me with wonder and awe at its depth and the endless possibilities it holds in it self... To me its a new universe, we know so little about.
Thanks again for the lovely comment!
Love,
Zoya

discopants on 18-03-2009
The Mighty Deep Sea
There is something magical about the sea, isn't there? The sense of constant renewal and the unexplored depths. I still have plans to get a place overlooking the sea some day...

disco

Author's Reply:
Then we share a dream, Disco!
The sea never seizes to fascinate me, I am in awe, in love and in constant amazement at the power it has over me. The sea makes me contemplative, philosophical and humbles me to a great extent...
(((Hugs)))
Thanks for the lovely response!
Love,
Zoya


A Heart Betrayed (posted on: 27-02-09)
... is never the same again

A heart betrayed is forever frayed... It beats, but never with the same intensity. It feels, but never with the same depth. It loves, but never with same fervour. It lives, but never with the same zest... A heart betrayed, is never the same again... The wounds do heal, but the scars remain... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Photo: 'Old Man in Sorrow (On the Edge of Eternity)' by Vincent Van Gogh http://entertainment.howstuffworks.com/vincent-van-gogh-final-paintings7. The last paintings van Gogh completed before moving to Auvers-sur-Oise asylum.
Archived comments for A Heart Betrayed
Corin on 01-03-2009
A Heart Betrayed
Well I am not sure if this really true - though it may feel like it at first. But never having been betrayed I probably really don't know.

David

Author's Reply:
You are really lucky David!
I hope you never find out...
Love,
Zoya


Longings… (posted on: 27-02-09)
Sometimes I long to fly, high up in the sky, on wings of poesy...

When the first ray of light Fresh after a dewy night Touches my drowsy face In soft caressing ways, I feel a new day waking in me… Awakening me To this new world Bathed in sunshine – Free! When the ocean waves Caress my feet The aquamarine sea Beckons me to deep, I feel the depth of the ocean sweep… Drowning me In its vast eternity- Giving to me a new profundity… Deep! When the hot winds blow In the deserts that glow With passion of heat, I feel the burning deep within me Tapping my passion- My craving for thee… Like molten lava Waiting to pour forth With all its fervour, Its intensity! When the mountain brook Frolics past me I remember my childhood My innocence, My life carefree, My purity… And I long for that wholesome transparency… Alas! Now so far away from me… I crave for a new spring in me… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 24.02.2009
Archived comments for Longings…
Sunken on 27-02-2009
Longings

Blimey, Ms. Zoya. You run the gambit of emotions with this one and no mistake. I'll be frank, it's left me in a bit of a state. One minute I'm high on life, the next I'm experiencing lust (ok, that's one of my default settings) and then, as you slap me with innocence and longing, I experience premonitions of a wrinkly future. And all of this before Noel Edmond's Deal or no Deal! It's just too much, it really is (-; A smashing piece tho.

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he once saw a hovercraft levitate

Author's Reply:
Sunky darling,
I am happy, I took you on a sea-saw of emotions...
I always maintain that if the reader can come along with me on a journey of emotions that I go through in my poems, than my job as a poet is done.
Thanks for coming along with me!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

cat on 27-02-2009
Longings

Hi there,

What a beautiful buffet of imagery, and how well it conveys to the reader it's spectrum of emotions.

Very nicely done, c x



Author's Reply:
My dear Cat!
Isn't this a lovely comment!
Nature has such a way of inspiring myriads of emotions in our hearts that we can never tire off watching its different moods and colours...
Thanks a pile!
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 27-02-2009
Longings

Dear Zoya, I haven't commented on your work lately but this poem gives me the opportunity to redress the situation.
You always write beautiful poetry and this one is no exception.
As sunken said you have gone through the whole range of emotions. Nicely done.
Luigi xx

Author's Reply:
My dear Luigi,
It is always a delight to have you on my page, and you are always so kind to me!
Emotion have a way or running wild, don't they?
Please do continue visiting my page as your opinion is vital to me.
Thanks for the lovely comment!
(((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

macaby on 28-02-2009
Longings

Beautiful poem, an emotional ride full of wonderful images .I enjoyed it very much.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Macaby,
I really appreciate your kind comment.
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 01-03-2009
Longings

Lovely Zoya - it is still winter here even though March is bobbing up as I write. I too yearn for spring. Do you really have Spring in India? Good luck with the flying!

David

Author's Reply:
You bet we have, the loveliest of springs in the world. When it mild and pleasant, when the trees are green, the birds do sing, the chicks are hatched, little puppies and kittens are born, all animals procreate- Nature renews itself...

I love the Spring in India!

How about coming here to see it for yourself?

Love,

Zoya

barenib on 02-03-2009
Longings

Zoya - I suspect this is one where you just let the pen flow and out came the poem - it has that fresh and spontaneous feel about it which makes it move along really well. I'm an autumn person, but yes, spring does have its moments 🙂 John.

Author's Reply:
Yes, dear John,
You have got it right! I wrote this in one go in ten minute...
We all have our seasons: Some like the "Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness...", like you; others, like me, love "Spring, sweet Spring!", when the "The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet..."
You see, I was also born in spring-28th of March...
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 03-03-2009
Longings

Very stream of consciousness in style. Certainly evokes the changing emotions. Good ending.
Daff

You are cordially invited to visit my bookshop and art gallery.
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.merilang.htm

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,
Yeah, I do flow here with my thoughts and just let them take me where they want to... I am so happy you like it!
I have been to your book shop, I marvel at you ability to write children stories. I wish I could find that child like innocence in me to write for children... Your love for your various dogs is evident in your paintings and the book on dog stories is a proof of that. I liked your painting ' Niels with Guitar'.
Love,
Zoya


Come with me (posted on: 06-02-09)
No pun intended...

Come with me, I will take you to the edge of the earth, Where down the precipice of being, Everything infinitely swirls down 'Till oblivion come… Drown with me, In the deep blue sea of human dignity, Where the soul meets heart, and heart meets soul, 'Till eternity... Shed with me a tear of sorrow for those in custody of anguish, suffering, and agony, And I'll show you what it's like to sing a mournful litany... Be with me, And hold me tight, In my hour of need, And I, your ivy, will cling to you, on a cold gloomy night, and follow you right up to the aisle of ceremony... Share with me, The joy of life, That you have given to me, And I'll take you into the realm of fantasy... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Come with me
SugarMama34 on 06-02-2009
Come with me
Hi Zoya.

What a beautiful, deep and meaningful poem this is. It's haunting in one way, but I really liked it. It's creative and I loved your choice of words. I can't really say what stanza I liked the most and which stood out more because I liked them all so very much. A lovely write.

Sugar. xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Sugar,

Thanks a pile!

We have sometimes some sensations we do not understand our selves, we just pen them down and they sometimes take the shape of a verse. This poem is born of one such moment of spontaneous burst of inspiration... I am so happy you like it!

(((Hugs)))

Love,

Zoya

Sunken on 07-02-2009
Come with me
Hello Ms. Zoya. It's me, sunks. I had a spontaneous burst last night I think. Either that or my hot-water bottle is leaking. Anyway, that's not important right now. It's smashing to see you back at uka. That's the second time I've said that today. I wonder if I'm now entitled to a special prize or something? Maybe a free happy meal or a bargain bucket. I'll ask Andrea. Ahem. What am I on about? Enjoyed the poem. It put me in mind of a girl I once knew named Marie. She would do anything for a bacon sandwich. She made a right good job of my bathroom ceiling and no mistake. Brilliant at artexing she was, just brilliant. Thank you.

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a full explanation of this comment can be found on ceefax pg 234

Author's Reply:

teifii on 07-02-2009
Come with me
Very moving poem. Sort od 'stream of consciousness' I think. Certainly effective

Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:


Amethyst Rocks (posted on: 29-12-08)
When we were children, our mother taught us to collect relics of nature, amongst them were the Amethyst Rocks

Blue, mauve, purple crystals Embedded in grey rocks Are strewn on the rocky hills Of the sleepy town of Aurangabad Where the ancient caves Of five thousand years before Christ Of Ajanta and Allora are carved By the Buddhist monks and Hindu ascetics of those times Relics of timeless art, hidden in the Stony belly of cool mysterious Earth Tell the story of kings and queens And their renunciation of material world And the tales of common men; the Unique manuscripts etched in the rocks By mankind, leaving behind A legacy of rich wealth of aesthetic exquisiteness, Of beauty, still unmatched… And amongst these man-made wonders Are scattered, the beautiful natural Amethyst rocks, carved by the Nature's Own wonderfully skilled hands- By the hand of God himself! I used to collect them then As a child, and still have A couple of them in my house A reminder of those days And of my mother, who instilled in us This love of nature and encouraged us To collect seemingly useless things like Seashells- Natural relics of Nature- The gems from mother Earth, given to us for free for us to recognize and see the raw beauty of simple things like rocks. To identify and appreciate beauty inside Of anything or anyone Beyond the obvious on the surface… These rocks are the testimony of my Childhood curiosity, my enthusiasm to learn To know the mysteries of life To create something of value From seemingly innocuous thing around To acknowledge them for what they're worth- Little gifts from the ever-thrilling Nature… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Picture: AMETHYST ROCKS
Archived comments for Amethyst Rocks
Munster on 29-12-2008
Amethyst Rocks
What a beautiful story you tell in this piece, how we sometimes take these things for granted, its so important as you say we learn to appreciate all that's around.

Author's Reply:
Yes, dear Munster,
Nature is such a treasure house of beauty, joy, colour, fragrances, flora and fauna.
Sensations are there for us to experience, to feel and see, what is given to us for free.
We just have to keep our eyes ears and sensibilities open to these experiences.
And life can be such a joy!
alas we are too preoccupied in our own material world to notice the obvious.
Thanks for the lovely observation!
Love,
Zoya

ruadh on 30-12-2008
Amethyst Rocks
I love Amethysts and have a few pieces myself. There's a lot woven within these words, nicely done.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ailsa,
I love Amethysts too!
By the way it happens to be my gem, besides diamonds.
And what about you?
Thanks for the comment!
Love,
Zoya

reckless on 30-12-2008
Amethyst Rocks
It is so important, to see the beauty that is around us, rather than searching all the time for cheap sensation, as so many seem to do. I very much liked this, its apparent simplicity concealing a depth of meaning, its recollection of times past, and our own place in them .... terrific.

Author's Reply:
Dear Recckless, You have seen so many layers of meaning in this small piece.
I am amazed at your power of penetration and am of course flattered by your praise.
Thanks a pile for seeing beyond the obvious...
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 30-12-2008
Amethyst Rocks
Hello Ms. Zoya. I too am trying to appreciate the things in life that don't cost any money. At this very moment, for instance, I am glancing at my neighbours bra. It's been hanging from her washing line for over a week now. I may hang some pants out on mine later. You never know... Perhaps it's some kind of signal. Shall I hang Y-fronts out or a pair of boxer shorts? Ahem. I did enjoy the poem by the way. Thank you.

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yes, he's desperate

Author's Reply:
Keep looking, Sunky darling, there is always more to it than simply what meets the eye...Ahem!
Let me know if there is indeed a response to your very lascivious reply to the hangings on the line...
You never know, it might be a sign indeed...
All the best in your endeavour!
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 04-01-2009
Amethyst Rocks
My brother and I used to collect fossils and rocks too but we didn't have such a magical source as the caves you portray in the poem. They sound wonderful -- the sort of caves that we used to invent full of jewels. I don't know if any of the rocks with crystals we collected were amethysts [unlikely] but you describe them so effectively that I feel as is we did see them.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff, The Ajanta and Ellora caves are in the Aravalli range of Mountains on the Western Ghats of India. They were carved by Buddhist Monks and Hindu Ascetics and are one of the most exquisite aesthetic treasures of art of our country. It is a treat for the heart and soul just to observe this triumph of human endeavour over Nature, to turn a thing like rock-caves into treasures of art.
Ajanta has one of the most beautiful murals of Buddha, meditating or renouncing the world, Buddhasathva Padmapani and celestial nymphs, called Apsara; while caves Allora are full of statues of Buddha, Shiva, Ganesha and other deities of Hindu Mythology. It has whole temples carved out of a single piece of giant rock. One wonders at the single minded effort of human hands in creating such colossal masterpieces.
And amidst these are strewn these natural gems carved by God's own hand!
In fact, there is a retired couple who lives in Aurangabad, who have built an entire rock garden and a museum of sorts by collecting these rocks over the years.
Much love to you!
(((Fond hugs)))
Zoya


Aurora Borealis (posted on: 01-09-08)
Northern Lights or the Aurora Borealis fascinate me greatly...

 

Sun's magic charged particles

Are attracted by the magnetic field,

Concentrated at the Earth's North Pole

And produce the breath-taking Northern Lights...

 

So will I reach the summit of love,

Concentrate my passion on my finger-tips,

Enchant you with that magic touch

And make you my Aurora Borealis, my Love...

 

Come! shower me with your dazzling light,

And I'll bask in the glory of our love...

 

 

Author: Zoya Zaidi

Aligarh (UP), India

Copyright (C): Zoya Zaidi

26.06.2008 Note:

Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights, appear as sheets of illuminated curtains with streaks as bright arcs in the sky. Recently scientists have revealed that the charged particles produced in the Solar atmospheric activities occasionally escape, especially through the magnetic holes near the sunspots. Some of these charged particles travel in the direction of the earth under the influence of the interplanetary magnetic field. When they reach the earth, they get concentrated near the poles because of the strong axial magnetic fields there, producing the beautiful phenomenon called the 'Aurora Borealis or the Northern Lights.


Archived comments for Aurora Borealis
Jolen on 02-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
I enjoyed how you combined the Aurora Borealis into the loving of these two. Very sensual.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen, for noticing the underlying tenderness!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 02-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
What a smashing picture. Tell me, is it a four wheel drive? How many miles to the litre does it do? Have you tried it off-road yet? Ahem. Sorry Ms. Zoya. I have woken up in a frisky mood, I really shouldn't be commenting right now. An accomplished write and no mistake.

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people keep laughing at his portable cassette player

Author's Reply:
Good Morning Sunky darling!
Your commenting is smashing, even after just waking up!
Have a nice bright day!
How is the weather in your part of the world today?
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 02-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
Now then Zoya - what have you got against the aurora australis - are they less beautiful, less romantic?

Some technical points:-

1) Solar particles from the sun are always escaping from it surface - they cause the solar wind which radites throughout the solar system - it is these particles which interacting with gases escaping from a a warmed up comet as it approaches perihelion cause the visible comet tail.

2) A large solar flare or sunspot increases the flux of solar particles.

3) These charged particles are in fact trapped by the Earth's Magnetic field which causes them to spin around he lines of magnetic force well above the Earth's atmosphere- however depending upon the angle of incidence this spiraling tends to take the particles closer and closer to the magnetic poles where the lines of force are concentrated and more importantly where they pass through the atmosphere thus causing the particles to enter the upper atmosphere - interact with the gases of the upper atmosphere causing the atoms of those gasses to enter into higher electronic energy states as they absorb energy from these particles. Later the atoms revert to their normal energy state releasing the energy as light - very similar to a luminous object. The colour of the light depends upon the energy state transition and the molecule or atom that has been excited.


Author's Reply:
Thanks Corin darling, for this very informative rejoinder!
(((Hugs for the input)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 02-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
Hello again, Ms. Zoya. To be frank, the weather here is bloody awful and no mistake. It's been crap all summer. I'm keeping a sunny disposition, however, by drinking plenty of orange juice. Incidentally, would you mind if I used that there picture for one of my Unkle Munky posts? I'll understand if it's a no. Thank you.

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in white vans we trust

Author's Reply:
Of course, Sunky darling, you are most welcome!
Love,
Zoya

barenib on 04-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
A nice bit of Northern romance! What a good source of inspiration - John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, dear John!
Yeah, inspirations have a way of comming when least expected...
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 06-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
(-: Thanks Ms. Zoya. You're a star and no mistake.

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he's retractable

Author's Reply:
You are most welcome, dear Sunky!
Love,
Zoya

pencilcase on 16-09-2008
Aurora Borealis
Great picture and a fascinating subject. The spellbinding, enchanting and magical qualities of the borealis make it a beautiful setting for a love poem, and I very much like your concluding two lines.

Steve

Author's Reply:
Thanks Steve, for the lovely remark!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


Rendezvous of the Opposites (posted on: 13-06-08)
Night, though knows not the Day But, gives into Dawn.

Night, though knows not the Day But gives into Dawn. Dawn, though knows the darkness well Yet dispels the Night's fawn… Day and Night meet on the Eve, Eve, witness to their rendezvous, Does in gray shades hide And drenches them in dew… Day cools its heels in it, Night dresses in nocturnal blue, Hand in hand they sink into oblivion Not knowing what is their due… Dawn comes with the glory of Sun Clothed in pinkish hue, Yellow gold of the setting Sun From darkness takes its due… Love rises with a sigh of satisfaction Stretches with a yawn, Passion softly purrs by its side After taking its due… And the Poet muses- After nocturnal rendezvous- With renewed contemplation, The Pen scribbles anew… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 09.06.2008 Aligarh
Archived comments for Rendezvous of the Opposites
Romany on 13-06-2008
Rendezvous of the Opposites
This is full of your usual sensuality and earthiness, but I must confess I found it difficult, even a little clumsy, to read. I've no wish to offend, offered with respect as always.

Romany.

Author's Reply:

MywordsandI on 13-06-2008
Rendezvous of the Opposites
I read it the first time and like it, then I read aloud, and stalled: Yet dispels the nights fawn
 in the first stanza screwed me, is this conveying colour of Nights - beige, tan etc I had visions of dim, eerie, in my head, or porn (comically) maybe ’fear’, the second stanza, because I had to read again, I assumed was twilight, but you have dew, and that is symbolic of morning.
I think is got plenty of potential, it just needs re-thought on where is the start and where is the end, and mix in the last two stanzas within that appropriate time-line. I hope to read it a fourth time, edited.
Kevin


Author's Reply:


Mother Nature and Water, the Elixir of Life (posted on: 02-06-08)
The Earth is abundant with life giving natural resources, yet we do not value it...

The desert waits For the brief rain of spring The whole year long; Quickly flowers With beautiful trees In no time at all. All the creatures big and small Suddenly come to life, Out of their hibernation: Birds break out of their eggs, Butterflies out of their pupae, The locusts the arid land swarm And eat up the entire crop Are so abundant that they in the sky A dark cloud form, Which moves altogether Humming its love song... They all come alive To celebrate the brief shower Of precious drops of life... The parched earth eagerly Absorbs the life giving drops Of the same water, to collect which, Women with earthen pots, Precariously perched on their heads, Still walk for miles and miles, Day after day, The whole years long, In many parts of the world- The deserts of Rajasthan The Thar, the Kalahari and in Arbistan... The frozen ice, the mother of river, In the snow cap of the arctic Melts when the spring arrives Penguins walk, after their wintry hatch, Of precious eggs- leaving them to their mates to warm- to the water edge in the sea, A mammoth journey of a hundred and fifty miles To feed at the ocean bed. The sea so bountiful, Gives the essential food... Water, water, the giver of life Water, water, the elixir of life... The hump-baked whale Starts to travel early in the spring The long journey of eight thousand miles Encircles close, closing in on its prey In the collective hunt of Sardines and Cray fish Producing their characteristic whistling sounds- Like the war cry of the Indians... The sea doves fly thousands of miles To come and lay their eggs on the peaks Find a dry and cozy patch of land, And hatch in abundance their young, Who when born scurry to the water to feed Not knowing yet how to fly, While the hawks in the sky Watch them with an expert eye And swoop down to catch, the young and naive new hatchlings by their necks.... They also find their meals at the water's edge. Water, water, the giver of life, Water, water, the sustainer of life.... The entire Earth vies for water And fights for its survival... The time is brief, the activity in abundance, For which all the creatures prepare well in advance. Life sustains itself in Nature Everything lives in perfect symbiosis, In perfect Harmony... Why can't we Save the essential, natural habitat Nature has bestowed upon us? All living beings adapt themselves To the climatic changes, brief but essential And we human beings want the weather To adapt itself to us... Why can't we, instead, adapt our selves to it? Like all living creatures do? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 20.03.2008, The World Earth and Water Day
Archived comments for Mother Nature and Water, the Elixir of Life
Sunken on 02-06-2008
Mother Nature and Water, the Elixir of Life
Thought provoking stuff, Ms. Zoya. And here's me about to have a bath... Perhaps I should shower instead? It saves on water apparently... Surely it depends on how big you are? I'm not that big. Ahem. Yeah, crap comment isn't it? Ya know what you need? Someone with a brain. I hope someone comes along shortly. Nice one Zoya. Sorry about the comment. I blame Mondays.

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derby 3 - oxo cube 4

Author's Reply:

red-dragon on 02-06-2008
Mother Nature and Water, the Elixir of Life
Sorry, Zoya, no brain here either, but I do think your poem has a wonderful theme. We can all subscribe to Agenda 21, recycling, conservation, Fairtrade etc (issues close to my heart) but until major nations do, we're P"""sing in the wind. Sorry again, but it's the only way to describe it.
Well done on the nib, Zoya. Ann

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 03-06-2008
Mother Nature and Water, the Elixir of Life
So much work and research has obviously gone into this poem, Zoya and as far as I'm concerned, it has really paid off. Many congrats on the nib. More than well deserved.

I wish I could quote one or two lines that I really liked, but I can't choose. There are too many.

Hope you are well and not having the awful rain that we are having in some parts of the UK right now.

Tina:-)xx

Author's Reply:


Laughter (posted on: 16-05-08)
What is Laughter after all? Just musing...

What is laughter? An expression of delight A celebration of happiness Pouring fourth of ecstasy... A release of pent up feelings A nervous drive A cover-up for embarrassment A hiding of inner sorrow... A sign of contentment, of deep fulfillment, expressed in a smile, Lurking sweetly at the jaw-line... A mocking mirth A jeering at an opponent A sarcastic remark A guffaw of phoo-phooing- Like the ancient Greek, who viewed it as the expression of derision or scorn... An establishing of superiority Over someone's inadequacy, Inability or clumsy fright, By making fun of his infirmity or deformity... Appreciation of a witty remark, A joke, or banter... A spontaneous reaction At the absurdity of a tragic plight: Like Charlie Chaplin once noticed a piglet being chased through the streets By a butcher with a knife- A tragic-comedy, if you like... Like King Lear Mocking the winds To rage and pour fourth And 'drown the steeples'; Or holding a mock trail with poor Tom Banishing his daughters for their deeds- A release of half madness arising from deep grief... A hysteric laughter merging with sobbing At the frustration of inability to deal with deep anguish buried in the soul Vying for release of some sort at least- As Freud suggested that laughing was Fundamentally a release of psychic frustration Or nervous energy from within... And yet Aristotle saw laughing as a sign of humanity- Observing that human beings are the only creatures who laugh.... So laugh, my friend! Because laughter is Human It's healthy, it's a release... Author:Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 26.04.2008 London
Archived comments for Laughter
pencilcase on 16-05-2008
Laughter
As you say, 'just musing'! But you offer an interesting tour of the various types of, and prompts for, laughter.

I see that Aristotle comes out of this much better than 'fraud'!

Quite thought provoking. It didn't make me laugh, but it made me think, and I was hoping for a concluding statement to round it off, and this you obviously considered yourself. And that made me smile, at least!

So laugh, my friend!

Steve

PS
Did you hear the one about...

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 17-05-2008
Laughter
I never thought of that, Ms. Zoya. we are the only creatures that laugh... We're also the only creatures who wear eyeliner. It just gets curiouser and curiouser (-;

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please sir, can i have a turnip?

Author's Reply:

artisus on 17-05-2008
Laughter
I agree with pencilcase, an interesting tour!
thanks

X

Author's Reply:


Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal... (posted on: 21-04-08)
Inspired by the Surrealism section of Tate Modern, I visited on the South Bank of Thames today...

Dreams, poetry, images surrealistic They never face you directly Seem to slink in from the side- Sideways sliding into subconscious- Slowly surfacing to the consciousness; To description: to words new and old; To pictures distorted; extended; stunted; Scattered in disjointed forms... Put them together into one whole Or let them extend further- Each into their own individual realm- Sometimes taking a coherent meaning- Sometimes non at all- Becoming more and more abstract,

Indescribable, incoherent, inaccurate; Just like the life itself: Enveloped in diaphanous haze; Scorching with invisible flames; Flooding with unseen waters- Deep down into the soul- Soul indiscernible, Soul disturbed Swishing like approaching waves On the pebbled shore of existence- Swish! Slash, Splash!

Drenching your entire being Hurling you into the realm of unknown... Surreal!     Author Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright (C) : Zoya Zaidi 18th April, Tate Modern, London Image: Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali http://www.fotos.org/galeria/data/520/3Salvador-Dali-Persistence-Of-Memory.jpg
Archived comments for Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...


Elfstone on 22-04-2008
Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...
Zoya, this is an interesting poem, but, if I may be so bold, I think the layout is spoiling it. In fact, to read it a second time, I copied it into Appleworks and got rid of the triple spacing. It made quite a difference even doing that (it was *much* easier to read) and I suspect a bit more tweaking might be possible. I feel that the visual aspect of poems on the page is very important and of course you may disagree entirely but myabe I can persuade you to consider re-setting this one? Regards, Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Elfstone for the valuable suggestions. In fact I never wanted the lay out to be double spaced, but sometimes the HTML editing goes its own way, and I was too sleepy to sit down and redo it. Anyway, I have changed the lay out now.
As for tweaking, do you have any suggestions?
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 23-04-2008
Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...
Hello lovely Ms. Zoya. I don’t know much about art, but I’ve always quite liked the surreal stuff I’ve seen. I blame this fondness mainly on a lack of fresh air. A neat poem that deserves more than this. Long may you both tick and tock.

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tomorrow the graveyard

Author's Reply:
And that is neat comment too dear Sunky,
Surrealism is a bit tricky alright, but then all that is absurd is tricky, isn't it?
Thanks for appreciation.
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

barenib on 23-04-2008
Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...
Nice to see a poem about the surreal, it's a word that's much mis-used these days to describe anything out of the ordinary. Dali described it as 'a chance encounter between a lobster and a sewing machine on an operating table'. Anyway, I enjoyed your verse - all the best, John.

Author's Reply:
You are right John, It is really a misused word! The definition Dali gave is so typical of him. To me surrealism has always meant Dali; and Dali to me is synonymous with surrealism...
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love,
Zoya

Elfstone on 23-04-2008
Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...
"As for tweaking, do you have any suggestions? "
I'm happy to have another look at this, but I think it will be the weekend before I will have time. I'll PM you. Elf.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Elf darling, I will be waiting...
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 24-04-2008
Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...
Wow, what an amazing picture, Zoya!

Your poem quite accurately describes his unique style of painting and as barenib says, the word 'surreal' is often misused these days. Dali was a master at his art there is no doubt of that.

Hope you are well, Zoya and please keep amazing us with these wonderful images that you treat our eyes to on so many occasions.

Tina ;-)x

Author's Reply:
Hi Tina,
Surrealism is amazing, isn't it? It is thought provoking, intriguing and, if nothing else, disturbing; at least it was so with me. After I was through with the surrealism section, I felt, I needed a cup of coffee, and as I sat down to have it , I wrote the poem there and then...
I am fine and enjoying my short holiday in London, which I am taking after a conference in Cork, Ireland, where I presented a paper on child labour last week.
((Hugs to you))
Love,
Zoya

discopants on 24-04-2008
Dreams, Poetry and Images Surreal...
Ah, so you're in London. Do you know, I've not been to the Tate Modern since it opened- I had seen some of the exhibitions when they had a portion of the Tate Gallery itself but I have to say, Surrealism isn't really my thing. Your poem, however, iks quite thought-provoking, exploring the connections that surrealism might represent.

dp

Author's Reply:
Yes, dp,
There is a connection between, dreams poetry and surrealistic art. It was very representational of the psyche of the artists in the post war scenario the world over, when nothing coherent seem to have any meaning, it was movement joined by poets, writers and the artists alike...
Yes, I am in London and enjoying myself thoroughly. I went for Shakespeare's birthday celebrations on Sunday and must say that I enjoyed the Sonnets walk very much- some of the sonnetiers were really good. I also got a chance to see 'King Lear' last night at the Globe; It was an enriching experience indeed.
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya


…Not Just A Drop! (posted on: 24-03-08)
A tiny drop of water is not just a drop, but holds a potential sea in itself…

  …Not Just A Drop!

A drop is a whole Ocean in itself, What is an ocean, but a multitude of drops… A drop is rain, A drop is hail, A drop is tumult, A drop is a storm! A drop is not just a drop:   A dewdrop on a rose petal, on a pleasant morn. Hoarfrost on a tender leaf, on a chilly dawn. A snowflake on your tender lips, melting in your warmth. A helpless tear on a child’s cheek, on a hungry, sleepless night. A gleam of joy In a widow’s eyes, Watching her son grow with pride.   A pearl in an oyster shell joyful at its destiny, In that glorious moment of time.   Delicate ripple on a sunset beach, Kissing the shore Bathing my soul in its calm. A frolicking froth in a mountain stream, skirting around the rocks.   A shower of rain on a hot summer day, cooling your brow. A river of water Flowing through a desert, Giving precious life.   A tornado, a hurricane, A Tsunami, a giant wave, Destroying things in potent rage.   A drop, A tiny drop of water, Is not just a drop! It’s An expression of sorrow A suggestion of joy, Source of potent rage, The mother of pearl, The father of sea, The giver of life…   A drop is not just a drop, It is the essence of our being on Earth!   Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi     A World Water Day Tribute! Note: The United Nations General Assembly designated 22 March of each year as the World Day for Water, An initiative that grew out of the 1992 United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) in Rio de Janeiro Once viewed as an infinite and bountiful resource, water today defines human social and economic development. Undoubtedly water and sustainable development are inextricably linked. Without adequate supply and management of fresh water resources, socio-economic development simply cannot take place. It is this need that led to the international observance of World Water Day, starting in 1993. The first water decade from 1981-1990 brought water to over a billion people, and sanitation to almost 77 million; there are still over 1.1 billion people without adequate excess to water and 2.4 billion without adequate sanitation. In India almost 800 million people do not have clean water to drink. That is over two and a half times the population of United States. 85% of rural population in India is solely dependent on ground water, which is depleting at a rapid rate. Population growth is expected to result in decline in the per capita availability of fresh water. It has been estimated that by 2017 India will be ‘water stressed’. Source: The Times of India Daily , Thursday, the 20th march 2008


Archived comments for …Not Just A Drop!
Gerry on 25-03-2008

Not Just A Drop!
Zoya, very wise words expressed in a clever way...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:

Corin on 25-03-2008

Not Just A Drop!
Water is indeed a wonderful and precious substance - we waste it here in the UK - though we do sometimes get too much of it!

Snow all weekend this Easter!

David

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 27-03-2008

Not Just A Drop!
Blimey. World water day? They seem to have days for everything. Should I be wearing water wings or something, Ms. Zoya? I hope we get to have a chicken tikka day in my lifetime. I love chicken tikka. Having said that, I always like a glass of water to hand, just in case the chef has made it too hot. I do, after all, have quite a delicate tongue. Ahem. I'm talking balls again aren't I? I nice poem that has made me feel wet... I really should rephrase that.

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he feels wet

Author's Reply:


The Story of Nature (posted on: 21-03-08)
An Earth Day tribute

Each ray of the rising Sun Tells the story of the Sun: Of light; of fire; of dispelling of the darkness; Of hope, of warmth; Of desire; of shinning bright Of creation of cool rain; Of Life, Living and Loving... And then the setting Sun Tells us the story of death Of face of Doom Imminent and inherent In every Life, in every being… Each dew drop tells the story Of Love, tenderness and sacrifice, Of getting consumed in passion, At the behest of the beloved To perish and disappear Without a trace In the passion of the union… The wind in the trees Tells the story Of the power of the invisible The energy of the abstract Only to be felt On the tender skin In the glowing Soul… Is the source of great inspiration To strive, to persevere, to fight To stand up for one’s right! The chirruping birds Tell us the story Of how life must go on Irrespective of loss or sorrow. The flying away of the hatchlings To start a new life How new nests are built How new life is nurtured Lived anew; how to survive… The mighty Ocean tells The story of creation: How to hold within one self The life of a million Lives… The mystery of life, the strife The story of constancy, Of depth, Of loving, longing and giving, Unconditionally without being asked… The water trickling though the rocks, The shining of the soft moon The melting of the Snow flakes Pit'ter-pat'ter of the Rain in spring Mighty roar of water falls The hopping Gazelles of the Savannahs The Emperor Penguin, the Polar Bear, The pristine ice of the Polar Cap… Every little creation of Nature Every Life, big or small, Has a story to tell Has a song to sing If we care to listen If we care to sing If we care to retell The story of love, The story of life The story of Nature The story of Ourselves… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 06.06.2007 (The World Environment Day) Photo:http://www.hickerphoto.com/data/media/24/spring_flower_T2519.jpg
Archived comments for The Story of Nature
Gerry on 21-03-2008
The Story of Nature
Zoya, I enjoyed every word of this poem--quite a journey...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerry, darling,
i am so happy you enjoyed my endeavour
to recreate the splendour of this Earth,
the magnificence of Nature,
the celebration of Life itself...
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 21-03-2008
The Story of Nature
Another delightful picture ... and poem, of course, Zoya.

As Gerry says, it takes us on a very enjoyable journey.

For some strange reason I found myself singing to this one. It is so lyrical it would make a beautiful song as well as a poem.

Hope you are well.

Tina:-)x

Author's Reply:
Sing along my dear Tina!
It makes me so happy to know that you can find music and lyricism in my poem. I am delighted, thrilled and breathing in the freshness of spring...
(((Hugs for the lovely response)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 22-03-2008
The Story of Nature
Hello Ms. Zoya. I tried singing it too, but my neighbours complained. It wasn't the words you understand, oh no. It was my voice. I suspect they are jealous. Nice poem, lovely pic and a sweet author. What more could a man want... Can you cook too?

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Author's Reply:
Hi, Sunky darling, I can sing, dance, and yes, cook yummy meals too!
When are you coming over for a meal?
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

can cook


Life is a Riddle, Live it! (posted on: 07-03-08)
"Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal." ~ Jean-Paul Satre, Existentialist Philosopher and Writer, (1905 - 1980)

 

Years ago when I was little
I thought life was such a riddle;
Years later when I was grown
I thought, the Earth I’d own;
Now that I am mature
I still think life has a lot in store!
One day when my time will come
I would still think I am young.
But for now I would like to pack
As much in this Life I can,
While it is still intact!
Laugh, love and live to my fill
Compassion, passion, dreams fulfill…
So that when I have to go
I will shine with inner glow
When my Soul will take its flight
I will just pass into light...



Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
05.03.2008

Image: http://www.cardsunlimited.com/largeimage/SailingSunset.jpg
Archived comments for Life is a Riddle, Live it!
Gerry on 07-03-2008
Life is a Riddle, Live it!
Zoya, this poem displays an excellent philosophy of life.
A lovely read...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Oh, Gerry Darling, I am so happy you like it!
Your opinion means a lot to me...
Thanks for the lovely response!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

red-dragon on 07-03-2008
Life is a Riddle, Live it!
I really enjoyed reading this, Zoya - this is my third or fourth visit to it and I find it very spiritual - the photo is also very apt. I also notice it has a nib - nice one! Ann

Author's Reply:
Dearest Ann,
It is uplifting to know that you find spirituality in my poem!
Perhaps that is why it appealed to the Pen Fairy, who has been quite elusive of late, as far as I am concerned. Any way I am happy she did come my way, she knows she is always welcome... Lol!
(((Hugs for the nice review)))
Love,
Zoya

BaBy_PoeT on 08-03-2008
Life is a Riddle, Live it!
i can relate to this poem very much.
i see life similar to your description too.
take care
xXx-B-P-xXx

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Baby Poet, We learn as we grow, and understand as we learn, and then take a more philosophic view of life. Either way, we do ultimately learn to make the most of the moment we have, because it never returns. I think the best way to live is not to rationalize too much or try to solve the riddle of life- just go on living to the full...
(((Hugs)))
Thanks pile!
Love

Corin on 08-03-2008
Life is a Riddle, Live it!
Yes I agree Zoya - Each day is a gift - get up and unwrap it!

David

Author's Reply:
Yes,
Each day we unwrap a gift
Life has presented us with;
Each day we find a new surprise
To our utmost delight
To make us realize
What a blessing is this Life!

(((Hugs David))
Love,
Goya

RoyBateman on 09-03-2008
Life is a Riddle, Live it!
Oh, well said...why try to unravel the enigma? I suppose we all have to try, to some extent, because we're human...but as you so rightly say, there has to be a point where we say: oh, stuff it - I'll have another one. Or two... None of us know how long we've got, so let's enjoy it and hopefully leave something positive behind. If we manage that, we've succeeded.

Author's Reply:
I could not agree more with you, my dear friend Roy,

Life indeed is an enigma, best left an enigma!

It is to be lived , to be celebrated, to but enjoyed.

Extract what ever positive we can out of it;

Make it as meaningful as we can - if we can,

More meaningful for others than for ourselves;

And I think, we as writers are trying to do exactly that...

((Hugs)))

Love,

Zoya


Let Us Not Define This Feeling… (posted on: 25-02-08)
It is better not to define certain relationships- certain special feelings- and just let them be as they are, pure, pristine and spontaneous…

Let us not define this feeling Let it continue its touch healing Let it warm our souls always Let us never part our ways Let the stars in firmament shine On this union- yours and mine: You look deep into my eyes Know the meaning of my sighs I soothe you with my gentle touch Ease you out of the clutch Fate has entangled you in grudge So as not to let it smudge Your heart’s purity, your soul’s serenity… Let’s just be each other’s solace Let us live like this with grace… You bring me a waft of fresh air I give you a feeling of cheer… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 25.07.2007
Archived comments for Let Us Not Define This Feeling…
orangedream on 25-02-2008
Let Us Not Define This Feeling

And a breath of fresh air,indeed, dear Zoya. Enjoyed:-)

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Tina,
Isn't it nice to just bask in the warmth of what is, than to try and intellectualize it and spoil the spontaneity of the relationship by giving it a concrete name and slotting it it to the accepted norms?
Glad you enjoyed it.
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 26-02-2008
Let Us Not Define This Feeling

Hello Ms. Zoya. I get a similar vibe from Air-wicks 'Summer Scents' range. May I recommend 'Lilac Times,' a true classic amongst air fresheners and no mistake. Sorry. I don't half talk some crap. I blame the ozone.

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fulfilling dreams by staying in

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunky,
You blame the Ozone Layer,
I think it is the Carbon dioxide affair!
Green house effect makes too sleepy,
Too much of Sun renders you giddy.
Perfume and air-fresheners are fine,
Especially the ones you can't define!
Keep dreaming of cherries and cream
Stay in to fulfill dreams...

(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


Golden Chariot of the Sun (Another Valentine) (posted on: 15-02-08)
There is an Indian song: ''Autumn or Spring; whenever the heart Sings, it is Spring…'' These are moment recaptured on Lenin Hills, Moscow

Golden-yellow, orange and flaming red Leaves of maple wide spread Crunching under the feet they press On the walks and side-walks they rest; The world enveloped in the golden mist As the Autumn Sun ends its tryst With the glorious Day dew-kissed; Fleeting clouds, as the light burst through, Make patterns on the sky deep-blue; Golden chariot borne by the wind On the sunset boulevard swings… I, on a cloud all my own With the light feet of youth Carried on the swift chariot of love Tender, heavenly, full of desire... Sweet scent of youth on my breath My heart afire, I forward press A pleasant breeze blows in my face Hair flying golden in the sun... In my gait there is a spring, As I rush to meet my Love, At dusk, in the twilight flushed With Love's first rendezvous; Humming a ditty I love to sing… Autumn turns to Spring! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Golden Chariot of the Sun (Another Valentine)
teifii on 16-02-2008
Golden Chariot of the Sun (Another Valentine)
Paints a lovely atmospheric picture, Zoya. I've been to the Lenin Hills but it was mid winter and I wasn't in love for once.
By the way 'gate' -- maybe 'gait'.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Aren't Lenin Hills just beautiful, Daff? I have the the loveliest of memories full of nostalgia of Moscow- I was a student, very young and for most of the time in love- anyway.
'Gait' it is! Thanks for pointing out the typo!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


Your Love Makes Me Whole (Valentine Special) (posted on: 15-02-08)
Love, reciprocated or unreciprocated; requited or unrequited; is always an enriching experience...

When I love you I love you with all my might Irrespective of the fact Whether you love me or not… Because in loving you I realise myself: I learn to what extent my love can go; To the depth my devotion can reach; To the heights my dreams can soar; The elation my ecstasy can attain; The anguish my agony can feel; The pain that I can endure; The sacrifice that I can make; The selflessness with which I can love; The patience with which I can wait… Your love gives me so much Your love makes me whole. And if you reciprocate my love, My happiness knows no bounds: The world entire comes alive Everything becomes lovely and bright Each flower smells sweet Each star shines bright. And if you don’t return my love, It doesn’t matter, my love, though My anguish knows no bounds: The world is black as hell The fire of suffering scorches and burns Moon and stars lose their lustre The sky is dark and dun. Either way the feelings are strong- Strongest that can be And that makes me stronger! Because, I believe ‘It’s better to love and lose Then never to love at all;’ Never to be loved at all! Even if I lose you You will live in my memory And never leave my side And that will enrich me! I am strong as a rock Tender as a dewdrop Deep as an ocean Light as a feather Radiant as a star in your love. I am Me in your love! I am alive with your love! Your love is enriching, Enchanting and bewitching; Strengthening, yet tender and soft And that makes me happy- Immensely happy and ecstatic of my lot. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Your Love Makes Me Whole (Valentine Special)
RoyBateman on 16-02-2008
Your Love Makes Me Whole (Valentine Special)
A wonderful reads for Valentine's day, Zoya - a vast improvement on the "poems" they actually put in those yukky cards. (Yes, I still send and get one, but I always buy tasteful blanks!) I think you've put it into words for all of us!

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Roy, Yes, it is that one time of the year when we can be romantic and talk about our love...
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love,
Zoya


Insomnia (posted on: 01-02-08)
Tran creation from Urdu of Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s poem 'Tanhaee'

Insomnia Is there someone? No, there is no one! O’ weary heart! Must be a wayfarer, elsewhere bound. The night has departed Stardust’s beginning to dispel its haze Sleepy lamps stagger, begin to pale Roads are tired of the endless wait… Sands unfamiliar settle, footprints fade Quench your candles, Put away your wine glass and carafe, Shut your insomniac doors…. No one! No one, Is going to come here anymore… Tran creation from Urdu of Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s poem 'Tanhaee' By: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP). India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Note: Though the literal translation of the title would be 'Loneliness', I have named it 'Insomnia', as it coveys the central theme of the poem more accurately.
Archived comments for Insomnia
littleditty on 02-02-2008
Insomnia
Hi Zoya - strong images -i am wondering about a few things tho! -you(r?) candles/insomniac - i wasnt sure about those two 'you' - and also 'wait' - roads are tired of endless 'weight' ? play on the sound of word or not? Perhaps 'Roads are tired of (the) endless wait...' would work? Or 'Roads are tired of the endless waiting...' Liked the poem - for me much about loneliness in these few lines. enjoyed :o) xxldxx

Author's Reply:
Gosh Nicky, I must be really sleepy when I posted these two poems... This is what I love about UKA, nothing goes unnoticed here!
Thanks for pointing out!
(((Fond Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 03-02-2008
Insomnia
Oo I almost missed this one Ms. Zoya. I blame over-tiredness... ahem. Did ya see what I did there? I'll shut up. Another tip top piece, in my sunky opinion.

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he shrinks in the dark

Author's Reply:
'He shrinks in the dark,

but dispels the dark...

He sleeps during the day

But by night is awake and sharp...

He might pass you by

but never misses his mark...



Thanks Sunky darling for the 'perfect' remark!

((Fond Hugs))

Love,

Zoya


Stillness in Turbulence (posted on: 01-02-08)
This was my response to reckless' comment on my poem 'Gloom'; would like to share...

To find stillness in turbulence; Calm in disquiet, And joy in grief; Seek happiness in sorrow, Depth in shallow waters; Resurface from deep seas, To be stoic in crises; Enduring in strong breeze, Is the essence of the very few Who keep their ground On slopes, no matter how steep... Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Stillness in Turbulence
littleditty on 01-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulance
i like this poem so much - fav poem Zoya - thanks for the read -itÂŽs a gem! xxldx

Author's Reply:
Wow, Nicki, that is absolutely lovely of you!
Thanks a pile for choosing it as your favourite and of course for the nomination!
I am overwhelmed and humbled.
To think that I wrote it off the cuff...
(((FOND HUGS)))
Congratulation for being chosen the author of the month!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 01-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulance
A little corker and no mistake, Ms. Zoya. A bit like your good self (-;

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tin foil will save us

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky darling, you are so kind to me - always!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

littleditty on 01-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulance
Hi Zoya :o) Nope! re nomination - i think you have another fan for this poem 😀 - its a fav poem for me because i liked the simplicity of this, and the last three lines are wonderful! (did you want sees, not seas?¿?¿ - i guess so - well done Zoya, and congrats for the nom xxldxx

Author's Reply:
No, you didn't? Then it has to be a secret admirer, for I have no clue who he/she is...
Thanks anyway for the kind words!
Yeah, it is 'seas', Thanks for pointing out the typo, I have made the correction.
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 01-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulance
Nice use of the Oxymoron - personally though I prefer Oxogravy 🙂

David

Author's Reply:
Oxymoron, yes; More 'Oxy' and less 'Moron'! Going by the Greek interpretation! Lol!
As for Oxogravy, excuse my ignorance, but, I surely do not know what you mean by that. May be you would clarify, dear David?
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 02-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulance
Definitely well-deserving of its nom. Zoya - from where or whomsoever it may have come.

I found this poem inspiring and at the moment I can do with all the inspiration I can find.

Thank you, dear Zoya.

Tina :-)x

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina, It is so nice to have you visit me!
I hope everything is fine with you?
I do hope the poem inspires you to hang in there, though I do not know what could go wrong with you to need this kind of inspiration? You are always so much in control.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

e-griff on 02-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulance
You probably know I am a picky picker, but I have to admit I quite admired this poem 🙂

for me: 'Resurface from deep seas' changed your lines from starting with a noun to a verb. I think if you could find a change to make this fit with the other lines, in a kind of repetition, it would be complete.

Other than that - (pse, pse) take the comma out after 'matter' ! *sobs*

And in the title - 'Turbulance' ?

My my, after that , you'll be perfick!

-- I DID like this.

best JohnG


Author's Reply:
Dear John,
Thanks a pile for the useful tips!
I will think over the noun-verb business...
Any suggestions?
The typos have been corrected.
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 03-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulence
Dear David, Now that I know that 'Oxo' is brand of stock cube used for making gravy in Britain and as the famous line goes 'Oxo gives a meal man appeal!', I can understand what you mean and why I did not get you...
Though, we Indians like to make our own gravy!
Thanks for the explanation though!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya



Author's Reply:

e-griff on 03-02-2008
Stillness in Turbulence
as you asked, the simplest suggestion I can make is

'Light in deep seas' or something similar (illumination/sunlight ....?) - obviously it has to be a contrast.

actually I like 'sunlight in deep seas' for the SoundSeS!

hope that triggers something

JohnG

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,
I will have to give it some 'deep' thought...
Love,
Zoya


Gloom (posted on: 25-01-08)
Gloom sometimes clutches you tightly in its grip...

  Gloom like the deepest of nights
Engulfs all the chambers of mind
Drowns the castles of my dreams
Meadows of my warm youth green.
Shadows of tall trees of aspirations
Bend deep down with the drought
Of melancholy; and the candles of
Hope flicker, threaten to blow out…

Red o’ the setting sun of passion
Is replaced by the dun o’ the sky
The night of the gloom quietly
Blends with the anguished sky
And I think of the days gone by
Of love passion and infinite joy
And the cruel time passes by

For centuries, and will pass by
Sharing with me my lonely gloom
My descent n’ inevitable doom…
And the river of melancholy
Will keep flowing eternally

I sit on the banks and watch
Water flowing never endingly
And stifle a sigh silently…



Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi


Archived comments for Gloom
Corin on 26-01-2008
Gloom
Been there done that - nearly jumped off the bridge - Hold on

'This too shall pass' :-

One day Solomon decided to humble Benaiah Ben Yehoyada, his most trusted minister. He said to him, "Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot which gives you six months to find it." "If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty," replied Benaiah, "I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?" "It has magic powers," answered the king. "If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy." Solomon knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his minister a little taste of humility. Spring passed and then summer, and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day's wares on a shabby carpet. "Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?" asked Benaiah. He watched the grandfather take a plain gold ring from his carpet and engrave something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile. That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity. "Well, my friend," said Solomon, "have you found what I sent you after?" All the ministers laughed and Solomon himself smiled. To everyone's surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared, "Here it is, your majesty!" As soon as Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: _gimel, zayin, yud_, which began the words "_Gam zeh ya'avor_" -- "This too shall pass." At that moment Solomon realized that all his wisdom and fabulous wealth and tremendous power were but fleeting things, for one day he would be nothing but dust.

From Wikipaedia

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear David, for taking time out and narrating this beautiful tale to boost my morale up. What a true friend you are!
It has passed already!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Sooz on 26-01-2008
Gloom
The poem was good, the story was lovely.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sooz.
I really appreciate your comment!
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 27-01-2008
Gloom
Hello Ms. Zoya. Really like this. It flows like... water. Damn, I wanted to be more original that that. Deserves more attention... Then again, I'm not big on crowds. Nice one Zoya.

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i never saw her before in his life

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunki, how kind you are to me!
Keep it smooth!
((Fond Hugs))
Love, Zoya

reckless on 27-01-2008
Gloom
I found this still and calm, despite the turbulence of the message. Maybe that is the strength you have in you. As Corin said, all things pass.

Author's Reply:
To find stillness in turbulence;
Calm in disquiet,
To find joy in grief;
Happiness in sorrow,
To find depth in shallow waters;
Resurface from deep sees,
To be stoic in crises;
Enduring in strong breeze,
Is the essence of very few
Who keep their ground
On slopes, no matter, how steep...

(((Hugs for seeing beyond the obvious dear reckless)))
Love,
Zoya



Frozen Stiff on a Wintry Night (posted on: 07-01-08)
Thinking of the poor on the streets...

Frozen Stiff on a Wintry Night
They huddled together on the street
As the temperature dipped down to minus two degrees,
Sharing a small quilt with big holes,
They hugged each other to beat the cold.
The puddles were beginning to flake over with ice,
As their teeth chattered; bones rattled with fright,
Lest, they might loose their lives that night.
The fire they had lighted with gathered wood
During the day, after their daily grind,
Had long died down and the embers were cold-
Their own body-warmth was their only succour.
With semblance of comfort, more moral than true,
They somehow managed to doze off…
Only wake up to find that one of them
Had slept eternally never to wake up…

While in Sirinagar, up in the North,
The Dal Lake has frozen with wintry frost.
the thin sheet of ice formed is just enough
To stall the Shikaras, the exotic boats,
From plying to and fro, in this tourist spot-
The only means of livelihood of the impoverished lot.

In the war-torn, terrorist-ridden state of Kashmir
Who have forgotten to embroider lovely shawls;
To carve the intricate filigree-screens
Off the dainty wood of walnut and rose…
Who are too disturbed to find the peace
Of mind and soul for creative streaks
They carry in their blood for centuries,
To sit down by the fire in the long wintry nights
And embroider and carve, till they blinded their eyes,
Intricate designs by the warmth of the hearth;
Or with Kangrhee, the earthen pot,
filled with embers, hidden close to the heart
inside their ‘Firans’ to keep them warm-
the cause of high incidence of cancer of the bowel …

With bullets whistling and shrapnel flying around,
With arson and shooting and exploding of bombs,
Clinging to each other for some comfort and warmth,
Who can think of creativity and fine artistic forms?
With every sheet of ice, they are with misery wrought…

Cold wave in Delhi, rang in the New Year-
The coldest in the country in last fifty years-
Has taken the toll of ninety odd lives,
In just four days, as the poor struggle to survive…
There are one Lakh homeless in this capital city,
While night shelters are enough for 20,000 only;
The Municipal Corporation has shut down many
To make room for ware-houses and shopping malls;
While the one for women was shut down completely,
Because, they tend to bring along their belongings,
But the shelter was meant for the ‘night only’!

So, the poor of India freeze to death
For the lack of shelter and a warm bed
While the ‘Richest Man in the World’-
An Indian to boot-
Sleeps in the comfort of his heated suite…

India is supposed to be ‘shinning bright’!
Is progressing fast and is ‘upward mobile’!
While poorest of the poor share a bleak plight…


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Dated: 4.1.2008



Note: An unusually fierce cold snap has killed 9 in northern India over the past 2 days, bringing the death toll from weeks of chilly weather to 90. Thousands of homeless people have virtually no protection from biting winds and sub-zero temperatures. State governments in India have built night shelters for some of the homeless, but they cannot accommodate all those who need them. NDTV on 3.1.2008


Archived comments for Frozen Stiff on a Wintry Night
Corin on 10-01-2008
Frozen Stiff on a Wintry Night
It is a very important topic Zoya but I thought it read more like an article than a poem - I thought that it really needed pruning to the bone.

Do you know 'The Streets of London' by Ralph Mc Tell?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmKMQI9mbZ8

Have you seen the old man
In the closed-down market
Kicking up the paper,
with his worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride
And held loosely at his side
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news

So how can you tell me you're lonely,
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking,
She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags.

Chorus

In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

Chorus

And have you seen the old man
Outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with
The medal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city,
The rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero
And a world that doesn't care

Chorus

Author's Reply:


Spruce Up Your Life (posted on: 07-01-08)
I wrote this in London last year; I post this as a New Year Resolution!

Leonardo da Vinci has said somewhere; we must distance our selves from the picture in order to see it better. Away from home and work, on my holiday, I got a chance to distance myself from my life and look at myself from without… (One day I got up early and in the quite of the morn found my self reflecting on my life…)


Spruce Up Your Life

Being these days on a Holiday,
Though not well earned, I must say,
I got myself some time to reflect,
To think about my life and introspect:
Where am I going, and what is at stake?
Where my future and what is is my fate,
Are these good- my lethargic ways?
Taking things easy isn’t the best of ways…

I have been too easy, too laid-back of late,
This won’t go far, and isn't good for my age.
I must work hard and be quick and smart:
Spruce up my work place, and warm home and hearth,
Get more organized and be on time,
Be more meticulous in my grind.
Not to get carried away too much
Keep an eye on the clock as such.

Be more attentive to those around you
Don’t let any resentment brew,
Between your friends and family and you,
Between your employees and those dependent on you…
Get up early and go for a walk,
Keep yourself fit and be like a stalk,
Slim and erect like a reed,
Yet, ready to bend with strong breeze.

Be firm in resolve, and flexible in habit,
Be reflective, but practical in thought,
Don’t deviate too much from your goal,
Yet, don’t be rigid, stop, smell a rose…
Don’t do things in fits and starts,
Keep an even pace all along, from the start.

Be, more worldly wise, yet not too mundane,
Don’t look at money with disdain-
A necessary evil, but not profane,
Keep it going, but from excess refrain…

Life like a spiral keeps coming around,
On day it is up, the other day down…
Learn to take things in your stride,
Be brave and philosophic, but from realities don’t hide…

Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi

Image: 'The Thinker' by August Rodin

http://www.chrysler.org/images/The_Thinker.jpg
Archived comments for Spruce Up Your Life
Sunken on 10-01-2008
Spruce Up Your Life
Blimey, you've certainly thought long and hard about your new years resolutions Ms. Zoya. I've just decided to clean the bathroom more often. I hope you have a good year.

s
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flash or cillit bang?

Author's Reply:

Corin on 10-01-2008
Spruce Up Your Life
You will go mad if I mention Polonius again so I won't:-)

However I would like to add a word of caution - there is gret danger in all these 'must's and should's. They can be like bullets aimed at your self esteem. It is the wrong way round.
Better to turn them into hopes - I would like to be slimmer and fitter, more focussed etc but most of all:-

"to thine ownself be true":-)

Slim, Fit and Highly Organised Wishes

David





Author's Reply:


Snow Flakes (posted on: 28-12-07)
Snow Flakes fascinate me immensely... Inspired by Oran Pamuk's novel 'Snow' Wishing every one a snowy New Year!

Snow Flakes   No two snow flakes are alike Each has a design its own Each one a separate scheme intricate Each one, a mind its own … Nature has infused this variety Into the crystallization of vapour A select pattern for each so fine Each a perfect hexagon defines…   Is it a random phenomenon? Or is it a scheme divine, I often contemplate, in the short-lived flake That merges quietly with its companions To become an integral part of A mass of snow Settling on each twig, each bough Of a barren tree, covering it fully with a fluffy blanket of tulle de blance...   But, before it merges with the powerful, yet gentle, mountain of snow, Embedding the whole world in its countenance, Or freeze to ice on a window pane to etch an intricate artistic design, It has its own brief moment of individuality…   But, sometimes it just perishes, if It happens to fall on a warm lip, A troubled brow or an eyelid, Where it just melts with the human warmth Evaporates in a instance brief Returning to its original form- An invisible vapour warm- Happy in its succinct moment of glory…   Only to return the next season again, As a fluffy snow flake And will continue to fall ‘Till the end of time Long after yours and mine…  

Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi  

Image: ‘Snow Flakes on Evergreens’ http://joshsiao.zy.sg/Pics/Korea/IMG_0027.jpg


Archived comments for Snow Flakes
Sunken on 28-12-2007
Snow Flakes
Hello Ms. Zoya. Full of vivid imagery and no mistake. Is it true that no two snowflakes are the same? That's quite amazing when you think how many there have been. I wonder if the same can be said of pizza toppings? My favorite is pepperoni, just so you know. Ahem. Please don't rate this comment. Thank you.

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meat and potato wi-fi, the organic choice

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunky darling, for the lovely response!
Yes, come to think of it, nature never tires of producing so much variety!
Nature always amazes me and sets me thinking...
My imagination always runs wild whenever I watch the natural phenomena...
Pizza toppings cannot match the variety of snowflakes- I also love Pizza!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

SugarMama34 on 28-12-2007
Snow Flakes
Hi Zoya,

I oved the photo that you have paired your poem with. Both are as beautiful as each other. I enjoyed your words and the imagery it projected as I read. So much truth in this. No, no two snowflakes are the same and they will definatley be around longer than we will. A another lovely poem, Zoya,penned by you.
Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Lis,
Thanks for the encouraging response!
Nature always makes me philosophic...
Yeah, isn't it interesting, that 'Nature' was there before us and will remain long after us... Even though we are hell bent on destroying it...
I think of all those ancient trees standing for thousands of years in California; The tall Himalayas, still rising every year by half an inch; the Rivers flowing literally since the beginning of time... They all give us life and out live us... Gosh, I think, I must write a poem on this...
What do you have to say?
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

littleditty on 28-12-2007
Snow Flakes
Dear Zoya -a wonderful whimsy on the uniqueness of snowflakes -like us, no two are identical -although i have been spotted often where i am not, even if she looks exactly like me - no two are the same! i want to send a couple of links of your social commentary poems to someone who is concerned about the issues you write about -is this ok with you? Will also try and send you a link of a snowflake poem i have read which i really liked! to happy days Zoya, hope you are well, nicky xxx

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Nicky!
Clever of you to get my drift and draw the analogy!
Yes, we are all unique like the snow flakes and yet, we are all human beings and belong to the same species,the Homosapiens, thus we are all alike...
Yes, you are most welcome to give the links to whoever you wish; and thanks for thinking me worth recommending to your friend!
Do send me the poem on snowflakes, I would love to read it.
I am fine!
A very happy New Year to you and your family!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

Warhorse on 30-12-2007
Snow Flakes
Zoya a beautiful poem and its so good to see you here again and katherine Lockhart is here too have a lovely new year rgds Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi, Mike Welcome to the UKA, nice to know Kathy is here too! Give her my love! Under what name is she posting!
Happy New Year to both of you!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 03-01-2008
Snow Flakes
Dear Mike,
Thanks for picking my poem as your hot favourite! I am humbled!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:


Twilight Blues (posted on: 14-12-07)
By the time we overcome the adversities of life, it is almost over...



Twilight Blues

Evening melts into the night
Yellow gold of the setting sun
Shrinks into an orange ball
Hangs against the purple sky
Bids farewell to the gloomy day
Plunges into the dun of Night…

flash back

Dawn of hope
With youth of Time
Rises high into the sky
Birds of bright pretty plumes
Soar in glory of the morn...

Pelting hot sun scorches wings
Deserts hot stand in the way
Thirst like a demon chokes
Parched lips longing speech
Life trudges on, dreary and bleak…

At long last

Hot sands traversed
Mountains scaled
Valley of grief left behind
Again, the sun shines
Spreading golden-scarlet hues
Beauty in age enshrined.

But, the lease of life is expiring
Time is nigh
Sinks
Into the oblivion of
The Ink-black night…

Twilight of life…


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
13.07.2007

Image: http://oz.irtc.org/ftp/pub/stills/1998-06-30/sunset.jpg
Archived comments for Twilight Blues
Sunken on 14-12-2007
Twilight Blues
Hello Ms. Zoya. How the devil are you? Ya know, I'd never seen that word 'dun' before. I would like to thank you for bringing it to my attention. I have looked it up in my ickul book of words and will attempt to use it at least once a day until it's sunk in. Don't hold ya breath tho (-; Nice one Zoya.

Rate: Pineapple with your name all the way through it.

s
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she shed light on his affliction with a torch stolen from woolworth's

Author's Reply:
Hi, dear Sunky,
If you use it every day you would render your paper dun with ink.

Shakespeare uses it in his sonnets of the dark lady:
'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Corals are far more red than her lip's red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun...'

I learnt it from him.

(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 15-12-2007
Twilight Blues
Like the poem. Love the picture.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Daff!
How are you?
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 15-12-2007
Twilight Blues
What an amazing picture, Zoya. Have to admit, that like Sunken, I hadn't heard of that 'dun' word before. You learn something every day and that's about right.

"Again the sun shines
Spreading gold and scarlet hues
Beauty in age enshrined."

What lovely lines - almost as lovely as the real thing. Poems no matter how well written, can never compete with nature, can they? Nothing can, I guess.

Do hope you are well, Zoya. What is the weather like in your neck of the woods, I wonder? It is freezing here and no mistake!

Hugs, Tina 🙂




Author's Reply:
Dear Tina, I am so happy you like the poem!
Yes, nothing can compete with the real thing- we can only try to paint word pictures, as well as we can...
I am fine!
And the weather is lovely! This is the best time of the year for us, though temperatures do go down to + 4-5 degree C, but never sub Zero, so it is like early autumn in your part of the world...
(((Warm Hugs to you)))
Love,
Zoya

SugarMama34 on 19-12-2007
Twilight Blues
Hi Zoya,

Sorry I'm late in reviewing your work. This is such a meaningful piece of how life is as we see it and what it holds as we grow older and how we see things at different moments in our life. A thought provoking piece, which has been a pleasure to read. I loved the lines:

Pelting hot sun scorches wings
Deserts hot stand in the way
Thirst like a demon chokes
Parched lips longing speech
Life trudges on, dreary and bleak


At long last

Hot sands traversed
Mountains scaled
Valley of grief left behind
Again, the sun shines
Spreading golden-scarlet hues
Beauty in age enshrined.

But its all beautiful and put together well. Loved it!
Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sugar, for such a lovely comment!
I am really touched by your words!
Yes, life really has a way of throwing up surprises- it is always a struggle, always a strife, to be overcome everyday, to be lived and triumphed over...
(((Hugs for appreciating)))
Love, Zoya

shackleton on 23-12-2007
Twilight Blues
Smashing poetry and picture, Zoya. Both have left me with a feeling of melancholia.

A combination of the two... word blended on picture... would be a great lead page on a literary website.

Happy Christmas, young lady.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Dear Shack,
I am happy you liked my work!
(((Hugs for the nice words)))
Love,
Zoya


Hope till Eternity (posted on: 07-12-07)
Who has seen Tomorrow? Yet, we live in the Hope of Tomorrow… I think this poem would fit well into Elf's 'Pattern' challenge

Time weaves its garment of Eternity
With gold and black threads of day and night

Embellishes it with rosy silk
Of the glorious morning bright
And embroiders it with the
Orange gold of the sunset light

Enlivens it with the silvery cool
Of the soothing Moonlight
And decorates it with the twinkling studs
On the starry nights…

Making a pattern fine.

While I weave my veil of Hope
With twines of love and passion
Lace it with my longing and desire
The glow is stolen from the inner fire
The dewy shine from my tears and cravings
That make my soul’s engravings…

Time and I are friends forever-
From here to eternity…


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi 21.05.2007

Image: Hawaiian Sunset http://fortes.com/2005/06/04/waileasunset/sunset.jpg
Archived comments for Hope till Eternity
delph_ambi on 08-12-2007
Hope till Eternity
Love the positive mood with which you have imbued this poem. Very visual writing. So visual, in fact, that I wonder if you really need the photograph? You risk diluting the intensity of the words, in my opinion.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Delph,
I am so happy, you like the poem!
I like the way you call it 'visual'!
Thanks for the compliment!
Yes, I think you are right!
Next time I will be careful!
May be I should refrain from the visuals altogether?
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 15-12-2007
Hope till Eternity
Very descriptive so I suppose yes, you could well do without the photo. But I'm glad you posted the picture because it is marvellous. Did you take it?
Daff

Author's Reply:


Your Touch (posted on: 07-12-07)
A tender touch of the beloved is enough to set you on fire... A chain reaction starts...

  After a long time tonight
I felt your touch so fine
A shiver ran down my spine
Lightening flickered, struck by being
Spread fervently through my veins
Scorching and melting me again

I was engulfed in the flames of desire
And the molten fire of passion
Began to ooze from every pore
Drip by drip gaining momentum

Storm broke up into my soul
Drowning and drowning away I went
Down the ocean of your depth
Till I reached the core of you
Breaking my fall; resurrecting anew

When I resurfaced, I was pure
Pristine like the waters of Nile
Waves of which come back to caress
Tenderly kiss the anguished shore

Calm, after passing of the Storm…


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi

Image: An Erotic Couple from the frieze at Lakshmana Temple, Khajuraho, (MP) India http://www.shunya.net/Pictures/NorthIndia/Khajuraho/LakshmanTemple24.jpg
Archived comments for Your Touch
Sunken on 07-12-2007
Your Touch


Ahem. I might need another cold shower soon Ms. Zoya. Tell me, is there any significance to the positioning of the man's fingers behind her back? Surely he should be doing that to her front? A sultry piece and no mistake. Nice one Zoya.

Rate: A bit of what you fancy.

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tying him up seemed like the best option

Author's Reply:
Hi, Sunky, Thanks for the lovely response!

If you knew what the other hand is doing, and I am not telling you that, you would not ask this question... I leave it to your imagination, my dear, which I know can be quite fertile in such situations ...

(((Hug)))

Love,

Zoya

orangedream on 08-12-2007
Your Touch
What a stunning piece, both the poetry and the picture.

"Waves of which come back to carress
Tenderly kiss the anguished shore

Calm, after the passing of the storm."

If that isn't poetry, I don't know what is.

Thank you, Zoya. Enjoyed.

Tina:-)

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina, Thanks a pile for the lovely, encouraging and heart-warming response!
This one is from the heart!
(((Fond Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Bradene on 09-12-2007
Your Touch
Very erotic. Val x

Author's Reply:
Mm...
Thanks, Val!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 09-12-2007
Your Touch
Well - you are a sexual phoenix and no mistake - my core is shaking as I read!

David

Author's Reply:
My dear David, I am so happy my words are effective enough to shake you so - in a nice way!
I am blushing!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


Rosa Romanova (posted on: 23-11-07)
Rosa Romanova was an actress in Gypsy 'Romani Theater' in Moscow. We met at luncheon at a friend's place. I was surprised to find that I could understand her language- it was Indian!


Rosa Romanova
She talked with wide gesticulations
Moving her black doe-eyes
Spoke Russian like a native Babka
Acted in the Gypsy Romani Theater
Sang ‘Ochi Chorniye’ with gusto
On her Flamenco guitar;
Had an easy friendly manner
We soon struck a cord with each other…
 
We were invited at Nataliya Pregarina’s
The eminent Russian Indologist, for lunch…
Who had a pair of wise looking Siemese
The felines strolled luxuriant on the mantel-piece
Never toppling single porcelain…

When we sat down to the mid-day meal
Of steaming-hot Goulash and Borsch
She goaded her son: ‘Mass Khaa! Mass Khaa!’
And suddenly, I realized-
She spoke the distorted version of
‘Eat Meat! Eat Meat!’
In the language of the ancient Prakrit Sanskrit…
Of the Valley of Sindh,
where the river flowed in the fertile planes
of Panjab, ages ago…

And I was sure, she was my kin
Who dwelled in Harrappa and Mohanjadaroo,
In those fascinating ancient times…
 
Then the river changed its course
And with it the civilization died
People started spreading far and wide
Some, through the Khaibar Pass, in Europe did hide;
But Embedded deep under the Earth, survived
the remains of the civilization-
in indecipherable to date
Seals of probable kings or knights…
 
But the people survived…
Speaking the same language since eons of time…
And I thought: How hardy is the language!
Culture so deep! Embedded in the template of genes…
 
The culture of the valley of Sindh still lives
In the souls of the Roaming Gypsies
Of Austria, Germany, Spain and Hungry;
Though the English banished them to Caribbean
The Portuguese sent them to Brazil
Some were deported to Australia
Rest were exterminated in thousands
Thanks to the terrible German Reich…
 
Yet, a million has survived
The treachery of centuries,
and will go on, for few centuries more…
You and I belong to the same core
 
Bohemie is just not a term;
Not just folklore;
it is real And belongs to my shores…
 
 
Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Photo: Modern Roma/Gypsies From Aetolia-Akarnania Central-Western Greece

http://www.mlahanas.de/Greece/History/images/RomaAetolia.jpg
 Roma
Romani people, also spelled Roma, Rroma, Romo or Rom,
related ethnic groups in Southern and Eastern Europe and the Middle East:
* Garachi, a very small group, mostly in Azerbaijan
* Gitanos, also spelled Ciganos, mostly in Spain, Portugal, and southern France (Tsigane)
* Kalderash, the most numerous of the Roma people, mostly in the Balkans, Central Europe, North America
* Norwegian and Swedish Travellers, a Roma people in Norway and Sweden
* Romnichal, also known as Rom'nies, mostly in Britain and North America
* Sinti, also known as Zigeuner or Zingari, Ägypter, mostly in
Germany, Austria and Italy (Zingari)


http://www.jbschilling.com/words/gypsy.jpg


Some 'Romani Gypsy'- are members of the Churára, a nomadic Gypsy group in Romania known for making and selling cooking utensils. They are spread all over Europe. The roots of the Gypsies—or Roma, as many call themselves—run back a thousand years to India. “It is the Indian factors, linguistic, genetic, and cultural that different Rom populations share that makes us at heart one people,” says Ian Hancock, a professor at the University of Texas at Austin and a leading adviser on Rom affairs. “But it is the more recently acquired non-Indian factors that divide us.”



http://www.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0104/feature4/zoom4.html


 


Archived comments for Rosa Romanova
littleditty on 24-11-2007
Rosa Romanova
Hi Zoya -this is so interesting -i am fascinated and will try to check the link - the way languages link and develop is a wonderful study - and your story is wonderful too! As is the pic - she's stunning! xxxldx (aka gypsynick:o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Nikki,
We still have Nomadic tribes from the Rajisthan Region, close to the erstwhile Sindhu Ghati area, who can be seen roaming greener pastures of Northern India, grazing their cattle,when it dries up in their desert region.
But, fed on English Classics,I always thought of Gypsies as some exotic characters who do magic and other mambo-jumbos, till I met Rosa in Moscow, she was so civilized and cultivated, yet full of life and very intelligent; Then when she spoke to her son, I realized she really was Indian in origin, and that how particular they (gypsies) are about preserving their culture, language and customs- something that we have forgotten to do in modern India; It is such a pity that more than half the Indians, mine own two brothers included, of post-independent India do not know their own mother tongue.
((Hugs for the nice comment))
Love,
Zoya

Corin on 24-11-2007
Rosa Romanova
Hi Zoya - fascinating - Of course Sanskrit is the root of all the Indo-Europen languages so its not surprising you could understand it. A bit like an English person listening to Friesan fom the Friesian Islands near Holland.

I think the riginal inhabitants of Bohemia were Romanies that were pushed out from the Balkans by the Slavs.

WArm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David, All Gypsies- Romanies included- are known by different names in different regions of the world. The studies however have show them to be original inhabitants of India, who migrated to Europe and beyond at different time in different periods of history. By the way Rosa Romanova's ancestors originally came from Balkan region.
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 25-11-2007
Rosa Romanova
A fascinating poem, Zoya, which gives an absorbing insight into the gipsy history and culture.
The accompanying photograph is also a work of art. Are you one of the trio?

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi,
Yeah, Gypsies do have their origin in India; Sadly enough they are a discriminated lot and have been wiped out of most of the places in the world; Their's is a dying culture- an ethnicity fast becoming extinct.
No, I am not one of them.
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya


The Moon and I (posted on: 16-11-07)
The Moon holds a great fascination for me; For me it is a metaphor of Life and a Death; a metaphor of Life's Journey...

I have this age-old relationship
with the ancient Moon.
It also goes on endlessly
along its anguished course…

It peeps in through my window,
Casts its silvery beams,
Looks me up endearingly,
As if it loves me true…

Surrounded by thousands of stars
It pursues a solitary journey,
Just as I feel like a stranger
in the most august company.

Its fate is to wax and wane,
Under the vast awning
Just as I have ups and downs
in my life’s voyage.

I have this strange relationship
With the pastel Moon…

It casts soothing luminescence,
Is obscured by the garish Sun,
The cooling effect it has on the dew,
Is stolen by the Sun…

It shines and illuminates the world,
Yet, has craters in its heart
Just as I hide behind my smile,
The sorrows of my heart…

All its sores it hides within
and shows a shiny facade,
Just as I keep cheerful frontage
My soul hidden away…

I have this love-hate relationship,
With the dainty moon…

It goes about its daily drudge,
with a beam seemingly calm,
But deep within, like me, it hides
Thousand tumults, thousand storms…

So shine and shine away my visage
Shine like the moon,
Moan away my heart and soul,
Moan with the Moon…

Get used to shimmering bright,
And hide away your wounds,
Or may be it’s the wounds that shine
May be that’s how shimmers the moon…


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi


Archived comments for The Moon and I
Sunken on 16-11-2007
The Moon and I
Hello Ms. Zoya. I like your poem very much. I am a big fan of the moon and often get up in the early hours just to stare at it. It's better than being a fan of the sun as staring at said entity can cause all manner of problems and no mistake. As you can see, my advanced critique is coming on in leaps and bounds. Well done on a smashing poem.

Rate: Salad cream.

s
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he fell in love without a safety net

Author's Reply:
So, we do have a 'Loony' thing in common!
Dear Sunken, I can't tell you how happy am I with this comment of yours!
I love Salad cream!
Who needs a safety net when falling in love? The love keeps you buoy!
(((Warm Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Gerry on 16-11-2007
The Moon and I
Zoya, this was a delightful read...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerry, dear!
It is so sweet of you to drop by and comment!
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

Gerry on 16-11-2007
The Moon and I
Zoya, this was a delightful read...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 17-11-2007
The Moon and I
Totally delightful - I agree. The moon has always fascinated me and in fact my husband shares the same feeling and has taken some marvellous close-ups of the lunar surface, with the help of the zoom lens on his camera.

I love the last two lines of this piece, Zoya - magic!

"Or may be it's the wounds that shine
May be that's how shimmers the moon..."

Tina :-)x

Author's Reply:
I just love it, when you comment like that dear Tina!
I have this great relationship with the Moon since Childhood, when I use to gaze at it lying on my terrace in summer evenings, watching the clouds now obscuring, now revealing its ageless beauty. We have these lovely nursery rhymes, folklores, myths and songs in our mythology especially recited and sung for the children. The craters in the Moon are associated with the scars variously in the Urdu and Persian poetry... I love the soothing cooling effect of the moonlight... In short, it is impossible to remain unaffected by the moon and its allure, its magic, its luminescence...
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya
PS I also have this lovely photo to go with this poem, but, my computer does not allow me to excess my web documents these days- technical snag; But, you can see the photo on another website, if you like, on the following URLs:
http://www.todays-woman.net/poems20606.html
http://www.poetbay.com/viewText.php?textId=33897

wfgray on 18-11-2007
The Moon and I
Hi Zoya, WOW, what a great poem. Many great things and fantasies have been said and imagined about the moon but I think you have covered them all in the most delightful way. My regards. Will

Author's Reply:
My dear Will, I always identify with the Moon- May be there is some 'Loony' connection... lol!
Thanks for the encouraging response!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya


Flight of Imagination (posted on: 12-11-07)
‘All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking’ Friedrich Nietzsche

A mile or two of my morning walk Takes my mind on another walk Of miles and miles in time and space Into the realm of heart and soul, Continents and hemispheres I scale And go over hills and deep into gales Dive into seas and fly into space; Time does not pose a limit here One minute I am in childhood, the other in dotage I conjure up images of past and present I dream about the future so pleasant With a bit of imaginative stride, I reach Paradise, in a trice. Sometimes I fly to you, my love In times past with the peace-dove And sometimes I just contemplate On my losses and my gains Many a problem have I solved While I go about my walks Many a poem have I written to enthrall Heart and Soul, the masters of all… Author: Zoya Zaidi October 2, 2005 Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Flight of Imagination
Jen_Christabel on 12-11-2007
Flight of Imagination
Walking can be so therapeutic can't it? Nice piece. Only thing that jarred, in my humble opinion, is the use of 'walk' in two consecutive sentences. Nicely done Zoya :o)
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 12-11-2007
Flight of Imagination
"With a bit of imaginative stride.
I reach Paradise in a trice"...

the essence of this poem, I feel.

I too, get a lot of my inspiration from walking. I live in the countryside, so I have much to inspire me.

Enjoyed - thank you, Zoya.

Tina:-)

Author's Reply:

Gerry on 14-11-2007
Flight of Imagination
Zoya, you have said so much here, it opens up the imagination very gently. Nice one.

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:


Twilight Zone of Consciousness (posted on: 22-10-07)
Creativity is at its best in that transient state between subconsciousness and consciousness... like waking up early in the morning from a pleasant dream

Yet under the spell of sweet slumber In the wee hours of the morn Waking up from a pleasant dream- Still in the twilight zone of consciousness Savouring the sweet feeling akin to none- I yawn and stretch, turn over And bury my face anew in the pillow And try to recapture the dream again; But, it is gone; only the feeling remains… My mind and heart are pure like a baby’s My soul resurrects anew… Then I hear the curlew cry As it passes overhead with joy The peacock hoots somewhere to the peahen The common Maina, the Sparrow, the Wren Chirrup and vie with each other For my undivided attention… Suddenly above this cacophony There rises a sweet melody Of the Koel in the Mangroves As she calls to her mate in anguish of the lonely… The poet in me comes alive I pick up my pen and automatically, Not even conscious of what I write, I pour my feelings on the paper white The ink looks like colour dipped in blood The red of my passion, as it floods The hues of my heart in my soul’s cup… There emerges a picture painted in words As I celebrate my subconscious state The song of my soul is sung in those moments When heart and spirit meet the mind in recumbence… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi 24.05.07
Archived comments for Twilight Zone of Consciousness
Ionicus on 23-10-2007
Twilight Zone of Consciousness
How true, Zoya. What better than waking up to a morning chorus to stir your emotions and engender your poetic creativity.
Some of my best ideas occur to me towards dawn when the light enters the bedroom through a chink in the curtains.
An enjoyable, romantic poem.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi,
Sorry for the late reply, I still have computer blues, it keeps crashing...
Yes, morning is by best time of the day, especially if I can wake up early and see the sun rising in the East. The experience is simply divine, almost spiritual, it alleviates my spirits to another level altogether. They say in our language, getting up early in the morning is akin to saying your prayers to the Lord.
(((hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 25-10-2007
Twilight Zone of Consciousness
Hello Ms. Zoya. I read this a few days ago and muchly enjoyed. Fave bit has to be -

And bury my face anew in the pillow
And try to recapture the dream again;
But, it is gone; only the feeling remains


Lovely stuff. Hope this helps. Thank you.

Rate: A therapy session of your choice (-;

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only in your arm

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunken darling,
Yeah, isn't that a delicious feeling, when you wake up while having a sweet-sweet dream, and you do not want to let the dream go... But, Alas, it is gone!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


The Art of Happiness (posted on: 12-10-07)
Happiness is the most pursued & sought after, most elusive & slippery, most momentary & fleeting, and most loved & coveted of all feelings; and yet every one has his or her own perception of happiness…I think, happiness is an art! for Happiness Challange

'Whatever the soul longs for, will be attained by the spirit' Kahlil Gibran They say: Happiness is caring Happiness is sharing Happiness has a twin sister joy Happiness is a fire that keeps life aglow Our purpose warm, our intelligence aflow Happiness is a desire that evenly grows Happiness is a net of love, in which we catch souls Happiness, when the mind is pure, Follows like a shadow, and never leaves our shores Happiness is freedom to do what gives you joy Happiness is to be seized, and had here and now Long drawn preparations prove a killjoy… I think: Happiness is an art! You have to learn to draw it out of life Every inch and stroke of it Steal it from those fleeting moments And colour your life with it: The colour of your heart’s blood The shadow of your smile The hues of your suffering To weave a fabric fine, The fragrance of your love Intensity of your passion The flavour of compassion To make a heady wine, The fire of your longing The sense of belonging That keeps you from crumbling A melodious spirit Divine… But, keep a little tear Just behind your eyes To light up the darkness Of sad and wretched lives ‘Cause there is no greater pleasure Than giving joy to another… Happiness is not a thing, given us Happiness is within us… Happiness is an art Happiness is strive Happiness is a mystery, not to be rationalized… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for The Art of Happiness
teifii on 12-10-2007
The Art of Happiness
I'd agree with all of this one. Like the first part because I'm a bit of a rhyme addict but actually prefer the 'I think' section for content. Love this mataphor -- it is so painterly.
The colour of your heart’s blood
The shadow of your smile
The hues of your suffering
To weave a fabric fine,

Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daff, The first part is what people have said about happiness, the second what I think happiness is all about... I don't usually like to rhyme my poetry, but just let it be when, and if, it comes about naturally, I like to write in free verse... lol! Well to each one is own...
I am happy that you prefer what 'I think' to what others have said 'for its content' and that I take as a huge compliment, especially when it comes from a great poet like you- one of my favourites on UKA...
(((Hugs)))
Have a nice weekend!
Love, Zoya

teifii on 12-10-2007
The Art of Happiness
Damn ! Meant to type metaphor and saw it as it disappeared..
Daff

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 13-10-2007
The Art of Happiness
I enjoyed this Zoya and have to admit that whilst I was reading it, it was kind of setting itself to music. It is extremely lyrical.

I note your quote from Kahlil Gibran. What a great man! 'The Prophet' is one of our families 'bibles', if you see what I mean.

Hope you are well.

Hugs,
Tina

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina, thanks a pile for this extremely generous comment... Two of my favourite poets, whom I admire greatly, are on my page, and have really said such encouraging words that it has literally made my day!

Yes, I love Kahlil Gibran and often quote him as prelude to my poems, he also inspires me greatly to write poetry, like my poem ‘Words of Fire, Writ in Heart's Blood, Over the Surface of Water’ is inspired by his poem 'Letters of Fire', which in turn is inspired by Keats’s epitaph: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" (By the way the poem is posted here on my UKA page, if you care to check it out...)

(((Hugs again for such a lovely remark)))

Love, Zoya

PS I am fine only the computer is not, after the last crash, it is still in the state of convalescence, staggering on is feet and threatening to crash again all the time! Lol! We are such slaves of technology, in today’s world...


69-96 on 21-10-2007
The Art of Happiness
Everything you say here Zoya is the truth and more so. A rambling poem but it rambles about like the lives we lead. Full of happiness and love. I think everyone should try to emulate what you have said.

Author's Reply:
Thanks 69-96,
Yes, if we can learn to love, share and care, give selflessly without hope of return, in a spirit of Universal Brotherhood, avoid hate, jealousy and conflicts, we can all be happy- happier than we can imagine!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 01-11-2007
The Art of Happiness
I enjoyed the rhyming too Zoya even if I disagree about the ontology of happiness - I think it is more like a wanton woman who comes and goes as she pleases, often without rhyme or reason, delightful in her presence, coy, mysterious, enchanting, but in her absence sometimes dull grey cloud or at worse, dark storms in the night.

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear David, for sharing your idea of Happiness, it is very interesting indeed; How about writing a poem on your concept of happiness, it would make fascinating read.
((Hugs for the nice comment))
Love,
Zoya


Soul Caves (posted on: 17-09-07)
The stalactites and the stalagmites always fascinate me- our souls are also like these melting, solidifying calcium deposits in these age old ice-caves...

  I watch the water Trickling down As if oozing out Of the sweating rock That assumes a human form In the caves damp and cool Becoming a haven of sorts Sheltering me From the sweltering heat Of the outside world; The stalactites and the stalagmites Are the relics of The history of the age old drippings Solidified, rock like…   My soul, in turn, Freezes and melts, Drips and solidifies… Friezes of my emotions Are etched On the walls of my existence -Fossilized- Telling their tales In words, Created, When the Hieroglyphs Lost their meanings In the Egyptians tombs   While, The Rosetta Stones of my unnamed desires Remain strewn on the cave-floor of my being, Undecipherable even to myself; Awaiting decoding…   Will some Champollion Oblige…?  

Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi  

Note: Jean Frances Champollion worked out how to translate the Rosetta Stone of Egyptian Hieroglyphs in 1811.

Note: Shoshone Ice Caves are Idaho's best-known caves. In country that easily gets above 100 degrees in the summer, the caves maintain a constant interior temperature of 18 to 33 degrees. The 1,000-foot-long cavern that is some forty feet high and varies in width from eight to thirty feet, at the far end of the cave is a wall of ice of unknown depth, despite repeated attempts to determine it. Molten lava poured over the land now known as the Snake River Plain, bubbles, tubes, and fissures formed on a grand scale. Shoshone Ice Caves are actually a series of craters lying against a volcanic rampart that cooled earlier than the ice caves did.

Photo:  http://www.goodearthgraphics.com/virtcave/staltite/stalactites5.jpg by Dave Brunell


Archived comments for Soul Caves
Jolen on 17-09-2007
Soul Caves
A fine piece here, Zoya and I too have always found these of great interest. As a girl, I used to visit a couple of caves in Missouri that had these. The Meramac Caverns was one of them.

I enjoyed this and your comparison to humans is very unique.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Jolen, Yeah, Aren't they fascinating?
They always make me think of all sorts of things...
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

artisus on 18-09-2007
Soul Caves
very nice Zoya

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Artisus, I am happy to know, you like the poem.
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Elfstone on 18-09-2007
Soul Caves
Lots of good things in this, but I think you have broken your lines up too much. That "While" for instance - it really sticks out in an uncomfortable way when I read the poem. I think this is good enough to warrant a bit of time spent on reorganising your lines (and I mean that as a compliment). Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the suggestion, dear Alfistone, how about the version below?

I watch the water trickling down
As if oozing out of the sweating rock
That assumes a human form
In the caves damp and cool
Becoming a haven of sorts
Sheltering me from the sweltering heat
Of the outside world;
The stalactites and the stalagmites
Are the relics of
The history of the age old drippings
Solidified, rock like


My soul, in turn,
Freezes and melts,
Drips and solidifies

Friezes of my emotions are etched
On the walls of my existence
-Fossilized-
Telling their tales
In words,
Created,
When the Hieroglyphs
Lost their meanings
In the Egyptians tombs

While, the Rosetta Stones of my unnamed desires
Remain strewn on the cave-floor of my being,
Undecipherable even to myself;
Awaiting decoding


Will some Champollion Oblige
?

Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi

pencilcase on 18-09-2007
Soul Caves
Very interesting, Zoya, in more ways than one.

I liked

Created,
When the Hieroglyphs
Lost their meanings
In the Egyptians tombs

and the way this sets up your rosetta stone conclusion. I have seen the rosetta stone, but could not remember Champollion, so thanks for explanatory note and, of course, 'Champollion oblige' has a nice ring to it.

I hope you manage to decode your desires!

I enjoyed reading this.

Steve

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Steve, for the lovely comment.
Well , I am trying... This whole business of writing poetry is, I believe, about decoding your desires, hidden in the nukes and crannies of your heart and soul...
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

Sunken on 20-09-2007
Soul Caves
Blimey. They aren't pretty are they? I thought I was in a sex shop for a second. Ahem. Sorry Zoya. I like the poem, but that picture has freaked me out. You can get a refund for this comment from Ms. Andrea. Just quote my name. A lot of people take them back, it's no problem (-;

Rate: Where's me jumper?

s
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a wiggle in her walk

Author's Reply:
Well, dear Sunken, To each one his own! As the Russian proverb goes: ' Every one talks about that what ails him the most!'
Had I known, the photo is going to distract you so much from the real poem, I would have refrained form including it... But what ever is done, is done...!
I hope you slept well? lol!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 01-11-2007
Soul Caves
Hi Zoya -some great images in this but as the poem is something of a metaphor have you not rather mixed your metaphors here by adding the references to the rosetta stone - I thought that ws a great image/metaphor by the way - as I can not see you as cold calcified icicle I thought it mor e appropriate!-)

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
David darling, How sweet of your to feel bad about my being cold like the icicle!
As for the Rosetta Stone it is meant as an expression of undefinable emotions, indecipherable even to my self- awaiting decoding...it is a bit complicated but not mixed up at all! lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


The Same Sun Shines on You and Me (posted on: 03-09-07)
Life is too short and beautiful, only if we care to look around and savour it- 'there is very little time for love; where is the time to hate?' And yet today’s world is fraught with wars, conflicts, ethnic-cleansing, terrorism… written for World Peace Day- 21st September

  The same Sun shines on you and me. The same sky doth us canopy. Moon casts its silver light On you and me alike, When it is eclipsed by Earth It casts a gloom equally on us… Same rain washes the terrain Lightning, thunders when it rains The same birds fly out from North Pole, When ice sets in an' it is too cold Traverse thousands of miles to perch On my part of the Earth Carrying your message of love… When snow falls in your county It cools too my native country The West Winds carry torrential rains to you and me in similar vein… Same Air fills your and my lungs With Oxygen in the atmosphere Emit the same carbon dioxide Pollution equally chokes our breaths Same emission pierces our sights… Then why is it that we are blinded By our reasoning, by our greed And decide that we belong To different cast and different creed Religion and colour of the skin Why can't we live in peace…? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Photo: 'Sun setting after the rains in Aligarh' by and ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for The Same Sun Shines on You and Me
e-griff on 03-09-2007
The Same Sun Shines on You and Me
Personally, I would avoid constructions like 'The same sky doth us canopy. ' as it seems outdated and artificial.

and there's a typo in 'lightning' I think.

It's a good question you pose.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, I knew some one would come up with this!
I don't know from where it came to me? Must be the Bard visiting me in my moment of inspiration! Lol! But once it did come out of my pen, I thought it was rather charmingly quaint! So, I let it be...
Thanks for the typo. Correction made!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

reckless on 05-09-2007
The Same Sun Shines on You and Me
yes, it's a question that needs to be asked, a point that needs to be made.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Reckless,
Yeah, isn't it strange that with all our wisdom , genius, and knowledge of science and technology, we fail to realise that the only way the world can survive is by mutual cooperation, love, understanding and humanitarian concern for the less fortunate by the more advanced...
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 05-09-2007
The Same Sun Shines on You and Me
Hello Ms. Zoya. I liked it, I must be outdated and artificial (-: How lovely. I much prefer the past anyway. Nice one. You know, I always get a weird pop up when I click on your poems (and I don't mean that in a naughty way) - It's an msn log in thing? Your pic doesn't always show up, so it may be connected to that? Computers are just weird. Nice poem, I enjoyed it. Well done.

Rate: Over my shoulder goes death

s
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he has detachable parts

Author's Reply:
My dear Sunken,

It is such a pleasure always to get 'sunk' into your unique sense of humour- I wish I had that funny bone too- I am delighted to hear from you. especially after the computer and hard disc crash, which kept me away for a whole month and a half...

Let the msn pop in!

((Hugs))

Sinking back into your fold, lol! (no pun intended...)

Love,

Zoya


Taj Mahal by Moonlight (posted on: 13-07-07)
Taj Mahal, a monument of love enshrined in white pristine marble is breathtakingly beautiful on a full-moon-lit-night; the marble dome, with its intricate inlay work, glows like a delicate, fragile maiden bathed in moonlight… Celebrating Taj's entry into the new Seven Wonders of the World- a repost!

  The moon casts a diaphanous veil Over the face of night. Beauty, entombed in marble glows, Bathed in silver light; Four minarets look heavenward The 'Gombad' blushes with luminescence…   A spirit of love roams the night Through the corridors of Time, And overlooks the graves Of two Lovers there enshrined… Zephyr blows with cool fragrance, The fountains come alive, Red roses whisper songs of love Sweet melody plays in tender harmony.   Laughter of a maiden rings, Echoes through the shrine, Footsteps, light, chase one another In the garden of Time, A kiss is planted with ardent Love On lips of Beauty, A swish of muslin robes is heard Rustling in the breeze, A sigh escapes the lips of Time Somewhere in the groves...   Two souls rise above the dome And in the garden roam Hand in hand, in the glory of A love three centuries old…     Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi   I dedicate this piece to all those in love...   Taj Mahal: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taj_Mahal built by the Moghal emperor Shahjahan in the memory of his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal, recently celebrated its 350th birthday.   I also invite every one to come to India; to visit Taj by moonlight... Photo: Taj Mahal at dawn:
Archived comments for Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Kat on 13-07-2007
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Zoya, a beautiful poem and so lovingly written. The last stanza is very striking and apt. Thanks for posting.

My husband and I are going to India in October and plan to visit the Taj Mahal on my birthday - I really hope I can get to see it by moonlight.

Best wishes

Kat

Author's Reply:
That would be the most romantic gift you would be giving to yourself, dear Kat, on your birthday!
And let me assure you, you will not be disappointed.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 13-07-2007
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Hi Zoya - a lovely piece as always - however I have a different take on such monuments beautiful though they are as you say.

This comment is not meant as a criticism of your poem or your chosen subject for inspiration - just as an alternative way of looking at World Heritage Buildings.

We have many famous and beautiful buildings here in the UK though few can match the Taj Mahal in impressiveness. There is Durham Cathedral see:-

http://www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/

Which is also a World Heritage site, Buckingham palace and many other great country houses - all monuments to the hubris and extravagant wealth of the people that originally built them. Perhaps I should dis-include Cathedrals here, as of course they are monuments to the faith of those that built them, but also to the wealth and power of the Church. I am afraid I cannot avoid thinking about the poor artisans that built the pompous things on small wages and sometimes as slaves or effective slaves and of how much difference the vast waelth spent on the monuments might have made to their lives if it had ben spent on something more useful to them. So, beautiful though the Taj Mahal is I am unable to see it as something other than a monument to extravagance, exploitation and folly.
This is a difficult view to hold and I agree that we today would be the poorer without such sites of cultural heritage, especially when we, who are so much richer than the societies of the past, sem to be going to leave little of lasting value to future generations.

Warm Wishes,

David


Author's Reply:
OK dear David, this needs answering on different levels:
1- About the Durham Cathedral; it truly is awesome! I am a great admirer of the Gothic architecture and that is why my favourite haunt in London is the city of
Westminster, I like to approach it by walking some length of the South bank, go over the Westminster bridge, watch it from across the Thames, then cross the bridge to get enveloped in the ambiance of it
 I also love to stroll around the Buckingham Palace and loll on the lawns of a St. James Park especially on a Sunday and mingle with the thousands who just cool around the fountains and watch the change of guards.
I also think that the Parthenon, Acropolis of Athens and Hajia Sophia Mosque of Istanbul are very beautiful; but, then this was a popular poll and India and China have the largest
populations in the world. By the way, do you know that no two steps on the great wall of China are the same height, that makes climbing on it extremely exhausting, nevertheless, I climbed the Badaling Pass’s first station and even have a certificate they issue there in a golden coloured role intact in a box with a red string dangling from it.
2- All great events in the history of the world are a result of collective human effort where the credit goes to the leader, while the masses contribute to it. Never the less when I look at a monument of great beauty or an architectural wonder, I am struck with awe at the collective ability of men, for that matter even an individual ability, to create such a monument of beauty, or a work of art purely for posterity.
These people must have been motivated enough to work day in and day out to produce beauty, because no art or creativity is possible under duress, at least I think so.
This is much better than fighting wars and giving your life for your country by killing thousands in another country while the credit goes to a Nelson, a Cromwell, a Napoleon or Alexander. Shahjahan will go down in history for producing Taj Mahal,
while Mr. Bush and Mr. Blair will have only a destroyed Iraq to their credit, with all its beautiful Mosques and art treasures raised to ground, in the quest of non existent
WMDs. Even Genghis Khan who won almost whole of Asia was a great Patron of Arts and has to his credit the development of miniature art and architecture of his times. Today when multinationals amass money for making one person rich, it is called generating employment for the masses, while when a whole town was living around and building the great Pyramid of Giza, for twenty years that it took to get completed is called exploitation of masses.
I think this exploitation is much better and peaceful then exploitation in fighting useless wars and killing millions of innocent children, women and civilians
 Ask the families of the unsung heroines of war, what they think about losing their loved ones, or even a dying soldier, how great he feels

If it was always the material gain of the individual that was at the center of every creation Van Gogh would not have gone crazy, but still paint by borrowing money for paints and brushes from Theo, his brother. Today his paintings fetch the highest price at the Christie’s
you and me would not be writing poetry but amassing wealth through are respective professions
 Phew!!!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya



Ionicus on 13-07-2007
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
A very romantic tribute to the enduring love which inspired this impressive monument.
Nicely written with your usual flair and style.

Love, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Luigi, it is extremely sweet of you to step in and comment!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Jolen on 01-09-2007
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
This is as gorgeous as the building itself. I have read it before, but it's no less beautiful in the second read.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
What a lovely comment dear Jolen!
Thanks!
When are you planning to visit India to see this truly magnificent Wonder of the World?
Be my guest when you do!
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 01-09-2007
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Dear Friends,
Sorry for the long absence!
I am just recovering from a computer (Disc) crash and have lost all the Data of last three years, out of which the data of the last six months is not even on back up CDs. I am slowly building up my data. So I am going to be a bit slow on the site.
Please bear with me.
((Hugs to all))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:


Alone I stand, like a Rock (posted on: 09-07-07)
Jeju Island, a beautiful Honey Moon Island in South Korea is made up of solidified Volcanic Rock. At every nook and corner you find the totem–like Idol, their National symbol, it is made up of this same Volcanic Rock- it is so light in weight porous and yet it is a very hard sturdy rock. Rocky Cliffs jut out into the Sea… It made me think…

Alone I stand, like a Rock Purified by purging fire of sufferings Tempered by hardships of life to steel, Molten lava of burning desire Solidified volcanic rock- Hard, yet porous, Solid, yet light…   Pure, rock like, steeled against life, Alone, I stand with titanic courage, Like a cliff jutting out into the sea of existence- Hard outside, molten inside, Sensitive to elements, Impregnable to harsh winds of life- Facing the life With volcanic pride…   Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi   Photo: Pinnacle Ridge Point Lobos Note: Sorry for the long absence friends, I was down with viral fever!
Archived comments for Alone I stand, like a Rock
Gerry on 09-07-2007
Alone I stand, like a Rock
Your thoughts turned into fine words Zoya...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerry, I stood there looking at the rocks jutting into the Sea and thought to myself, how light and porous yet so hard and sturdy, just like me, and the poem formed itself in my heart... lol!
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

RoyBateman on 10-07-2007
Alone I stand, like a Rock
Good to see you back...better, I hope? Great image here, reminded me of that old Paul Simon classic, but with a subtely different slant to it. Very visual, too!

Author's Reply:
Dear Roy,
Thanks a pile! I was missing you too.
I'm much better now.
I am sorry, I am not aware of the Paul Simon Classic, you must tell me about it, but I am happy it reminds you of something you like!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

RoyBateman on 10-07-2007
Alone I stand, like a Rock
ps Sorry for the awful spelling booboo...

Author's Reply:
OK Roy, I got it on Wikipaedia, is it the song, ‘I am a Rock?’ and the refrain is:
‘I am a rock
I am an island.’

And ends with:
‘ And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries’

Though in a different vain altogether, it is beautiful and I can relate to it; in fact my ‘I like Penelope sit weaving’ talks more about this kind of ‘self inflicted loneliness
’ lol!
Thanks for introducing me to this lovely song!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 10-07-2007
Alone I stand, like a Rock
Great poem, Zoya and I too hope you are OK now. Fantastic imagery here:-

"Like a cliff jutting out into the sea of existence..."

Good stuff. You have definitely returned in style!

Love and hugs,
Tina 🙂

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina, You are too kind to me, I can never thank you enough! Yes, I am better now though still not up to the mark! But, I am definitely getting there! Lol!
How have you been?
(((Big Fond Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

littleditty on 12-07-2007
Alone I stand, like a Rock
Hi Zoya - Volcanic themes are 'in' at the mo! I am soon going back to the volcanic rock that is Tenerife - i really liked your poem, there is volcanic strength to it, and i liked the description of that rock, 'hard, but porous' - there is a softness to volcanic rock, and a surprising lightness too - this place in S Korea sounds interesting - i thought you could snip a bit, solidified is a long word!:

Alone I stand, like a Rock
Purified by purging fire of sufferings
Tempered by hardships of life to steel,
Molten lava of burning desire:
Solidified volcanic rock-
Hard, yet porous,
Solid, yet light


Hope you are feeling better? Enjoyed your poem 🙂 Nicky xx


Author's Reply:

Dearest Nikki,

I am happy to know that volcanic themes are in, though this was written in South Korea, a little while ago.

I am happy you like the poem.

Point taken; sniping done! lol!

I am better now, thanks for your loving concern!

(((Hugs)))

Love, Zoya


Sometimes I feel I am the Rain (posted on: 25-06-07)
Longing for passionate union with the beloved sometimes colours your cravings for the loved one, you want to engulf him with your love, overwhelm him with your passion… yet the yearning remains…

Sometimes I feel I am the rain,
Torrential rain…
Pouring down upon you
With all the passion of my being,
Soaking the parched earth of your soul…
Quenching centuries long of thirst,
Overwhelming, overflowing,
Flooding you with all my love,
Engulfing you in my life form,
Till we are all but one…

Sometimes I feel, I am
A tender soft drizzle…
Touching gently your cheeks,
Slide tenderly down to your lips,
Caress your hot glowing skin,
Wallowing in your touch,
Melting softly with your touch,
Evaporate into the air,
And leave you longing for more…
Myself all the while,
Savouring sweet longing of yore…

Sometimes I feel, I am
That tiny drop of rain
In the vapour of your breath,
Breathing along with you,
Constantly inside you,
Going along with you,
Your every move and stride,
On a dark and gloomy day,
In a solid, dependable way…

On a hot summer day,
I cool your burning brow,
Sooth your troubled frown…
Yes, I think, I am
That lucky rain of spring
On a hot summer day,
Longing to be with you
In every which way…

Some time I feel, I am,
Upon the parched earth of your being,
That very summer Rain.


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi

This is the next poem in my series of poems, where I identify with the elements and use them as vessels of love.

Photo: 'Monsoon Clouds at Sunset' by and ©: Zoya Zaidi


Archived comments for Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
Gerry on 25-06-2007
Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
That was very clever Zoya--well done indeed...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:

Corin on 26-06-2007
Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
Lovely original metaphors Zoya.
Was that you causing all the floods in England yesterday ?Perhaps you should love a little less:-)

David

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 27-06-2007
Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
'Sometimes I feel I am a tender, soft drizzle ...'

A beautiful poem Zoya, beautifully written. Enjoyed.

Tina :-)x

Author's Reply:

Emerald on 27-06-2007
Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
Dear Zoya, your paint such beautiful heartfelt longing - this is wonderful

Emma x


Author's Reply:

Bradene on 28-06-2007
Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
Lovely Zoya, beautifully expressive poetry. Val x

Author's Reply:

artisus on 18-09-2007
Sometimes I feel I am the Rain
it's serene and beautiful and emotionally rich.

Author's Reply:


Match-Sticks & Silver Needles (posted on: 15-06-07)
Children are naïve, gullible, and blissfully ignorant (and thank God for that) of their rights as citizens of this world and inheritors of our tomorrow. Unable to protect themselves, they are easily forced into labour or lured and cajoled into exploitation. 12th June is World Against Child Labour Day...

Here are two more poems from the Children of a Lesser God series. Each poem is about a different industry, where children are employed for either a meager salary, or sometimes 'for-free', under the pretext of being 'taught the trade'...

  The Silver-Needle Factory Worker   The silver that brightens the needles In the factory where he works, Pokes deep into his tiny being, Gives cramps in his belly, Prickling sensation in his thighs, Drives him close to blindness, To stupor, deafness… 'Where's my salvation!' is his cry, While his escape from this drudgery Is Like getting through the needle's eye…   Note: These children get afflicted with Mercury poisoning.

*   Match-Factory Worker   That little boy, He works in a match factory. The gunpowder in The matchstick's head, Burns deep into his soul, Burns the desires of his childhood, The dreams of his boyhood. The scorching burns to the core, The sorrow burns him to the socket… And, one day, He'll be blown up In the factory-fire. The end of his hope, of his desire.   Note: The dangers of working with gunpowder are obvious. *

Last word: According to the Child labour laws in India, including the 1986 Child Labour (Prohibition and Regulation) Act, the policy of the government is to ban employment of children below the age of fourteen years in factories, mines and hazardous employment. Ironically, this law is broken everyday, everywhere by millions. There are over 12 million children in India employed in Child labour in various industries, in Tea Plantations, in Embroidery units, in Carpet industry, in Football making industry, at Tailors, Shoe-makers, in Tea-shops and as Domestic workers...

  Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP) India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Photo: 'Children of a Lesser God' by and ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
littleditty on 15-06-2007
Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
Hi Zoya - you know i like this series of your poems very much - both enjoyed, the first especially - hope you are well Zoya of India xxxldx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Nicky,
Yeah, I remember, you were the one who had said on reading the ' Carpet Weavers' (The very first poem in this series) that the poem deserves to read by everyone, even by those not interested in Poetry. The poem was subsequently published in the News Letter of HREA, the UNICEF division against Child Labour.
There are a number of NGOs ( Non- Governmental organizations) working to free these children from exploitation, but they are not enough. Lots is still required to be done.
I feel strongly about it and keep raising, and will keep raising, my voice, when ever, where ever and how ever I can...
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
Love, Zoya

shackleton on 15-06-2007
Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
You always move me with these poems, Zoya. So important to shout out about such awful situations... and you do that eloquently. You make me want to tear down these factories with my bare hands. Don't stop singing your song, Zoya... it's also the song of these children.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Shackleton, Yeah, a normal childhood with schooling, clothes, food, mother's care and lots of love is every child's human right. Sadly enough all this lacking with most of the poor children who are made to work. Poverty is a big cause for this, lack of job opportunity for adults is another. The problem can be solved if the government makes free education available with daily meals and free health care for children and jobs for their parents.
We might be becoming an economic power, but the fact is that the rich and the poor divide is increasing, with rich becoming richer and poor becoming poorer. 60% of Indian population is still living below the poverty line- that is if 500/- month (100 $) is taken as cut of point for poverty line- which in itself is a matter of great concern.

The fact is that even the children who are rescued from these factory are not properly rehabilitated, they are sent to remand homes and rehabilitation centers; they languish there for months, some times years and are not even reunited with there parents. Some of the children are trafficked from Assam, Orissa, Bengal and even Bangladesh.

I try my best I can by raising my voice, creating awareness and helping out these children, where ever possible. But an awareness on a larger scale is required, and proper implementation of the laws against child labour is mandatory. India has the highest number of children involved in child labour. Delhi, the capital of India, alone has 41,899 child labourers, according to CRY (Child's Rights and You), an NGO.

((Hugs for your concern))

Love, Zoya

Emerald on 15-06-2007
Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
Today I heard that slavery amongst children has steeply risen - that is so scary in our so humane (?) world. All children deserve a childhood and we as adults - governments should try and make this so - Dear Zoya you always make me think and cry at these injustices

Emma x


Author's Reply:

orangedream on 16-06-2007
Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
Children's voices aren't loud enough to be heard above the din of this crazy world - even adult's voices too sometimes. That's why, the written word is so crucially important. Your message, in both poems loud and clear. Well said, Zoya.

Hugs, Tina x

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 16-06-2007
Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
??????????????? and your point is?????????
the sad truth is no body cares.
More than 160 million people in India are considered "Untouchable"—people tainted by their birth into a caste system that deems them impure, less than human.
Indian,s , Hindu's are pure evil and this evil was and still is accepted by everyone.

India's Untouchables are relegated to the lowest jobs, and live in constant fear of being publicly humiliated, paraded naked, beaten, and raped with impunity by upper-caste Hindus seeking to keep them in their place. Merely walking through an upper-caste neighborhood is a life-threatening offense.
This is life.
Our shops and factories are full of goods made by the dalits.
RODEL

Author's Reply:

Corin on 18-06-2007
Match-Sticks & Silver Needles
HI Zoya - well there are some strange people in the world and even on UKA!!!

Still ignore him.

My view is that the West is so much to blame - the UN should be in a position to offer Free Universal Education to all children in the World and the EU and Us should open their markets to goods from India and Africa so that your factories can trade fairly and would not have to employ child labour to make a profit and parents could earn enough to support their children at school.

David

Author's Reply:


At the Brink of Twilight (posted on: 04-06-07)
Far away at the brink of Twilight When Day shyly merges into Night...

Far away at the brink of Twilight When Day shyly merges into Night Bride of the evening coyly recoils Into the arms of the ink-black night   Then in the valley of my dreams Someone whispers a melody sweet Like a thousand candles beams Lights up the sky of my dreams   Sometimes hearts remain apart People are together but love departs Sometimes lives come close in a trice Chance meeting alters the course of our lives Souls communicate on a different plane Hearts play at times the strangest of games…   Then in the valley of my dreams Someone whispers a melody sweet…   When at times so troubled is the soul Eyes brim over with sorrow and remorse A burden on the bosom stifles my breath Then someone like a fragrant breeze Brushes past me and touches my cheeks Brings me solace but cannot be seen...   Then in the valley of my dreams Someone whispers a melody sweet…     Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Inspired by a Hindi song ' Kahin door jab din dhal jaye…' Photo 'Carnivalisque revelry in the sky' by and ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for At the Brink of Twilight
shackleton on 04-06-2007
At the Brink of Twilight
Enjoyed the read, Zoya. Sometimes it reads like a song and sometimes like a prayer. Smashing write! I hope you're well these days. Bye now.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Shackleton for stepping in and commenting. It is such a beautiful response! Actually the poem is inspired by a Hindi song.
It has been such a long Time, I missed you.
I am doing well, how about you?
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

royrodel on 14-06-2007
At the Brink of Twilight
ahhhhhhh now I go there, well everyday and night, I blame Isis, but that's for me and not for you. Excuse my arrogance but this is so me and my understanding of a life denyed by many.
It pleases me to see that I'm not alone.

RODEL

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Roy, for the lovely response, I am happy to know that I have such august company in you.
Yeah, to step into the valley of dreams and find solace, can be such a respite at times from the daily drudge of our everyday lives... Isn't it?
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya


Amalgamation (posted on: 25-05-07)
When in love, how you yearn to be one with your beloved...

Just as the snowflake melts on the lips, Dewdrop evaporates with Sun's first kiss, Clouds melt soft into the rain with mirth, Raindrop's eagerly absorbed in parched Earth, Torrential rain mingles with the river's flow River merges tenderly with Ocean deep slow Waves are inseparable with the deep-sea blue So do I want, my love, to be one with you… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Amalgamation
Romany on 25-05-2007
Amalgamation
Lovely poem.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Romany, I am happy you like my little poem.
((((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 25-05-2007
Amalgamation
Zoya--nothing matters when love is in the air--everything is wonderful 😉
Nice one...

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Gerry,
'Love is a many splendoured thing'
Love is the elixir of Life,
Love the essence of life,
Love the Giver of Life,
Love is life,
Life is love...

This could be the equation of love...

Yet, is does not define even an iota of what love is and what it can possibly be....

So, love remains an enigma, indefinable, un-understandable, and at times even unattainable; but most coveted of all phenomena of human life...

Lol! I am philosophic this morning!

((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 26-05-2007
Amalgamation
I felt like this once Ms. Zoya. Sadly, however, it turned out to be nothing more than indigestion. A lovely poem that only a lovely lady could pen. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he carried the weight of her guilt in the boot of his car

Author's Reply:
Hi dear Sunken,
Any body who has ever felt like this cannot remain indifferent to love. You shall find it again and this time you will digest it well and it will remain with you, hopefully!
((((Hugs for love's sake))))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 12-06-2007
Amalgamation
JUst a little critique, Zoya -

"Just as the snowdrop melts on the lips"

Did you not intend to say 'snowflake' as 'snowdrop' is an English flowering bulb with white flowers that blooms in January? I hear tell they taste quite nice if you are starving at the end of a long English winter!! 🙂

Otherwise very beautifully expressed.

David

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear David, I stand corrected!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya


Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle (posted on: 18-05-07)
On ninth of April, I had a recording of my poems on All India Radio; as I drove down to Delhi, on the cool Sunday morning, I observed how landscape along the highway changed slowly…

Golden wheat stands ripe in the fields For miles and miles along the heath Sun kissed crops ready to reap Girded-up in neat bundled sheaves. Farmers stand- sickles in hands- Hair streaked with yellow hay strands A cloud of golden dust of wheat-husk Rendering the atmosphere hazy, with musk Fragrance filling the morning air… Spring has so many hues, as I drive Down the highway smooth that thrives With yellow, pink and blue hollyhocks A feast to the eyes in neatly laid blocks… Dew-laden fresh air pristine and pure The poetic soul responds to its allure… Then the landscape begins to change Fields become dotted with cottages First the town houses appear in a range Soon to be replaced by concrete jungle Of flats and multi-storied jumble And horizon instead of trees in bloom Is dotted with sky-scrapers of gloom Garish advertisements, hoardings and flags Replace the flowers; and polyethylene Competes with the grass, lush and green… Soothing cool's replaced by the chilling-air 'Civilization' at the altar of Nature flares… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
flossieBee on 18-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
I really like the way you have structured this poem. I really get a sense of the journey; of the countryside where you lose yourself imaginatively and the mixed blessings of the inevitable spread of a city.

Floss x

Author's Reply:
Thanks my dear Flossie, Yeah, the wheat crops in spring are absolutely a beautiful sight... And as I drove along the highway I was really enjoying the scenery and my poetic soul was responding to it, the poem was automatically forming itself in my mind, with words flowing effortlessly, the mild fragrance of the wheat husk, covering the sky, was intoxicating, when the whole scene was rudely interrupted by concrete slowly taking over the gold of the wheat, green of the grass...
We in our endeavour to get 'civilized' quickly, cut up our green cover, without realizing that we are drying up our soil, heating up our environment... I have watched with my own eyes how over the years my own town has grown from a lush green, full of trees town of my childhood to a concrete jungle- that is growing by day...
((((Hugs for taking that trip with me down the highway))))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 18-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
Congratulations on the broadcast Zoya. It sounds almost English this piece - except that harvest is in Spring not Autumn! I was quite amazed.

David

Author's Reply:
My dear David, I am talking about spring only. Golden wheat fields are beautiful everywhere, so is the spring. April is our harvesting season for the crop of Rabi in the gloriously mild month of Baisakh.
I really do not know how to take this compliment? As Potleek says, sounds like English countryside, or as I understand, you are trying to tell me that finally I am writing in English language? lol!
Thanks anyway my dear friend. I know whatever it is, you mean well as you always do.
(((Hugs)))
love, Zoya

potleek on 18-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
Zoya I have to agree with David, you could almost swear you were describing English countryside and towns.
A pleasant drive without a doubt, enjoyed the journey.
Also well done on the radio poems, they reach a much wider audiance...Tony

Author's Reply:
My dear Potleek,
A drive down the highway in spring is heavenly!
It fills your lungs with fresh invigourating air;
your soul with a new vitality;
your mind with new creativity
and your heart with hope!
Lol!
(((Hugs)))
I am often invited on the radio to record my poems for the overseas broadcast; it is a pity they are in Urdu, otherwise I would give you the band number the next time I record...
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 19-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
Blimey. You have been on the radio Ms. Zoya? How smashing. I don't think I'd get on. My diction is terrible. I said 'diction'! Ahem, a lovely piece. I feel refreshed and invigorated. When I have had my morning crumpets I might even clean the hamster cage out. Thanks Zoya. A lovely way to start the day and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

her parents made her look positively bohemian

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken, Yeah, I am often invited to read my Urdu poems on the AIR- may be because my Urdu 'diction' is flawless?
A ride on an early spring morning is indeed very refreshing and rejuvenating. I am happy, you enjoyed the ride. Don't forget to feed Mr Hamster this morning. Take care of you, and no mistakes for sure.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

littleditty on 22-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
Dear Zoya -my comment disappeared 🙁 I have a disappearing comment problem at the mo - it said that i really enjoyed the journey of your poem - things like that - very cool end couplet - hope you are well Zoya of India :o) xxldx

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Nicky,
Yeah, a beautiful journey along the highway transports you into another world, 'till you are rudely brought back to reality...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya
PS Nice comments also have a way of disappearing from my page...

jay12 on 23-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
I really like the gradual change from countryside to urban. I'm not familiar too much with India but you make the place sound very nice, let me come and visit! 😉

Jay.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, dear Jay, you are most welcome! Come to India, be my guest!
India is beautiful indeed, in more ways than one... I love my country and am effected by the changes in its weather and scenery... being a Nature lover, I keep exploring India and am still discovering it.
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 23-05-2007
Golden Wheat Fields vs. Concrete Jungle
Yeah, dear Jay, you are most welcome! Come to India, be my guest!
India is beautiful indeed, in more ways than one... I love my country and am effected by the changes in its weather and scenery... being a Nature lover, I keep exploring India and am still discovering it.
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:
Oops, sorry, Wrong coloumn!
Zoya



The Pacific Bay (posted on: 07-05-07)
Sea has many moods: When the sun slowly rises above the water, dispelling the darkness of the night, the Sea is simply miraculously ethereal in its beauty. A walk on the beach casts a magical spell on your senses; it is hard to believe that the same sea hides many storms in its bosom…

The Pacific Bay Early morning, Casey beach, Bateman's Bay, Golden sand beneath my feet, I walk with a sway, Sun rising in the East Takes my breath away, Pink hues of the morn Kissed by the golden ray, Boats marooned on the shore- Sails down, hulls stayed- Rock in a rhythmic way; Seagulls strut about on the sand, Their dainty feet, sinking, Make patterns on the bay, The magic of the moment Casts a spell on the soul, Swishing sorrows away… * Beneath the surface calm: Thousand tumults, Thousand storms- Hiding deep within its bosom- Belie the peace of the morn… 'Till some black passionate night, Unveils the pain of deep, Tosses the sea about, Whips a frenzy up with waves, Uproots all in its craze… Next morning: Fallen trees, torn sails, Broken boats, Crows hovering over the wreck…   Is this the same shore? The same sea, The self-same Pacific Bay?   Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Written during a morning walk on Casey Beach, Bateman's Bay, South Coast Australia Photo: by and © Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for The Pacific Bay
shackleton on 07-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
Good poem, Zoya. Beauty and beast... not forgetting those great white sharks as well.

Author's Reply:
Thanks, dear Shackleton, for the appreciation.
Yes, the Sea has many moods, it is so beautiful at times and can be very treacherous too, especially when it rakes up a storm like the Tsunami for instance, destroying every thing in its wake. And yes, creatures like the great 'Moby Dick' also live there, just as all the pearls and gems that are born and hidden in its bosom...
Just like life!
((Hugs for the nice comment))
Love, Zoya

chrissy on 08-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
This poem accurately describes the 'moods' of the sea and gives a really good picture first of the peace and beauty and then of the terrible devastation. Reading that description of after the storm I felt physically cold.
Well done.
chrissy

Author's Reply:
My dear Chrissy, Thanks pile for that beautiful analysis of my poem!
Yes, sea does have many moods; and just as it is so calm, serene and beautiful, it can be treacherous too, if it decide to whip up a storm... Just like the human lives- at times life is so beautiful that it seems a celebration of itself, while on the other hand chance happenings and accidents can play havoc with our lives. But, like the sea, after the storm, the calm settles and no matter how great the wreck, things start coming back to normal life- life goes on... has to go on...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 10-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
Zoya, loved this. Last night I watched a programme about Salt water crocs in Australia. Two days before a bad cyclone arrived off Darwin, all the crocs moved into a sheltered river location. No one knew the cyclone was coming--but the crocs obviously did! The sea and its creatures are truly amazing...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Hi Gerry, Long time, no see! Thanks a pile for dropping in. I am happy to know you liked this poem of mine.
Yeah, you are right, the sea and it creatures are truly amazing, we could learn so much for them- but don't- lol! They have a sixth sense, we humans lack. Like the birds during a Solar eclipse start to go back to their nests and perches...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 11-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
You made me want to throw off shoes and socks and come with you:-)

From a sunny beach the sea may look beautiful but trapped in a small boat miles from shore its aspect is completely different - had the same experience once in a blizzard over Glen Shee, what was one day white and beautiful the next seemed malicious and ugly.

David

Author's Reply:
Dear David, By all means do join me! I love beaches- miles and miles of golden and silver sand can be very soothing. On the other hand, the same Sea when in a fury can be the most treacherous creature on Earth. How it gets attracted to the moon
 Your story reminds me of Hemingway's 'Old Man and the Sea'. Once I was seasick while crossing the English Channel on the Ferry Boat; the experience was terrible and took all the romance of the sea away in a jiffy...

((Hugs))

Love, Zoya


Jolen on 12-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
A lovely stroll, and poem. A joy to the senses.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolan, for dropping in and appreciating my poem.

Australia has lovely sand beaches, some of them have white sand some yellow; they lovingly call them Golden and Silver beaches; for instance the Casey Beach on Batesman's bay ( shown here in the picture) is a Golden beach. While Murphy beach in Javer's bay, which is an aboriginal county and managed fully by aboriginals, is a Silver beach; and Dolphin's point has one of those rare Rocky beaches... When I used to go for long drives with my sister and her family, who live in Sydney, I used to keep clicking away, taking photos and my brother-in-law used to say, why are you taking photos of these beaches, they are all alike, 'a beach is a beach is a beach'... But, one beach is never the same as the other, no two mountains are alike, and every river has its own character, just as sunrise and sunsets are never the same, each has a different hue, a different mood...

(((Hugs for the nice comment))

Love, Zoya

reckless on 12-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
nice and calming, has a good feeling to it and takes you there to the scene. Enjoyed this.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Reck, The fact that I could take you along with me on this enchanting morning walk means the world to me... I always maintain that if a poet, or for that matter any writer, can draw the reader into the mood of the poem or novel, he is successful! After all what is poetry- it is a mode of expressing our inner feelings, our moods and dreams and sharing it with others...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Goya

jay12 on 13-05-2007
The Pacific Bay
I couldn't see the picture but it didn't matter your poem gave me a nice image in my head anyway.

Jay.

Author's Reply:
That Jay, is such a huge compliment! If you could picture that what I wanted to say in your mind, my job is done, never mind the picture! The idea here is to create that ambiance, which uplifts your mood and makes you reflective. I am happy you enjoyed the poem. I love to paint word pictures, just as I love to take snapshots of landscape; and a poem appreciated is just as rewarding as getting a good shot...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


The Two Wolves Within (posted on: 30-04-07)
An Old Cherokee Wisdom

  The Two Wolves Within An old Cherokee told his grandson 'Two wolves rage within us, One is Evil, it has many names: Anger, envy, jealousy, Sorrow, regret, greed, Arrogance, self-pity, guilt, Resentment, inferiority, lies, False-pride, superiority and ego.   The other is Good, it has many hues: Joy, peace, love, hope, Serenity, humility, kindness, Benevolence, empathy, generosity, Truth, compassion and faith.' The grandson thought for a minute And asked: 'Which Wolf wins?' The Cherokee simply replied: 'The one you feed!'   Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi I came across this legend in the Times of India Daily's Sacred File's section, it was so profound, I had to turn it into a poem. Cherokee Indians of Smoky Mountains - The first native peoples arrived in the Tennessee Great Smoky Mountains about A.D. 1000. They were believed to have been a branch of the Iroquois, later to be called Cherokee Indians, who moved south from Iroquoian lands in New England. Consisting of 7 clans, the Cherokee Nation stretched from the Ohio River into South Carolina. The Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians lived in The Great Smoky Mountains National Park, believed to be the sacred ancestral home of the Cherokee Nation http://www.smokymtnmall.com/mall/cindians.html. Image: Cumnacatogue (also known as Cunne Shote, Stalking Turkey or Standing Turkey) was one of three Cherokee chiefs who travelled to London in 1762 to see King George III. He was the nephew of the Chief "Old Hop" who was also known as Standing Turkey. http://cherokeehistory.com/cunne_~1.jpg
Archived comments for The Two Wolves Within
potleek on 30-04-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Zoya I really do like this, it beats me how wisdom and such sayings seem to come from much older generations.
It seems we have a lot to learn from them...Tony

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony,
Yeah, these old tribes were great observers, lived close to Nature and in complete unison with it. Their age-old wisdom was very profound, learned from centuries of struggle for survival...
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

littleditty on 30-04-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Dear Zoya - this is just what i needed to read right now -you are sometimes pretty spooky in that respect! This is a wise piece of teaching, for sure. The word 'evil' compared to 'good' bothers me - i know that 'bad' is a pretty lame word - and so i wondered what you thought about 'dark' and 'light'. I think it was the word 'inferiority' under 'evil' that started me thinking - you do that to me with your poems! Thanks for this one -i am trying to feed the good at the moment, but i am struggling with me 🙁 Hope you are happy Zoya of India 🙂 Nicky x

Author's Reply:
My dear Nicky, what a lovely response! I love the way you catch the essence of my poems. Well 'light' and 'dark' are also two opposites I dwell upon when in a reflective mood- I have a poem somewhere lying in my word files on that also, must dig it out for you one of these days.
We are essentially human and in that respect are constantly struggling within ourselves with these conflicting emotions, the positive and negative, the evil and virtuous (I deliberately did not use this word- it sounds a bit too self-righteous I thought), the good and bad... Sense of inferiority, and superiority are the two sides of the same coin, one as bad as the other- in fact superiority complex in psychological terms is an inverted sense of inferiority, manifested in form of a superiority complex... Isn't it? And from inferiority complex stem negative thoughts...
(((Hugs for the reflective comment)))
Love, Zoya

littleditty on 01-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Yes - the grandiose personality is as you have described - what i was trying to say was that by labeling these very natural emotions as' evil', was what bothered me! I don't think emotions are evil -i think how one acts in response to our emotions is where judgment good/bad/evil/light/dark rests -not on having the feelings in the first place, know what i mean? Sorry - i waffle around sometimes, anyhow - interesting as always Zoya xxldx

Author's Reply:
Aha, I love this Nicky! Yeah, the word evil is used here to high light the contrast with good. It is not so much the emotions but its nurturing and feeding of it to make it grow to eventually becomes an obsession, and consequently the effect it has on our personality, our life in a broader perspective that is bad and becomes 'evil' for our own selves... You are right, it is not so much the emotion but how we respond to it, which is important, like feeding it; on the other hand, overcoming it would be good...

Oh, I am loving this debate!

See the wolves are already beginning to rage within us! Lol!

(((Hugs, you are a delight!)))

Love, Zoya

Sunken on 01-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Ahhh, there's wisdom in them there words Ms. Zoya and no mistake. I shall contemplate which wolf to feed when I have done my weekly shopping at the Tesco superstore(-: I hope this comment finds you in positions relative to relaxation and that your wolf is well fed.

s
u
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k
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he hadn't always been a leo

Author's Reply:
My dear Sunken, if you have joy & happiness on your shopping list then you might be able to feed the right wolf. Tell me which shelf they are on when you have found them, so that next time I go to Tesco, I can grab them for myself.
I am trying to feed the right wolf all the time, but the problem is, I am not sure, which one is right when... lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Bradene on 01-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Wise words and the picture gives the whole thing atmosphere. Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, these Indians do have a very profound age old wisdom.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 02-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Beautifully put Zoya and worth remembering.
David

Author's Reply:
Thanks, my dear David, I am so happy, you like my little foray into the ancient Indian territory!

((Fond Hugs)))

Love, Zoya

littleditty on 02-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Hi Zoya - someone put this well, i shall use what i remember of what was said: - feed the compassionate wolf, but also tend to the vicious wolf, or it will get so hungry it will rise and kill the good - - - which is a good way to think about emotions, i think, feed the good and do not deny the negative.

What you said confused me a bit re feeding emotions and 'it' - emotions? becoming an obsession?; also i was confused what you meant re overcoming 'it' emotions? - i think obsession, or obsessing over emotions, is fueled by an inability to makes decisions, and act - and as we make decisions every day, with hopefully the good, and greater good, in mind, by acting, we liberate ourself from the obsessional - i don't think there are too many healthy ways to 'overcome' emotions -they just occur - time is best at the business of putting emotions and obsession into the past with good healthy decisions and actions, to deal with emotion in the present! Thanks Zoya, for this discussion, been interesting for me, cheers xxldx

Author's Reply:
OK, I 'll try to make myself more clear: See, it is like this: Let us take negative emotions first- When we try to 'feed' the negative emotions and dwell too long over them, in spite of the fact that we would like to overcome them, we can't (it is not easy to overpower negative emotion as opposed to positive emotions); they slowly take over our rational reasoning and gradually grow to become obsessions, it is then that they are bad for our psychology, our mental health in general.
As for taking decisions, sometimes it is precisely 'taking of a decision' that becomes difficult and one is caught in a dilemma, in the meanwhile the emotion keeps being fed, and you feel even worse.... You know what I mean; it becomes a vicious circle of sorts...
So, you are perfectly right when you say that we obsess, when we delay decisions, so it is better get on with the decision-making and put behind the negative emotions...
On the other hand positive emotions, if fed, make you feel good and in turn you do more good to others as well as to your own self...
Ultimately at the end of the day, we all want to feel good- it is up to us, whether we want to or not?
lol! This discussion is becoming an obsession of sorts...lolol!
((((Hugs, I greatly enjoyed this tĂȘte-Ă -tĂȘte with you, dear Nicky)))
Love, Zoya


littleditty on 02-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Zoya -that was well put! LOL End of discussion!!! Good night! dear Zoya - Nicky xldxx

Author's Reply:
Sweet Dreams Nicky, I really enjoyed this philosophic discussion of ours! lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 03-05-2007
The Two Wolves Within
Dear Bootylicious, thanks for picking up this poem as your hot Favourite!
I am really Humbled!
Thanks a pile,indeed!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:


But, only if… (posted on: 23-04-07)
This is how I would like to live - but only if…

'To see the world in a grain of sand And Heaven in wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an Hour…' William Blake To light a candle in the wind, And set fire to water… Burn with inner fire in winter, Cool your brow in summer Melt- a candle- with your touch, Be like a rock in adversity See the angel in the soul Of a criminal of extremity Breathe life into a dying soul, And kill an enemy with a look Light up the lives of those in misery, Bring solace to the anguished Laugh like a child with an honest smile, And cry over others' loss Feel your pain like my own, And hide mine deep within See an Ocean in a drop, An eternity in vast Sea Drench you in the rain of my love, And smile in a desert lonely And maybe, get carried away to Heaven, in a chariot of fire… This is how, I would like to live, But, only if… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Elijah, The Hebrew prophet of Jezebel, who maintained the worship of Jenovah against that of Baal and other pagan gods; legend has it that he was miraculously fed by ravens, raised a widow's son from the dead, and was carried to Heaven in a chariot of fire.
Archived comments for But, only if…
potleek on 23-04-2007
But, only if

Zoya It would be nice if we had the power to see the way you describe.
To see through the eyes of God.
Not sure about killing enemies with a look...Tony


Author's Reply:
My dear Tony, I can see what you mean! It is not really presumptuous to aspire for exulted ideals, as you might like to call these, because in fact they are just all desires and dreams which are humanly possible with a bit of imagination. You are not supposed to take every thing literally; there are many things, which are symbolic, and others metaphorical in nature here. Killing an enemy with a look is in a manner of speaking putting the opponent to shame.
Please give room for poetic license, my dear friends, we are all poets here and fully entitled to let our imagination take the better of us... lol!
If on one hand we write poems seeped in reality (at least I do), on the other it is also possible, and good, to write imaginative, contemplative and fantastic poems... Phew!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


littleditty on 24-04-2007
But, only if

HI Zoya -very interesting one this one! I am going to have to copy it and read it again later - my internet connection is weak so i'll take another look off line - - is that angle or angel in couplet 4 - either way lol - hope you are well zoya -see you later xxldx

Author's Reply:
Dear Nikki, of course it is 'angel'- what a faux pas!
Thanks for pointing out, I am sad that this silly slip of mine has taken away the chance of my getting your opinion on the contents of the poem. However do get back when you have read it and give me your valuable comments...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 25-04-2007
But, only if

'But only if...' indeed Ms. Zoya. Nice poem. Like Ms. Ditty, I did trip on the angle/angel line. It puts me in mind of an acquaintance of mine who signed a book of condolence on the event of Princess Di's death. It went something like, 'Once a lady, then a princess and now and angle.' I often wonder if she is an obtuse or an acute angle (-; A very easy mistake to make though. I often get brain mixed up with brian for some reason. I need to put my brian into gear occasionally I guess. Muchly enjoyed Ms. Zoya. Well done.

s
u
n
k
e
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to the tag mobile, lets go

Author's Reply:
My dear Sunken, What can I say? I can only hang my head in shame! From whatever 'angle' you look at it, it is quite an 'angelic' mistake... lol! See, even Einstein was dyslexic and dysgraphic at times! lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


DAUGHTER (posted on: 09-04-07)
A daughter is the most precious gift, especially when she begins to grow up, begins to share her secrets with you, becomes your friend…This poem written on my daughters coming of age, I want to share with my friends. Happy Birthday, Soni!

DAUGHTER Dearest daughter Soni, So much I would like to tell you, So much I have got to say, I hope I can find the words To express myself to day: Life is a precious gift, Don't squander it away, Life is given to you but once Do live it up today, Live your life with love, Live your life with compassion, And a lot of passion, Honesty and sincerity; Honour your self-respect, But forget not your humility, Sharpen your sensibility, Nurture your sensitivity, Give full reins to your creativity; Learn to differentiate Between truth and deception, Authenticity and ingenuity; Be free of affectations, Learn simplicity, Drop all your pretences, Embrace reality: Be fearful of conceit, Hate and vendetta; Yet live life fearlessly: Bow down to no one, Be cowed down by no one, Just be yourself, Learn to be yourself For the quest for self is The quest for truth, The path of truth is the Path of God, For truth is God! Once you realize this- Life will unravel itself to you In all it's beauty and grace It will be a life free of grief A life full of happiness and joy For that is all I wish for you today Happy birthday! Love, Mama 8th April (On Sanoober's coming of age) Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for DAUGHTER
potleek on 09-04-2007
DAUGHTER
Zoya that is a lot of wisdom to lay upon someone so young.
I do agree with almost all you say, but a life free of grief, I only hope you are right.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us...Tony

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony, every parent wants the best for his/her children- especially a life free of grief! We want happiness for them most of all. In India we grow up fast and become responsible quickly, we do not believe in pampering our children too long, or they won't be able to face life, already too hard in our part of the world...
(((Hugs for the concern)))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 18-04-2007
DAUGHTER
Lovely Zoya - only be carefull - remember what happened to Polonius!-)

David

Author's Reply:
My dear David, Excuse me, the only thing I can find common with Polonius of Shakespeare's Hamlet here is the line: "To thine own self be true," ! But, the character of Polonius is interpreted as either a windbag or a rambler of wisdom, an old doddering twit or alive and intelligent master of illusion and misdirection. In any case a shifty and rather an undesirable character; Which one of these are you insinuating that I am, please tell me?
I think it is highly unfair of you to twist a very loving concern and wish for a daughter to such an undesirable interpretation. And what a horrible end to suggest for a friend! Even if in jest... Thanks, but no thanks!
Thanks for the tongue-in-cheek remark!
Zoya


Be my Silver Moon in Autumn (posted on: 02-04-07)
Spring always brings out the romantic in me…


 


Be my pleasant breeze in summer,
Cool my brow.
Be my fluffy quilt in winter,
Warm my heart.
Be my silver moon in autumn,
Enrich my soul.
Be my fragrant flower in spring,
Recreate me whole.  
Be my seasons of the year,
My life's desire.
Fill my seasons with your love,
Light my fire…
And I'll be your summer rain
Drench you in love.
I'll be your soft snowdrop,
Melt with your touch.
I'll be your moonbeam,
Glow in your night.
I'll be your peach blossom
Bloom in your love.
I'll be your summer, winter
Autumn and spring,
My love…

 
 
Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi


Image: http://www.sightsavers.org/images/f_3022Carol-McGregor-(LB).jpg
Archived comments for Be my Silver Moon in Autumn
orangedream on 02-04-2007
Be my Silver Moon in Autumn
My - we are in romantic mood, aren't we Zoya?!

Love the line about the 'fluffy quilt' and again, what a beautiful picture accompanies this lovely poem. Such vibrant colours that suit this piece admirably.

Love,
Tina 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Tina, spring does all this to me. lol!
It is the most pleasant time of the year here in North India:
wheat stands golden in the fields,
Peaches and Pears blossom,
air is full of the fragrant flowering of Mango trees,
the Red Oleander tree is full of blood red succulent flowers that canopy the roads,
birds hop about and chirrup in pleasant cacophony...
the season is just vibrant with life...
As Alexander Ecenin put it: "Spring! Spring! Its time to love!"
((((Hugs for the nice comment))))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 03-04-2007
Be my Silver Moon in Autumn
What a marvellous picture you paint, Zoya, of Northern India at this time of the year. Your description is beautiful. Reading it, quite brightened this rather grey, damp and drizzly April morning - in my part of the UK anyway.

Have a good week, Zoya.
Love, Tina

Author's Reply:
No wonder TS Eliot starts his 'Wasteland' with:
'April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.'

(((hugs for the lovely response)))
*sigh*
Love, Zoya



Colour Me (posted on: 02-04-07)
Holi is the festival of colours, it marks the beginning of spring and the harvesting season. People play with colours: sprinkle coloured water and smear colour powder on each other's faces. 'Colouring me’ has a deeper connotation…

Colour me! Colour me red with your passion Let our blood mingle together Flow through our veins as one…   Colour me tender with your love Let your sapphire fragrance fill my soul, to the core…   Colour me wet with your tears Let your sorrow be as mine Enrich me with your pain, my love…   Colour me blue with your anguish Lend poignancy to my heart, Grant me the joy of sharing yours…   Colour me joyous with your song Fill my heart with melody Elate me with your symphony…   Colour me fast; colour true, Colour me strong in all your hues! Colour me, now, my love,   Before you leave me and go…   Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi   Inspired by Rabindranath Tagore Image: http://newton-i.usefilm.com/images/7/4/1/741/189852-medium.jpg
Archived comments for Colour Me
orangedream on 02-04-2007
Colour Me
How beautiful your festival of Holi sounds, Zoya and how equally beautiful your poem and wonderful picture. They both compliment each other admirably.

Hugs,
Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina darling,

Yes, Holi is a festival of joy!

In Indian Ethos getting coloured in the colours of the beloved has deeper meaning, it implies becoming one with the beloved in ways more than one- spiritually, actually and metaphorically speaking.

In some tribes, on this day boys and girls elope together and get married, as a tradition...

In Vrindavan, men and women dress up as Krishna and Radha, the worldly wise deity and his consort...

(((Hugs for the lively comment!)))

Love, Zoya

Ionicus on 03-04-2007
Colour Me
Dear Zoya, I nearly overlooked this because it is under 'Romance' and I usually steer clear from that category.
I am glad that I stopped so that I could enjoy your colourful poem and the equally beautiful picture that accompanies it.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
I am glad you did dear Luigi,

I am so happy to know that you like it inspite of your self!

I am truly grateful!

(((Hugs for the nice response)))

Love, Zoya

PS By the way there is another poem I've posted today under the romance category: 'Be my Silver Moon in Autumn!' Check it out if you like!
Z.

littleditty on 05-04-2007
Colour Me
Hello Zoya :o) i like your colour poem full of longing, i did feel i didnt get the last line as it says the same thing twice, and for me, instead of suggesting, like you said a 'deeper connotation', seemed to weaken it somehow - i wondered why you didn't end on a rhyme, but may be that would be too enclosing, so perhaps just simply. 'Before you go' or something simple like that, might be nice. xxldx

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Nikki for the valuable advise!
What if I remove the last line altogether and make the last but one line as:
'Colour me, now, before you go...'
What do you have to say?
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

jody on 07-04-2007
Colour Me
Oh how I would love to be in India for the festival of Holi!
What a lovely poem - your palette is full of bright and beautiful color indeed!
jody

Author's Reply:
Come to India and be my guest dear Jody, you will love it.
It is so beautiful at this time of the year!
The rose bushes are laden with fragrant Indian variety of the red rose from which Attar is extracted. The Mango and peach blossoms are in full bloom.
The queen of the night in my garden gives off the heavenly aroma, you could die for.
The air is mild, it's very pleasant at nights, and it is not hot as yet.
Soon the trees would be red with Gold-Mohar and golden with yellow Oleander...
Come to India my friend!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched (posted on: 26-03-07)
Dedicated to the slain children of Iraq, who, along with women, form the bulk of 70,000 odd civilians, killed since the invasion or Iraq…World wide anti war demonstrations took place on Saturday the 16th of March as Iraqi invasion entered its 5th year…

Archived comments for Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
potleek on 26-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
Zoya is doesn't matter what the conflict, it is always the innocent that lose in the long run.
The guilt has been laid at one mans door but the killing doesn't stop.
Is there an answer...Tony

Author's Reply:
Yes, dear Tony, There is an answer-the only answer to all wars- Peace!

All wars are unjust and it is nobody's business to wage wars on the others, no war can be justified, no killing of innocent children, women and peaceful civilians can be justified.

Just go and ask those who live in constant terror of their lives being destroyed any minute, of seeing their children dying in their own arms, of helplessly watching their houses being blown up with all their loved ones trapped inside... just ask them what it is like to live in war torn country?

Thanks for the comment!

Love, Zoya

Corin on 26-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
I agree with every word and sentiment of this and understand entirely the righteous anger, but but I did wonder if there was a subtler way to say what you are saying? Sometimes of course there is no other way but the rant and we all need a good rant sometimes. Any way I leave you with this example by W H Auden - it is about the 1968 suppression by Brezhnev of the Praque Spring in Czechoslovakia.

David

August 1968

The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach:
The Ogre cannot master speech.

About a subjugated plain,
Among it's desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.

-- W.H.Auden



Author's Reply:
Dear David,
If wars were faught in a subtle manner, if prisoners were tortured in a subtle manner, if blood was ever shed in a subtle manner, then I would talk about it in a subtle manner.
Compared to the real horrors of war this is subtle.
I write from the heart about what ever stirs my soul deeply, therefore the expression is directly proportional to the strength and the depth of the emotion.
The form of expression is automatically decided in my mind according to the subject matter.
If I am appalled I write so the reader is also appalled. This poem is not meant to make you feel good, it is meant to disturb you, just as I was disturbed when I wrote it.
For subtlety read my love poems: ' Nocturne', ' Taj Mahal by Moonlight', ' Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud' or for that matter even 'I like Penelope Sit Weaving'... Lol!
And you are saying this, you who 'danced' on Pinochet's death?
(((Hugs for the comment)))
Thanks for the beautiful poem by Auden!
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 26-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
Dear Potleek,
To answer your question, as to what can be done to stop the killing, one way of doing it is to mount public pressure; to illustrate this, I will just copy and paste here a comment I got on this poem on another website:

Re: Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched (Score: 1)
by angelicalmist on Wednesday, March 21 @ 22:24:55 EDT
| User Info | Send a Message | Nominate Poem | Report Comment to Admin |


"Wow, you should publicize this poem to the whole world to see, and see if you can make the whole nation think, because, I don't believe they are thinking of making the better for the entire world, they think of themselves, like you put well in this piece....... Great write....... We all should write poems like this one and send them through e-mails so everyone, everyone can read them...... Amazing work...... ;-)"

What do you think, eh?
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:

scotch on 27-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
i like what the theme reports but feel you don't need the second last line though i understand you want to keep to a structure here, you could say ten thousand brothers sent to fight, and drop war on first line of second last verse, then drop middle line completely of second last verse, i'm pushed for time to go through it completely so forgive me, perhaps it needs tweaked... scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Scotch, you always take genuine interest in my texts. I agree with you here:
'Ten thousand brothers sent to fight
For the gain of the few in might'
This certainly would be better, I did have a problem with that, the introduction of that line in between was troubling me too...
(((Hugs for the sound advise)))
How about a bit more of 'tweaking'? lol!
Don't go over board though! lolol!
Love, Zoya

teifii on 27-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
It really is so awful one hardly knows where to begin. At least you have had the courage to put it into words. Well done. It is trifling in the face of the subject but perhaps you could use a different word for 'borne' as this doesn't fit wityh 'leash' as it means 'carried'. Sorry to be pedantic.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Daffy, Yeah, it was not easy writing this; it was written during the period when videos of torture of prisoners of war, in Zagreb prison, were being flashed, when they were forced to form 'human pyramids' in a state of undresses, when a picture of a woman Sargent was shown dragging a prisoner by the leash!!! Those were horrendous images...
How about: 'Some kept on leashes as personal pets' or may be ' some dragged by leashes like personal pets!'
Which one do you think is better?
(((Hugs for the valuable advise)))
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 27-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
Dear Scotch/ Daff, I was just wondering how to remove the third line from the sixth stanza?
'Ten thousand barrels of guns pointed
on as many heads

For as many barrels of oil instead
 '
How about making it:
'Ten thousand guns pointed on heads
For as many barrels of oil instead...'

Besides, the second line in the third stanza is long and not quite in rhythm:
'Ten thousand gallons of blood drop by drop,
Spilled and absorbed, turning yellow sand red!'
What if I make it:
'Ten thousand gallons of blood drop by drop,
Spilled to turn yellow sand red!'
or
'Ten thousand gallons of blood drop by drop,
Absorbed to turn yellow sand red!'
What do you think?
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:

scotch on 28-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
hi what about encrust instead of thrust, you dont need 'few' with moments, pets on leashes in personal HELL?, ten thousand guns point on heads, ten thousand houses razed to the spot, turning sand blood red, staring suns, blazing the eyes, in fields hot and botched, some suggestions. sometimes you repeat for example we know sand is yellow-ish so there's no need to tell us , we know razed means to the ground so why mention the word ground? always read your work backward...scotch

Author's Reply:
OK Scotch, tweaking over, suggestions accepted, editing done, what do you say now? Is it chiseled enough?
(((Hugs for the valuable suggestions, my friend)))
Love, Zoya

scotch on 29-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
hi 'tortured in (not it) prison hell ', blood drip by drip., sand red, i feel is better..scotch

Author's Reply:
Scotch darling, All suggestions accepted and necessary changes made.
Thanks my dear friend you have been a such great help!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

poetess2 on 30-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
I just spent a long time commenting on this powerful and wonderful piece and my computer crashed! I wonder what the significance of that was? Anyway, I just wanted to applaud you lovely Zoya on this powerful piece of writing. I agree wholeheartedly with your sentiments in the poem, and with your comments on the comments! The only solution to war in universal PEACE. If we spent less time being concerned with materialism and greed, and more time on compassion and healing, maybe this sick world could be cured. Perhaps if a universal spiritualism replaced the destruction that is caused in the name of religion, we would begin to make progress. If we spent more time teaching love and respect for humanity, our animals and our planet, perhaps this cruelty and narcissism could be annhilated.

I think this piece should be used as a national anti war slogan! It is fantastic!

Bravo my friend! Helen x

Author's Reply:
My dear Helen,
I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you whole-heartedly to agree with my poem!
Yes, the only solution to war is Peace. Peace, the demand for which come from within, from the peace-loving populations of the world. I am sure no one loves war! Yet, it requires a lot of courage to raise your voice against it and the injustices committed in he name of war. But the whole world is now realizing the futility and the utter shame of it. Look! The way people are demonstrating all over the world, coming out in millions on the streets, demanding that an end to be put to war!
We, as poetic community, can also write more poems expressing such sentiments and demanding an end to war! Word has a great power, so does mass public opinion!
If we stop, think, introspect and even for a few minutes put ourselves in the shoes of those living and suffering in the war-torn countries, perhaps we would be able to come up with more meaningful expression of our concern, a concern every citizen of the world should have, a concern, a responsibility, every citizen of the world owes to his fellow human beings

(((Hugs for the heartfelt and befitting response to my poem)))
May God Bless You!
Love, Zoya


teifii on 30-03-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
Hi Zoya, hope you got the pm answering your query above. I replied that way as it came in my post box and then realised it doesn't arrive here. Anyway my comments are now superfluous. The revised version is excellent. It's a dreadful subject to tackle, isn't it.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks my dear Deff,


Yes, it is a difficult subject to handle. But, a very important one! It had been brewing in my heart for a long time and had to come out, or it would have kept troubling my soul.


I also had a Internet availability problem and so could not get to my PMs, but I have made some changes and I can see that most are similar to your suggestions; however I'll make it 'Prisoner
kept on leashes 'like' pets' as you suggest.


What if I make the following line:


‘Ten thousand gallons of blood drip by drip,


Spilled and absorbed, turning sand red!’


Like this:


Ten thousand gallons of blood spilled

Absorbed, drip by drip, turning sand red!



Thanks a pile! You have been and always are a great help.

(((Hugs for that soft heart of yours)))

Love, Zoya

scotch on 01-04-2007
Ten thousand flowers wilted and scorched
hi men 'held' on leashes is better and what about ten thousand 'tortures' in place of tortured? Scotch

Author's Reply:
Yeah, 'held' on leashes is good; but, I would rather keep the 'tortured' as it is!
((Hugs and thanks))
Love, Zoya


'Potato Eaters' (posted on: 19-03-07)
Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge; Van Gogh’s 'Potato Eaters’ always have a profound effect on me. In contrast to his usually cheerful yellows and blues, the somber colours of this painting always create a poignant effect that haunts you long after you have seen the painting…http://www.vangoghgallery.com/painting/images/potato.jpg

'Potato Eaters' Stuck in a paused second of a still life- Engraved in my psyche for a whole life- Are the 'Potato Eaters' of 'Van Gogh'! Dark and somber, in dull muted colours, Callused hands and chapped-up skins, Worn-torn clothes and wrinkled faces, Gross large hands, faces wrought with ages of worry, winters of weary poverty, Eyes telling a different story, each one his own tale to parry, surviving on the brink barely, making the two ends meet scarcely, under a dark single lamp, sharing baked potatoes hungrily, eagerly, wretchedly! All this in a paused second of still life! So much packed in one life, on the paper Comes alive! Has disturbed me all my life! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for 'Potato Eaters'
teifii on 19-03-2007
Potato Eaters
I know just what you mean. It has that effect on me to. And I love the poem. Like the alliteration and the metre. It's very musical.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff, when you come to my page, it just lights up- even if it carries a somber poem like this...
Yes, this painting is like a poignant poem in it self; it so accurately tells the story of the peasants and captures the essence of their poverty... It is really haunting in the shadow that it casts on your soul...
Yeah, the blank verse has naturally, though not strictly, fallen into iambic pentameter style... Lol!
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
How are you keeping?
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 19-03-2007
Potato Eaters
Gosh, Zoya! I remember seeing this picture in some art-gallery or other. Seeing it again, I remembered how foreboding it seemed to me. You obviously feel the same way, as you depicted so eloquently in your poem.

love, hugs
Tina

Author's Reply:
Yeah, dear Tina, it is a very disturbing painting, it captures your attention immediately and holds it for a long time... then haunts you... you just can't ignore it and pass it by...
(((Hugs for the lovely words)))
Love, Zoya

Ionicus on 19-03-2007
Potato Eaters
A very descriptive poem, dear Zoya, of a sombre picture which seems to suggest abject poverty.
I particularly liked the following lines:

'Gross large hands, faces wrought with ages
of worry, winters of weary poverty,'

Luigi x


Author's Reply:
My dear Luigi, thank you so much!
Yes, it is disturbing painting; so much empathy with the lives of the poor people is evident in the eye of the potato eaters, especially the eyes of the woman looking at the man... The ambiance is so accurately captured, with each detail crying out loud- desperation, destitution and helpless submission...
(((Hugs for the appreciation)))
Love, Zoya
PS By the way there is another more happy Ekphrastic poem of mine posted here: 'David at Michelangelo Square'; Check out if you like!

Romany on 20-03-2007
Potato Eaters
I think this is an excellent take on the painting, which IS ugly and clumsy and yet is not at the same time (which is why he was such a great artist I suppose!) Great flow to this too,

Romany.

Author's Reply:
You are right my dear Romany, the beauty of this painting lies in depicting the ugly reality with sympathy and empathy and in seeing beauty in truth, because truth is beautiful!
As it says in Upnishads: 'Satyam, Shivam, Sundaram': 'Shiv is truth, and truth is beautiful!'
Shiv is the God of creation and destruction...
((Hugs for the compassionate comment))
Love, Zoya

deepoceanfish2 on 24-03-2007
Potato Eaters
Zoya,

This tells it all:
Dark and somber, in dull muted colours,
Callused hands and chapped-up skins,
Worn-torn clothes and wrinkled faces,
Gross large hands, faces wrought with ages
of worry, winters of weary poverty, ...'

Wonderful descriptive vignette. An intriguing read.

Regards,

Adele

'...

Author's Reply:
My dear Adele, Thanks a pile for the lovely response!


Yes,this is a very disturbing painting- stark, real and poignant!


This was a spontaneous write on another website, the first line was given, and in response to that the poem just came to my mind, I wrote these lines almost in a trance, an when later on fished the painting on the Internet, realized that I remembered it quite well...


(((Hugs)))


Love, Zoya

Eccles on 26-03-2009
Potato Eaters
I liked this, mostly because of the images that you use conjures the painting very well. You can see it without having seen it. Although some of your phrases as slightly clichéd, I'm not a stickler.
The enjambment that you use with barely and scarcely also works well in raising a certain expectation before you subvert it.
I like the painting to, some more of your own feeling about it would have been nice.
Still, good job.

apologises if this seems a bit much but I'm doing a creative writing course and have gotten into the habit of giving this type of opinion.


Author's Reply:
Dear Eccles,
I really appreciate your stepping in and finding time for this in-depth-analysis of my poem. I shall certainly ponder over your suggestion and try improving the poem.
No, I do not mind, in fact really enjoyed, 'this type of opinion'.
Love,
Zoya


Love, Hate and Vendetta (posted on: 12-03-07)
A Tanka on the most compelling emotions on Earth...

Love, Hate, Vendetta, Are all consuming passions. I would rather like To consume myself in love Than in hate or vendetta… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Love, Hate and Vendetta
Sunken on 12-03-2007
Love, Hate and Vendetta
Well I'm with you on this one Ms. Zoya. I often visit a local massage parlour to do a little consuming (-;

s
u
n
k
e
n

the road curved around a crisp packet

Author's Reply:
What can I say, dear sunken? Every one has his /her own concept of getting consumed! Your comments always bring a smile on my face; so does this one.
Don't get too consumed, save some energy for the rainy day! lol!
Love, Zoya

Bradene on 17-03-2007
Love, Hate and Vendetta
Me too I'm agree with you. Nicely written Tanka Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, for that encouraging remark!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

SugarMama34 on 17-03-2007
Love, Hate and Vendetta
A short poem and too the point. You have really said it all in five lines. Well done.

Cheers, from Lis'.xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Lis, Yes, love has great power and a positive affect; while hate consumes negatively, vendetta is dangerous as it just takes all joy out of life!! Isn't it?

((hugs))

Love, Zoya

poetess2 on 30-03-2007
Love, Hate and Vendetta
Bravo again! Helen x

Author's Reply:


8th of March (An Introspection) (posted on: 09-03-07)
A poem I wrote on 8th of March, the international Woman's Day in 2002; I would like to share it with you my friends today...

It's 8th of March, I am staying at home, I will not celebrate! The silence of death reigns in the streets, My soul is inundate With cries of helpless women and children That echo with impotent rage: A girl child still in the womb smiles Innocently at me: 'Save me, from my death,' She cries, '-Death before I'm even born- From being stifled in my womb, I must escape my watery tomb And see the world in full bloom…' The girl in rags in the street, Grins impishly at me, Oblivious of the shame and neglect, Ignorance and abject poverty… The precocious child-woman, haunts forbidden nooks of society, Sneers at me jeeringly: 'What have you done? To save my flesh, From the devilish trade in innocent femininity?' The 'Burning Bride', With anguish cries: 'Save me, from my 'Savior', -My cruel 'Companion of Eternity'- For oppressed centuries…' The mother Earth hangs her head in shame: 'What has become of my children? To bring about this carnage of humanity, To dance this bloody dance Of savage brutality?' I ponder, muse and introspect: 'What have I done? To alleviate their pain, To maintain life's sanctity? What right have I to celebrate? -To rejoice insanity?' The time has come To break the chains, To free myself of my own pain, To do something, This little something, To save humanity, The virgin femininity… Author: Zoya Zaidi 8th of March 2002 Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for 8th of March (An Introspection)
scotch on 09-03-2007
8th of March (An Introspection)
i like this one...scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile, dear Scotch! I am happy that you do!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 09-03-2007
8th of March (An Introspection)
Dear Zoya:-

"I ponder muse and introspect:
What have I done
to alleviate their pain ...?

you ask in your poem. You have already done something by writing these words so passionately.

Brilliantly done.

love, Tina x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Tina for your kind words.
I try and do whatever I can in my capacity as a doctor, as a responsible citizen, as a poet and activist of sorts. I especially try to create awareness amongst the women, through my poems, writings and public speaking... But on that fateful day of 8th of March 2002, I was curfew bound at home for a whole week, which was clamped in my town in the aftermath of 'Gujarat Carnage', and felt quite helpless...
(((Hugs for the encouraging words my friend)))
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 10-03-2007
8th of March (An Introspection)
Hello Ms. Zoya. Women are generally far stronger than blokes if you ask me. Most of the blokes I know are totally useless without their women. This explains why I am such a mess, I just need to find my feminine rock. Well done Zoya. Great stuff, crap comment, who cares. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

there's more to her than meets the sigh

Author's Reply:
But, I do care for your comments dear Sunken! Thanks for the nice uplifting words.
Yes, I know you men won't be anywhere without us! lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

juliet on 10-03-2007
8th of March (An Introspection)
Dear Zoya, this eloquently expresses the fear and pain of many women around the world. I gave assemblies this week highlighting the human rights abuses directed at women across the world, i wish i had seen this poem sooner it would have been ideal.

Juliet

Author's Reply:
My dear Juliet, nice to know that you wax eloquent on women issues... I also spent this International Women's Day giving talks and reading my poems on such burning issue as Female Foeticide in India and atrocities on women in general...
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya


Mass Crime (posted on: 05-03-07)
Inspired by the 'Post Godra Carnage of Gujarat' India, 28th Feb-10th March, 2002, and beyond…

When a single man commits a crime, He has to pay the price: His life, –An eye for an eye- by capital punishment, Facing gallows, or the guillotine. Or, he is imprisoned for life, So that he can no longer be dangerous to other living men, and cannot take yet another life. But, when a mass of in-humanity Commits a mass crime Of loot, arson, murder and rape, A mass of thousands chases a single man and lynches him, And does not care a dime about Mercilessly trampling Women, children, old people alike … the most vulnerable sections of society. When Ethnic Cleansing takes place, In the name of religion, cast, or race, When mighty wars are fought, Killing thousands of innocents, Then it is not a crime. No one is convicted, Not one person is tried, No one faces punishment. When a faceless mass of in-humanity Has committed a crime, Then it is not a crime! I wonder.… What happens to those people? What happens to them, deep inside? Do their conscience prick them, Do they spend sleepless nights? Do the apparitions of those they killed Visit them in their minds, Do they ever hallucinate? Do those terrible visions trouble them in their sleep, Does the smell of human blood, haunt them in the night, Does the stench of burning flesh, Clog their noses and their minds? I often wonder…. Do they become emboldened To such an extent, That they continue to commit their crimes in some other forms; Brazened, without fright; gloating with triumph, and the sadistic pleasure they derive from each and every act? Or, Do they justify their actions As they become hardened with time, And start believing That wrong is right, When they give a new meaning to Words, such as Humanity, Compassion, And Crime, And go on playing the dangerous Game of proving that wrong is right The Sophists of our times? I often wonder…. Does their end ever come? Do they ever get punished? Do they ever reap The harvest of the seeds of murder, crime and greed they've sown? I often wonder… Is Mass Crime not a Crime? I often wonder…. Do they ever kneel in front of God in a shrine? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Mass Crime
Gerry on 05-03-2007
Mass Crime
Zoya, I wish I knew the answer to your questions. I guess some people are just plain evil. They are to be encountered everywhere. We can just pray that they will answer at some time. I believe we all have to answer, and some folks are going to get one hell of a surprise---

Gerry. xxx.

ps. nicely written by the way.

Author's Reply:
Yeah, dear Gerry, I often wonder, leave alone the fact that they escape punishment, by the sheer 'mass' character of the crime, but do their conscience ever prick them, give them nightmares, what is it that urges them to go on being perpetrators repeatedly and consistently? After all they are also human beings... I was just trying to penetrate the psyche of a criminal who commits crime hiding behind the safety of a mass of in-humanity... The worst part is that in today's world, this trend is increasing day by day...
(((Hugs for the insightful response and humanistic concern!)))
Love, Zoya

scotch on 05-03-2007
Mass Crime
dear Zoya for me it needs LESS verses and a great title like UNCONVICTED keep 4th verse and the last 3 though i don't like" does their end ever come?" i think it should be does death ever come, it just requires a rewrite...scotch

Author's Reply:
Dear Scotch, I appreciate your concern, as you always show with all my writes, but, if you read carefully, here the whole analysis is in sequent manner, in the first stanzas, I state the obvious, then I ask questions about their conscience, then go on to ask if do they justify their actions and then the final question whether they kneel in front of God or not? So, you see if I reduce the number of lines the theme would not develop as it does here... So, this time, I think, I will let it remain exactly as it is!
Though I could consider the removal of 'does their end ever come?'
Sorry friend to disappoint you...
(((Hugs for the advice and concern any way)))
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 05-03-2007
Mass Crime
Zoya, many people do not have souls. committing evil atrocities on their fellow humans is meaningless--never to be fathomed. If you have a minute read my post above about a nightmare. This is the scenario I envisage for such people...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry, I just can't phantom the idea of people without souls... They have to have some consciences at least! But, then probably you are right, over time they might be losing their consciences entirely...
I have just been to your page and have read the post- it is very gripping tale of fear and horror!!!!
I have a post 'Is it a nightmare; or, is it true?’, which is inspired by the same Godra Carnage incidentally; There I have incorporated the fear of chase into the dream... The chase is real and happened to many women... Check it out if you like- it was posted somewhere in April- May last year.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 06-03-2007
Mass Crime
An impassioned write - I feel, written from the heart. If only we did know the answers to those questions but I guess, they will remain unanswered and leave us all to say, in God's name, why?

Just a wee typo on the last line of the fourth stanza, I think. I.e.

:-" Does the stench of burning flesh
clogs their noses and their eyes?"

should be "clog", maybe?

You always put so much work into your poems Zoya and also a lot of yourself, sometimes, which is why I always admire them.

love
Tina 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yes, of course it should be Clog! Thanks for pointing out the typo.
Yes, it troubles me to see so much of violence in humans, and how they can hate their own fellow beings... I really wonder about how they handle the voice of their consciences? I am reminded of Dostoevsky's 'Crime and Punishment', where crime in itself became punishment, so strong was the voice of the protagonist's consciences... But, I suppose, their (criminal's) minds must be becoming perverted with crooked logic and wrong justifications...
((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

flossieBee on 06-03-2007
Mass Crime
I was just thinking today about how deaths in Iraq and Afganistan of British soldiers are reported here in the UK. It is incredible how there is a sudden show of concern and compassion in the media and from politicians when one (British) person is named, yet the mass murder of all nationalities is just allowed to continue unabated. This is what your poem has made me think of. Some very powerful images, especially 'gloating with triumph'. Thank you for a very important poem

Floss xxx

Floss xx

Author's Reply:
Exactly, my dear Floss! Though it was inspired then by the 'Gujarat Carnage', but the theme is very universal and can be applied to any situation of violence, where the ones in power are blatant enough to go on killing mercilessly, sometimes in cold blood, and the innocent victims have to lump it, just because they are powerless... and the 'Sophists of our times' go on justifying their inhuman actions...It is like a famous couplet in Urdu: "Even if I sigh, I am punished/ While, they may kill and no body even bats an eyelid"...Or like Shakespeare says in one of his sonnets: "Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate."
(((Thanks for the thought provoking response)))
Love, Zoya

royrodel on 08-03-2007
Mass Crime
My eyes well up
this is probably one of the best things I've read in here
if I may be so humble and answer your query
it's all about our level of disgust.
but hey
I could go on and on but I don't want to hurt you
yeah yeah I know your strong but I feel your pain

RODEL

Author's Reply:
And my eyes well up, as I read your response!
Empathy is a big virtue dear Roy!
(((Hugs)))
Thanks a pile!
Love, Zoya


Shore and the Ocean (posted on: 26-02-07)
Shore and the Ocean have a unique relationship… Just by standing on the shore and watching the sea we can learn a lot of lessons of life…

Waves ardently kiss the beach The Shore wallows in the Caress Quietly merges with the Seabed Drowns in the Ocean depth Corals crown its breast The fish enrich its fluid bed Pearls embellish its sapphire neck Their unique union yields A valuable treasure Of precious gems… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Shore and the Ocean
Romany on 26-02-2007
Shore and the Ocean
Lovely imagery. There is something about the sea that makes one contemplative, isn't there?

Romany.

Author's Reply:
You are so right Romany, just gazing far into the endless sea makes you philosophic... lol!
(((Hugs for the nice response)))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 27-02-2007
Shore and the Ocean
Another beautiful poem about the sea Zoya. When I had finished reading it I could almost smell the ozone. You must love the sea very much to paint such a rich picture with your words.

hugs
Tina

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Tina, Sea holds a great fascination for me. I can stand and gaze far into the horizon on a seashore, swim, snorkel and float on the waves for hours. There is a whole world in its aquatic bed- sometimes beautiful, sometimes fascinating, and sometimes scary. It can be calm beautiful, serene and when in rage powerfully frightening and devastating...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Corin on 28-02-2007
Shore and the Ocean
Ah :-

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of Ocean bear;
Many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

I hope this lovely piece will not be one of the!

David


Author's Reply:
What a lovely response! I am so happy my poem could inspire you to fish out such a gem of a piece!

(((Hugs)))

Love, Zoya

Zoya on 01-03-2007
Shore and the Ocean
Thanks dear phoenix, for choosing this poem as your hot favourite! I am really delighted and much humbled!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:

-phoenix- on 01-03-2007
Shore and the Ocean
hey ma'am. i am truly amazed by your poetry every time i read it. your writing is wonderful. your words seem to jump out of the screen. best regards-phoenix-

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Phoenix, I am absolutely overwhelmed!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 01-03-2007
Shore and the Ocean
and ah again:-

full fathom five thy father lies;
of his bones are coral made;
those are pearls that were his eyes;
nothing of him that doth fade----

Your poem made me think of the above Zoya. It was that good...

Gerry xxx.



Author's Reply:
'But doth suffer a Sea-change

Into something rich & strange

Sea-Nymphs hourly ring his knell.

Harke now I heare them, ding-dong, bell.'

Ariels's song from The Tempest

Aah! The Bard!

If my poem can make you think of him, what can I say but that you have made my day. A compliment I would remember all my life! Gerry, don't put me on that pedestal, I can never even dream of... But I feel my eyes moisten over, such an affect your kindness has on me... I am overwhelmed and truly humbled!

(((Big fond hugs to you my friend)))

Love, Zoya

Zoya on 01-03-2007
Shore and the Ocean
'Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:'
Thomas Gray
By the way dear Corin, these are my favourite lines from the 'Elegy written in Country Churchyard', especially the line about 'pregnant with celestial fire...'
Thanks again for the lovely response!
(((Fond Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


Author's Reply:

jody on 04-03-2007
Shore and the Ocean
Lovely, lovely! Thank you....
jody


Author's Reply:
Thank you, thank you! You are most welcome, dear Jody...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


Empty Seashell (posted on: 26-02-07)
An Ocean Haiku

Seashell conceals the Roar of the Ocean in its Silent, empty womb… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Empty Seashell
orangedream on 27-02-2007
Empty Seashell
This is beautiful Zoya. It captures the essence of sea-shell so perfectly. When I was little, my grandfather had a brown spotted shell on his mantlepiece and every time I visited, I would rush, pick it up and listen to the sound of the sea. Still do that now when I'm on the beach and chance to find a large shell.

hugs Tina

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina, thanks a pile for that lovely response! It is such a common knowledge, but if we think about it, we can really draw such analogies with life and learn useful lessons from it... lol!
(((Big fond hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 28-02-2007
Empty Seashell
Hello Ms. Zoya. I'm surprised you haven't had a little more comment on this small and perfectly formed piece. I like it more than... gravy on chips. Well done.

s
u
n
k
e
n

failing that we could always move to bedlam, she said before burning the toast

Author's Reply:
That may precisely be the reason, my dear Sunken... lol! Thanks a pile for the perfectly formed response. I will serve you some extra gravy for it, garnished with lemon rinds...
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

narcissa on 01-03-2007
Empty Seashell
This is lovely! Unfortunately I got very caught up, after my 3rd read of it, as to whether you could really describe the shell as "silent" after saying it has the ocean's roar in it! I don't know if that was a purposeful contrast - I think you'd have to make it clear that it was seemingly silent (as it is "concealed" within the shell). I do love the idea of the empty womb - very powerful!
Laura x

Author's Reply:
Dear Laura, thanks for noticing the word, 'silent', it is deliberately used and the word 'seemingly' is inherently 'concealed' in the verse... Yes, the shell is apparently silent, but put it to your ears and the 'concealed' roar is heard... it is like the cry of a dumb person- ever heard the cry of the voiceless?
And the womb is empty, already discarded- a lot is 'concealed' in these words... Lol! You can go on interpreting...lol!
(((Hugs for getting my drift)))
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 01-03-2007
Empty Seashell
Nice one Zoya--nothing more to say 🙂

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks my dear Gerry, That is all I have to say!
and
(((A big fond hug in the light what you have already commented upon the other poem today)))
Love, Zoya

jody on 04-03-2007
Empty Seashell
Ah there is my friend Zoya pouring out rhythmic, watery thoughts into the ear/eye/brain....
Thank you for reminding me of ocean (which I missed until you gave it back to me with words).
Jody



Author's Reply:
My dear Jody,
Here I give you the Ocean,
Aquamarine, pristine, in
all its beauty and splendour
With all its depth and power,
All its strength and gentle caress...

(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya


Love is... (posted on: 19-02-07)
A Rictameter on one of the most powerful emotions on Earth

Love is: All consuming, All devouring, never Ends, overwhelming, engulfing, Ever flowing, flooding your whole being, Powerful and gripping, an emotion That holds you so tightly in its clutches! Love is! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Love is...
dancing-queen on 20-02-2007
Love is...
Nice one, Zoya. Reminds me of a biblical verse in Corinthians all about love which ends on "...for now we have faith, hope and love, but the greatest of these is love." Yes, a very powerful emotion. DQ

Author's Reply:
Dear Dancing-Queen,
Thanks a pile for the lovely remark. The fact that my poem reminded you of biblical verse in it self speaks volumes about what you found in my verse... I am speechless with joy and am extremely humbled!
Yes, love is the greatest and most powerful of all emotions on Earth- life actually revolves around love...
(((Hugs for making my day)))
Love, Zoya

e-griff on 20-02-2007
Love is...
Hmm, the construction was interesting, an accelerating rush of feelings.

I had a wicked thought, though 🙂

scrap the last 'Love is!' , put in a blank line, then a new last line:

'And then lets you go.'

hah! best John G

Author's Reply:
My Dear John, I would love to follow your advise but the problem with Rictameter is that apart from the 2 4 6 8 10 8 6 4 2 syllable count, it must also end with the same words as the first line. So, I can't let Love to let me go... So, love will hold me in its clutches after all...Lol!
Thanks for the concern though; and yes, for stepping in...
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

Ccurious on 20-02-2007
Love is...
Loved it! and I agree with dancing-queen! completely. reminds me of Corinth. 13. Faith , hope and love. i love the line "in its clutches"! cause u can't get out!
-Nice
*peace*Ccurious

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Curious, I must confess, my ignorance of the Corinth, 13. Faith, Hope and Love, this stems entirely from my own experience of life and love...
And yes, love does hold you tight in its clutches- sometimes you willingly succumb to it power, sometimes you are so helpless that even if you want to you can't escape it; It can be agonizing then- just as it can be full of ecstasy otherwise...
((Hugs for the nice comment))
Love, Zoya

e-griff on 20-02-2007
Love is...
well ( tongue in cheek) often experimenting with form is fun, so you could be daring and try an 'imperfect Rictameter' ! 🙂

Author's Reply:
Hi, Griff, Thanks for the suggestion, I will ponder over that...

(((Hugs)))

Love, Zoya

e-griff on 22-02-2007
Love is...
But I'M not the kind of person who would say that, am I?

Dear Zoya, try :

Ends. Overwhelming, engulfing

(maybe a lot of -ings anyway

Author's Reply:
Dear John, I have made the necessary corrections, can't do much about the '-ings' though. lol! Any suggestions?
Love, Zoya

eddiesolo on 24-02-2007
Love is...
What ever this is...it is lovely and I really enjoyed reading this.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Dear Eddie, I am so happy to know that you pay more attention, like me and unlike many, to content viz a viz form! lol!

Thanks for the lovely comment!

(((Hugs)))

Love, Zoya

flossieBee on 24-02-2007
Love is...
I love this poem. It is interesting that while the strict form hems the ideas in, it still allows for what feels like an overflow of emotion in the middle, which is then pulled back at the end.

fBx

Author's Reply:
Hi Flossie, it is interesting, someone else at another website also made a comment in the similar vein that it first expands and overflows with emotions and then it is strung together and held tightly like in the clutches of love...

(((Hugs for the lovely response and seeing beyond the obvious!))))

Love, Zoya

Zoya on 24-02-2007
Love is...
Dear Flossiebee, by the way this is the comment I was talking about from the other website:
'...you are in the heart of this powerhouse of a rictameter! You can feel the love expanding with the shape of the poem, then contracting as "it holds you tightly in its clutches"...'
See, how similar it is?
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:

wfgray on 25-02-2007
Love is...
It was nice and short and I loved it. Will

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear wfg, love has that grip on us, isn't it?
((Hugs for the short and sweet response)))
Love, Zoya


Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special) (posted on: 12-02-07)
The enchantment of first kiss with the loved one is unequaled, the world goes around like a whirlwind, blood rushes to the temples, heart races like crazy, something melts deep inside, a warmth envelops our whole being…

He had just put his arm around my waist How I melted into that embrace How his lips came upon my lips Oh! The enchantment of the first kiss! His breath mint-fresh like a silken breeze, Enveloped me with so much ease The heart was mine, but the throbbing his, The blood was mine, but the warmth was his, He swept me off my feet with his grace, We burnt the dance floor with our craze, Whirling and whirling like a Dervish Stars were twinkling in my eyes, Something was melting deep inside, We were moving like welded into one, Round and round in enthralling fun, Sinking and sinking away I went, Deep down the ocean of sensuous joy. That he had me in his power, he knew, Yet he held me as tender as dew, But I evaporated anyway, As a dewdrop would with the first sun-ray, My sacrifice at his alter was done; He did not have to do anything, I came of my own unto him…     Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Image: 'The Kiss' by Auguste Rodin http://www.ncac.org/images/kiss.jpg
Archived comments for Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special)
Corin on 12-02-2007
Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special)
"I came of my own unto him
 "

Did you intend the double entendre here Zoya?

David


Author's Reply:
Lord no, David! It is meant in all innocence. Does it give that impression?
Zoya

Zoya on 12-02-2007
Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special)
Dear David, I am bad at double entendres and all sorts of innuendos, sexual or other wise, in all the six languages I know, including my own mother tongue, where colloquia always adds double meaning to words. A poem, once written, can be interpreted in any way, I have seen more explicit poems bordering to pornography passing off in the name of erotica here on different websites. But I can see what you mean here, and what a 'dirty mind can' 'see' in it. What if I make it as follows?
' I of my own journeyed unto him...'
Though I must confess, I am no prude at all! lol!
What do you say to that?


Author's Reply:

orangedream on 13-02-2007
Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special)
Oh I think this is quite beautiful, Zoya. There is a marvellous rhythm to it. It dances along so successfully. I love the line:-

'The heart was mine, but the throbbing his...'

Double entendres or not - a brilliant poem.

warm regards
Tina x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Tina,
Yes, first kiss of first love is an experience unparalleled it its beauty, depth and force...
((((Hugs for the lovely comment))))
Love, Zoya

RoyBateman on 14-02-2007
Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special)
What an excellent one for Valentine's Day - full of that oh-so-recognisable first flood of emotion. Ooh, it's got me all a-quiver...

Author's Reply:
My dear Roy,
Thanks for the lovely response! Nice to know, I bought back some pleasant memories to you.
Yes, love in its firs splendour can really teach us a lot about ourselves: the depth of our feelings, the extent of our cravings, the force of our emotions and the height of our relation; it teaches us all that in one big sweep of self realization...lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Sunken on 14-02-2007
Enchantment of the First Kiss (Valentine Special)
Lol, I was thinking what Corin was thinking too. Sorry Zoya. Perhaps it's a bloke thing. A very accomplished write though. You can't do much to alter our dirty minds I'm afraid. Many have tried (-; Top stuff.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he needs taking in hand

Author's Reply:
Anything that sinks in and pleases Sunken is dear to me! No pun intended here dear 'needs taking in hand'! Lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


I Will Think of You Tonight (posted on: 22-01-07)
Let us think of each other tonight…

I will look at the moon tonight And think of you my knight. Ride the stars, ride the moon- the entire universe in my flight. I will think of you tonight…. I will roam the cyber space, Send my soul your way-swift pace, Be a part of cosmic mace, Float in the celestial infinite, I will think of you tonight… Borrow the glow from Milky Way, On the Pluto's eight moons sway, Planet, no planet, by me its okay, Rare will be my sojourn this night I will think of you tonight… I am no more far away- Just a click of 'mouse' away; Rest our imagination will take care, Intermingle with the 'Great Bear' Constellations will be our neighbours tonight I will think of you tonight… You also send your spirit in space, We will meet with infinite grace: Back and forth in Time we will sway, Our meeting will be the 'Big Bang' way, You, like 'Hailey's Comet' strike, I will be the 'Supernova' bright, Let us think of each other tonight… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for I Will Think of You Tonight
scotch on 22-01-2007
I Will Think of You Tonight
hi zoya i love this but i would say 'a' big bang away not 'the' then i could nominate it!..scotch

Author's Reply:
My dear Scotch, Though, I am tempted to make it 'a' (your promise is so alluring! lol!), but I am referring here to 'the' 'Big Bang'- when the universe came into existence...
You know, all the images here are from the cosmic infinite- this being a new age 'cyber romance'- that is why the particular imagery!
Thanks for the lovely comment!
I am humbled, really!
((((Hugs))))
Love, Zoya

Zoya on 22-01-2007
I Will Think of You Tonight
Thanks dear Scotch, for nominating my poem! I am really thrilled and greatly humbled!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Author's Reply:

eddiesolo on 22-01-2007
I Will Think of You Tonight
Hi Zoya,

I think is just so good.

Meandering mood to this as it drifts from verse to verse.

Lovely imagery and well written IMO.

Si:-)



Author's Reply:
Oh, dear Eddie, thanks a pile! I am so happy you like it!
Yeah, in this world of quick-fix romances, where relationships are formed and broken in a blink of an eye... a whole world of a new kind of relationships is beginning to develop- the Cyber relationship- the Celestial Romance... that is why I have used the imagery of heavens, stars and cosmos... lol!
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 23-01-2007
I Will Think of You Tonight
Big bang or not - love this Zoya. One of your best, no doubt about that!

love, Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Tina, Yeah, a bit of fantastic reality of the Universe mixed with the virtual reality of Cyber Space here... lol!
(((Hugs for the encouraging remark)))
Love, Zoya

sledge on 03-02-2007
I Will Think of You Tonight
Hi Zoya

Still don't know poetry but I know what I like! Loved the way you interwove cyberspace with spacetime here. It produced some beautiful, mind-expanding images for me.
(No pharmaceuticals were abused in the making of this comment) 🙂

Terry

Author's Reply:
My dear Terry, thanks a pile for the lovely comment. I am sorry about the delay in response, as I had a computer crash. I am happy my images could 'expand' your mind... lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


Caring and Sharing (posted on: 15-01-07)
A Rictameter

Caring sharing, baring my heart to you, always has been like a passion for me, my dearest love, and it is true. Just look, for once, look deep into my eyes and you will know it's true. I bare my soul Caring. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Caring and Sharing
Gerry on 15-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
Zoya, nice one. I thought it was going to be about an earthquake 😉

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Well, sorry to disappoint you dear Gerry; but if you look deep into my eyes you will be shaken by a minor earthquake of sorts, to the score of 6 or so on the Richter's scale...lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Evitchka on 15-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
Now that I've looked up what a rictameter, is, well done.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Evitchka!


A Rictameter, as you have already looked up, is a form of poetry in nine lines with the syllable count of 2 4 6 8 10 8 6 4 2


If aligned centrally it makes a perfect diamond shape...lol!
And yes, the first and the last lines should be the same.


(((Hugs for the honesty)))


Love, Zoya

Bradene on 16-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
That is so sweet ans so well done too Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Val, I tried! Lol!
((( Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 16-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
Diamonds are for ever, or so they say Zoya! An apt shape for so beautiful a poem.

Love, Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina, This was initially written for someone who challenged me to write a Rictameter on another website. lol!
(((Hugs for being so kind to me, as always)))
Love, Zoya

RoyBateman on 16-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
Gerry got in first with the awful pun...bah! No, seriously, a lovely poem and very cleverly constructed indeed. A little gem.

Author's Reply:
Hi, dear Roy, Nice to have you as my guest after a long time, even if it was the lure of the pun... Sorry about Gerry robbing you off the beautiful opportunity... poor you! But, as they say, early birds gather all the worms...lol!
(((Hugs for the compliment anyway!)))
Love, Zoya

scotch on 17-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
hello chuck i wondered if the first and last lines should read "daring" not caring because we and the person in question knows you care?...scotch

Author's Reply:
My dear Scotch, when you care only then you dare to bare, and when you bare, only then you are exposed and vulnerable...
It is for me to care and for you to do the daring...lol!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

flossieBee on 18-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
Hello Zoya
Lyrical, and I love the structure too. I need to try out some of these structures. A lovely read

Flossie x



Author's Reply:
Thanks dear fB, it is so kind of you!

(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Jolen on 22-01-2007
Caring and Sharing
Hi Zoya; I have only ever attempted sonnets and so respect those people who do things like this. You brought a fine piece to us in this often limiting style.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Dear Jolan,
I did this as a challenge to begin with, but now use this form, whenever I have to say something short and crisp. Where the idea behind the poem is the main thing! lol!
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya


A Bird's Saga (posted on: 08-01-07)
The most predictable thing about life is probably its unpredictability, at every bend, at every turning new challenges, new obstacles, new surprises greet us; a new world awaits us; a chance happening can change the whole course of our lives...Serendipity

A Bird's Saga Every flower smelt so sweet Air was fresh with morning dew, Every sunrise brought a hope, With sunshine spirits rose, Every day had its innocent charm, An Arion, he sang the sweetest of songs, The moon shown with a soothing light, The firmament was full of stars, Aeolus was his God and Lord, Ariel was its friend, Life was carefree and exciting Thrilling, full of promise… Then came a change, The bird was caged: There was suffocation, There was torture, There was burning, There was scorching, The sun too hot, The moon too pale, The days forlorn, The nights too stale… But one day it broke the chains, The bird was free, The cage empty… It flew and flew, Till it was weary, The wound did hurt, The blood did trickle, It flew and flew, It gave up not… Slowly the wound did heal The spring came back, It found new strength There was peace and quiet again, Quiet, but very quiet, Lulling it to sleep… Suddenly a melody, A sweet disturbing melody: The sun became bright again, Star shone in the eyes In the midst of a new light, Raindrops kissed its cheeks, Moon played a nocturne sweet, A storm broke out, Passion filled days and nights… The bird soared high, Very high, Alas! Too high, An Icarus in the sky, Too close to the Sun, The swan song was sung… It lies now at the bottom of Aegean Sea, Waiting for the next Tsunami… An Aeneas, hoping for resurrection! Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Arion: (7th BC) legendary Greek poet and musician of Lesbos who had mastered the dithyramb, A legend has it that when sailors on a ship tried to drown him he was saved by a Dolphin who had been attracted to his singing. Aeolus: the Greek legendary God of the winds. Ariel: the carefree, airy spirit of Shakespeare's play Tempest Icarus: son of Daedalus, who in escaping from the prison of Crete, on artificial wings made by his father, flew too close to the sun so that the wax that fastened his wings melted and he fell into the Aegean Sea. Tsunami, the giant wave, which swept away millions in Banda Aceh, Philippines, East coast of India, and Sri Lanka, also unearthed in its wake many temples and other ancient monuments, which had long ago drowned under the sea. Aeneas: The Greek and Roman wandering hero of Virgil's Aeneid (an Latin hexameter epic poem), after 11 years of wanderings, went to the underworld to meet his dead father Anchises, came out to lead the Romans and become the founder of the Roman Estate.
Archived comments for A Bird's Saga

No comments archives found!
In Pursuit of Happiness (posted on: 08-01-07)
Happiness is the most pursued and sought after, most elusive and slippery, most momentary and fleeting, and most loved and coveted of all feelings; and yet every one has his or her own perception of happiness… I think happiness lies within us...

Years ago, I embarked upon the road of life In pursuit of happiness: I observed a man building a boat, Absorbed, humming to himself… I heard a musician compose a symphony, Eyes closed in the ecstasy of creativity… A father educating his son; Proud in the progress of his achievement… An old man growing Dahlias in his garden, Observing them with a sigh of satisfaction… A grin on the sand-smeared face of an archaeologist looking for Dinosaur's eggs in Gobi desert… All were happy, immensely happy! Though, none of them was looking for happiness as if it's a button, rolled down a radiator… None of them were striving for it as a goal in itself! Because they all had become aware that they were happy in the course of living twenty-four hours of the day Doing exactly what they loved doing… I stopped looking for happiness, And sat down to write poems… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright: Zoya Zaidi Inspired by W Baron Wolfe
Archived comments for In Pursuit of Happiness
orangedream on 08-01-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
... and through finding your own happiness, Zoya, you in turn make us, your readers happy. As you so eloquently say in your poem, ain' t that what this crazy thing called life is all about?

kind regards,
Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Tina, for that lovely comment!
Yeah, this life is all about that- doing, and being able to do, what you love doing the best. What you can forget yourself into , drown yourself into, get so involved in it that you forget to notice how time passes you by...
And that is what, I think, happiness is all about!
Happy New Year to you and your family!
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 08-01-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
Zoya nicely written. The problem is in the UK the government don't want anybody to be happy. If we show any signs they hammer us. lol.

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Hi, dear Gerry, I like your take on this; Well, I suppose we have to be quietly happy and not make a show of it and then may be we can hoodwink them?
I think we have to learn the trick to be happy, we have to derive our happiness from and squeeze it out of the little moments in life, instead of looking for that 'Big Happiness' , which probably does not exist! Or does it? lol!
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

Evitchka on 08-01-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
Great. Very simply put.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Evitchka!
Isn't 'simplicity the mother of beauty'? ...lol...
Love, Zoya

Ionicus on 10-01-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
How very true, Zoya. Happiness is ever present in all the things we enjoy doing and yet sometimes we don't recognise it.
Nicely written.

Love, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Exactly Luigi, Sometimes, happiness knocks at our door and we don't hear it!
Sometimes we are too busy to stop and savour it. Sometimes we are too much in a hurry to achieve the big happiness and forget to stop and smell the roses, to enjoy the small pleasures of life...
(((Hugs for the nice comment))))
Love, Zoya

flossieBee on 11-01-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
I agree with Luigi that real happiness is often hard to recognise and that we keep on striving for the next thing without recognising what is happy in our lives. (I agree with Gerry that the present gvmt here in the UK don't make it very easy for us to feel that we have achieved something, however...)

I can picture the man building his boat.

Always lovely to read your wise words, Zoya.
Floss

Author's Reply:
Thanks Floss, I do believe that happy is the person who can do exactly what he loves doing and has the freedom of choice to do that. I also believe that happiness is never given to you on a platter that you have earn it- squeeze it out of the precious moments of life and keep intact in the treasure trove of our memory, and never let it go, On the other hand, we must make it a point to erase the unhappy moments from our memory- practice sort of a selective memory - for our own good...
What do you think?
(((Hugs for taking the lovely perspective on my poem)))
Love, Zoya

flossieBee on 12-01-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
Hi Zoya,

I don't know whether ignoring or forgetting about the less than pleasurable times is the key. I guess it's acknowledging the good and the bad and retaining some balance.

xx

Author's Reply:
Well, dear Floss, retaining it to the extent that it does not border on to self-pity is good, but where it turns your thoughts to negativity, there it can be self destructive!
I always maintain that our unhappy experiences, traumas and agonies should make us stronger and not weaker, should Make us and not Break us; Make us aware of the misfortunes of the those less blessed than us... that is why, I always count my blessings when I am down and out; It balances me out... If that is what you mean by balance, I agree with you whole-heartedly!
(((Thanks for showing deep interest)))
Love, Zoya

chinu_madan on 12-03-2007
In Pursuit of Happiness
This is something which I wholeheartedly acknowledge.. Actually it is something which I am trying to live by too.. But saying is rather easy but for me at least not so easy to follow... Really cool stuff..

Regards
Nitin

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Nitin, Yes, we all try hard and go far and wide in pursuit of happiness, little knowing that it lives within us, we have to just find it... it lies in little things in life and we have to derive it out of the act of living itself- fully and meaningfully... Alas! we are not always that wise... lol!
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya


The Widows of Vrindavan (posted on: 29-12-06)
In this age of Kalpana Chawlas, Aishwariya Rais and Sonia Gandhis it is sad to know that such heinous practices like discrimination of widows still exist, that there are fourteen thousand odd widows living in institutionalized hell in Vrindavan in Mathura (UP, India). Marginalized and ostracized by the so-called tolerant society in the land of Gandhi, they are considered 'ill omen’, living a life worst then those of untouchables. Some of the widows are childhood-widows…

THE WIDOWS OF VRINDAVAN There are fourteen thousand of them, Carrying the ghosts of an unforgettable past, Singing Bhajans: 'Mere to Girdhar Gopal…' To a God who never smiles on them, The Widows of Vrindavan Marginalized by society, Hiding in the garb of piety, They perform their daily Pooja chores, Trying to hide their bleeding sores, Buried deep within their souls, Souls, hollowed to their cores Overlooked by every one The Widows of Vrindavan… Married at twelve Widowed at fourteen, She mourns for a husband She hardly knew, That too at a time She could not comprehend The meaning of the word: Husband, Life has taught her, at every bend- Like a living 'curse', she on others descends- Paying for someone else's death, By a life which is living hell, Paying penance for her 'sin', She never committed on the nearest of kin Living with a sense of guilt- Imposed on her by the religious guild-, She often wonders: 'Won't it be better to be killed? To be burnt on the 'funeral pyre', Then to burn in this living fire, Of guilt and sin, And nameless desire…' Shorn and shunned by every one The Widows of Vrnidavan… Considered a 'bad omen' The Widows of Vrindavan… Age-old heinous practices of society, Perpetuated under the garb of Piety- Though, declared 'crimes' by our sense of propriety- Still, continue to erode, I say with anxiety, The very fabric of our society, When man's hunger and insatiety, Of ruling over the 'women of notoriety', Continues unabated, as if he is Almighty… In twenty-first century still, She is considered a 'Bad Omen' The widows of Vrindavan… With Radha mocking, Govinda making fun The widows of Vrindavan… 'Mere to Girdhar Gopal' (My God and Lord is Krishna), My future dark and dun O When my saviour, Kalki, Will you ever come?' Sing the Widows of Vrindavan… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi In the medieval India, widows were made to shave their heads off, wear coarse white clothes, eat frugal meals (minus spices, believed to excite sexual desires), which they prepared themselves, sleep on bare floors or at best on rough mats; singing, dancing, even humming was a big no-no! Needless to say that remarriage was unheard of… Sad to say, such practices exist even today There are a total of three million widows in India….
Archived comments for The Widows of Vrindavan
flossieBee on 30-12-2006
The Widows of Vrindavan
As I said before, Zoya. This is very shocking. Thank you for opening my eyes to it.

Josie

Author's Reply:

flossieBee on 30-12-2006
The Widows of Vrindavan
As I said before, Zoya. This is very shocking. Thank you for opening my eyes to it.

Josie

Author's Reply:

Corin on 01-01-2007
The Widows of Vrindavan
Zoya,
I read your poem about the widows with much sadness. From the West,
Hinduism often seems an intelligent and powerful religion with its
sophisticated view of reality and focus on meditation. Of course we know
about caste and think that Sita is a practice of the past, so it is very
dispiriting to know that such inhumane suffering can be imposed upon such a
vast number of innocent women in the name of religion.

David


Author's Reply:


I, Like Prometheus Bound (posted on: 11-12-06)
Prometheus fascinates me, paying by his liberty in a punishment of life long suffering, for stealing fire – fire the purifier, fire the purging fire, the sacred fire- for the benefit of humanity; no wonder PB Shelley, who inspires this poem, interpreted him as a hero in his epic poem 'Prometheus Unbound’; with due respect to him and the Titan…

  'Prometheus is the type of highest perfection of moral and intellectual nature, impelled by the purest and the truest motives to the best and noblest ends.' PB Shelley   I, like Prometheus, bound To the cold and craggy rock Of the miseries of life, Have risen above the pain, Which like all chronic ailments, Has lost all its edges, Sharp and frayed, And has become Blunt and staid With the passage of Ever healing time... I face life with love, Compassion and passion, And no longer try To alleviate and fight The pain that has become My destiny, my plight; I absorb it within me And let it circulate With blood through my bones To sublimate and enrich My heart and my soul, So that I become More attuned, more responsive, To the misery of others Less fortunate, less lucky, With a pain more potent, More poignant Than my agony…   I don't know What my Zeus Has in store for me? While I carry on Come pain or agony, And make the most of My destiny…     Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India   Image: Promatheus by Gustave Moreau http://www.mythinglinks.org/Prometheus~GustaveMoreau~Encarta~t011992a.jpg
Archived comments for I, Like Prometheus Bound
teifii on 13-12-2006
I, Like Prometheus Bound
What no comments!?
I think this is really good. I like the rhymes and half rhymes - which are not too arbitrary.
Only thing i'm not sure about is the repeat of 'agony' in 'Come pain or agony'-- it sounds as if it is there just for the rhyme and isn't needed.
What do you think?
Daff

Author's Reply:


Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow (posted on: 04-12-06)
Freshly fallen snow on a crisp wintry morning is so white, pristine in its beauty, to me it is like a maiden, a virgin, untouched, unspoiled… when the pre-dawn moon shines with silvery whiteness on the snow, it is magically ethereal…

Moon frolics teasingly with the virgin Snow The pearly white young snow Kissed ever so tenderly By the soft moon beam Sparkles silver bright, With tenderness aglow, On the silvery moonlit night. The entire world gets enveloped In a misty, milky pellucid haze, And the moon- In it's pre-dawn ecstasy- Goes to sleep wrapped up In soft and fluffy clouds… While I, rushing off to my daily drudge, Stop and gaze, at the beauty of pre-dawn, At the snow and the moon, And their interplay… The Sun wakes up To this magical morn, From it's starry chamber of Night- For a moment is captivated By beauty of the slumbering snow- It lingers a while on its delicate flakes, And slowly, very slowly- Almost imperceptibly- It enters into each flake, The flake wakes up to its fond touch, And blushes pink, self-consciously… At her response, all aglow, The Sun breaks up into A multicoloured rainbow Of violet, indigo, blue, green & yellow, With orange and red to follow… Their union of joy, lights up the world, Bathing it in a golden hue: The birds, overjoyed at this, Break into sweetest of melodies of yore, That they have been singing For centuries and more- The self-same songs Like symphonies flow From their supple throats… The trees, shedding all their shame, Stand denuded of their green apparel, Open their arms to the virgin snow, The snow envelops their naked boughs, And covers them completely- Branch to branch, twig-to-twig, bough-to-bough- Settling on them softly With tender-feathery touch- So shyly, so bashfully, That, even if the wind happens to gush by, Leaves the branches immediately, Scattering over the Earth, that It has already covered the night before With a snow-white downy quilt… The evening comes, and the setting Sun, Sends warm slanting rays- All orange, red & golden bright, To kiss the tender snow good-bye… The foreplay of the morn, Now replaced by the passion of the eve, The snow all-afire, With the excitement of the last Tango, With the beloved Sun, Turns red with golden fervour- By now the die is cast- The Sun is her master, And she takes up all its colours, Reflecting the joy of the parting Sun, In each flake and each snow-drop, Melting away sometimes, To the warm touch of the Sun, When it burns with the fire of ardour, At the peak of its heat… The Sun says good-bye- But not before it has Subjugated the virgin snow, And coloured it bright, With all its passionate might, Just before its final flight, In the bridal finery of orange and gold… The Snow cannot contain the bliss, With the Sun in every pore, She sparkles with joy- And is no more that coy- And is not afraid to face, The cold, dark and gloomy night… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh, UP, India This poem recaptures the memories of my posting during internship, in Moscow suburbs: when I left home at 7.30 on the cold January morning, the moon would be shining bright- the snow silvery white; When I got out of the underground, the day was just beginning to break; I had to ride a bus through the woods to reach my hospital; The Birch-woods, interspersed with log cabins covered with freshly fallen snow (during this one of the coldest winters of –35 to –40C), looked right out of a Christmas card; when the slanting rays of the rising sun broke into a rainbow, over the sparkling snow, I watched in delightful awe; On my way back at 4pm, the sun would be setting; I took a walk through the woods to watch the glow of the setting sun on the snow…it was heavenly…the scenes are still etched in my memory like a water colour landscape even after so many years…
Archived comments for Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow
scotch on 04-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow
i like this story...scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Scotch, a lot of imagination has gone into the creation of that story- that story of love-play of the Sun and the Moon with the Virgin snow...
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

eddiesolo on 04-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow
Wonderful piece Zoya.

You paint a beautiful scene with your words.

Top for me.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Eddie, for such an encouraging comment. This is indeed an inspired piece of work, as it really evokes most beautiful memories of the most beautiful time of my life!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Gemini-Janus on 05-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow

I can see this poem means a lot to you, so I hate to make a negative comment, but I have to be honest and say that it really could be a whole lot better.

I am afraid that many of your images are extremely cliched and therefore lack true emotional punch. You have also chosen some rather obvious rhymes in places, which act to weaken your words.

(You say it yourself in your comments, that it 'looked right out of a Christmas card').

For these reasons, the poem feels too long for me, when it should have the crystal clarity and simple beauty of the snow you describe.



Author's Reply:
Wait a minute, Mr. Gemini, not so fast! You can't make a sweeping statement like that- 'it could be a lot better'- you have to be more specific, more concrete!
And of course this poem means a lot to me, as all my poems do. Because, I write from the bottom of my heart, from the depth of my emotions, from the passion of my soul and the imagination of my mind, and not rehash some hackneyed ideas borrowed from here, there and every where, mostly from old established masters.
As for images being clichéd, I am sorry to say this is a baseless canard, show me one image here that has been used by some one else, elsewhere in literature, this an absolutely original piece of work with unique personification and interpretation of Nature. I am afraid you have not gone through it properly otherwise you could have been emotionally moved, the emotions here are subtle, delicate and not meant to 'punch' you...
And if you mean the language is clichéd then, I would rather use simple language to express original ideas and thoughts in an understandable manner, than hide behind flowery new fangled phrases, meant to cloak the lack of meaning and paucity of ideas by people who have very poor imagination...
And as for rhyming, it is always ‘obvious’ and never ‘ambiguous’, and there is no hard and fast rule that you cannot have occasional rhyming in free verse, I can sight many examples by the master to this effect...
The poem through out maintains its own internal rhythm.
And lastly the poem is not 'long' it only requires a longer attention span: It does not just describe the 'simple beauty of snow' but there is a lot to it than meets the eye- The Sun, Moon and the snow are symbolic, for one- you have to read in between the lines, but for that you require a lot of imagination- poetic imagination!
I suggest you read the poem again, slowly, to get the feel of it, then you might be able to get my drift; And then, If you still think 'it could be a lot better', please make concrete suggestions, I will go through those suggestions carefully, and then we will have a dialogue about how it can be improved- provided the spirit of the content is preserved- and see how form can be 'a lot better' without compromising the substance.
Are you game for that Mr. Gemini- Janus? If so, then you are most welcome I am open to friendly, well meant suggestions.
Sincerely,
Zoya

Gemini-Janus on 06-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow

I am sorry if I sound like a troll. That was not my intent.

I would have liked to have continued this discussion, in the constructive manner you invite, but this is the last day of my free trial memebership and I have decided not to subscribe to this site. Ironically enough, one of my reasons for not joining is because there does not appear to be much creative debate going on here! I am almost tempted to change my mind now.

However, I bid you goodbye and best wishes.



Author's Reply:
Do change your mind Gemini, Let us finish what you started, at least I don't ever leave mid-way of a conversation... A dare you!
There!
That will make you stay?
((( Hugs)))
Do staaay...
Love, Zoya

Kat on 06-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow
Zoya, I enjoyed reading your explanation for this poem and it and your beautiful rendition of a special time to you, make this very personal poem one to be proud of.

Your explanation to Gemini-Janus sounds good to me. I just wondered if you intended having the two mentions of 'fluffy' (last lines in stanzas 1 and 5) - that was the only thing that leapt out at me, but I get the impression you have crafted this with great precision (it reads so), so perhaps it was your intent.

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Kat,
Now that you mention it, how about 'feathery' quilt, 'feathery' goes better with 'quilt'! Right?
So be it!
Thanks for pointing that out!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Kat on 07-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow
Yes, I'm tickled by that feather! ;o)

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat, and you are most welcome to be tickled, tough, believe me, that was not my intension, but the Snow can be a bit of a tease though...lol!
Love, Zoya

flossieBee on 08-12-2006
Sun, Moon & the Virgin Snow
I love this Zoya. I spent a winter in Poland once and also remember those incredible snow effects.

I love the contrast of the warm, fiery images with the cold.
I also like the line about the daily drudge. It gives some hint of the toughness of life in Moscow. I also lie the idea of the sparring of the sun and the snow. At times it seems quite extreme, quite violent.


Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Flossie, Isn't freshly fallen snow pristinely beautiful, covering the whole world with a white fluffy quilt?
You have really caught my drift here: yes, the contrast is deliberate, because it is the sun which gives crispness to the cold snow covered day, a cloudy day can be miserably bone-chilling when the temperatures are down to -30 and -40C;
And yes, the life can be very tough in winter in Moscow, but you know, life never stops even for a day, every house, bus, underground is centrally heated, there is twenty-four-hours hot and cold running water in the pipes at home- all free- and the fact the people travel several miles everyday braving the cold to be at work dot at nine in the morning, speaks volumes about their power of endurance and self discipline.
As for sparring, the violence (if you please) is meant more to depict the heat of passion rather than the aggression of the sun, I don't think in nature, the elements are ever violent to, or at variance with, each other, I think they are always in harmony- tender harmony at times- with each other... lol!
Thanks a pile anyway for this very appreciative, and encouraging remark, I just love it!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya


Shooting Star (posted on: 17-11-06)
Shooting stars are beautiful, and yet they are strangely disturbing...

Whenever I see a shooting star Ricochet out of its orbit, On a dark and dismal night, Pierce the dun bosom of the sky, An' in that glorious moment of Time, Leave a silvery trail behind- Something stirs me deep inside. Questions of bizarre nature Begin to rake up in my mind: Is it his escape from the drudgery of the selfsame arduous journey On its path through endless centuries since the inception of time? Or is it a mere sojourn, 'Till it begins another odyssey, Another eternal grind… Or will it just disintegrate, Scatter and disperse into space, Slowly fade into oblivion And be no more… Whenever I see a shooting star It troubles my soul… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Shooting Star
Dil on 17-11-2006
Shooting Star
'Shooting stars are beautiful'...and so is your poem.
Dil

Author's Reply:
Thanks Dil, It is awfully sweet of you. Usually people wish upon a shooting star. But nobody ever pays attention to what the star must be going through. I am disturbed at times to see a shooting star-as if it is falling into oblivion, trying to escape from centuries of grind only to perish into nothingness...
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

Kat on 17-11-2006
Shooting Star
I ditto Dil! I really like the questioning voice in this.

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Kat, Yeah, it sometimes really sets me thinking! and then I see it as symbolic of our own lives, how we live and die, and do we really illumine people's lives, make their wishes come true, even in death, like the shooting star... I suppose no! We are too self-involved in our own worlds. Isn't it?
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 18-11-2006
Shooting Star
I was in Fujeirah in the Middle East, years ago now and I remember one night taking a stroll with my husband along the beach. We looked out over the Indian Ocean and saw shooting star after shooting star. It was so beautiful. Like your poem. Thank you Zoya for evoking that memory.

Tina x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Tina, I am so happy to evoke such pleasant memories in your heart. Shooting stars are beautiful, aren't they? and yes, some times it does rain shooting stars! It is like a festival in the sky! But, some how, they disturb me too, and these questions arise in my mind...
((hugs))
Love, Zoya

Gerry on 19-11-2006
Shooting Star
How strange Zoya, This weekend if it is clear, we in the UK are in for quite a display apparently. They do return with their superb displays. Nice analogy...

Gerry.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Gerry, when you go out to watch this superb celestial display, don't forget to wish upon the shooting star for me! lol!
(((Hugs for that lovely response)))
Love, Zoya

eddiesolo on 01-12-2006
Shooting Star
I read this before but my computer went stupid...as they often do, so apologies to you for just getting around to it.

I liked it last then and I love it more now.

Lovely write Zoya.

I love shooting stars but hate comets...they are traditionally associated with ill omens. Each time I have seen one I have broken my toe...the same one:-(

Si:-)





Author's Reply:
Thanks Si, for making it a point to come and record your appreciation, even after the comp. breakdown!
I can not thank you enough for this kind gesture.
Yes, shooting stars are beautiful, and disturbing...
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

eddiesolo on 01-12-2006
Shooting Star
Sorry...I liked it then and I love it more now!

Si...shakes his head...I'm full of cold...pity me 🙂

Author's Reply:
Poor you, get well soon Si!
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya


Autumn Leaves (posted on: 10-11-06)
Autumn leaves fascinate me…I love the Maples turning the whole world into a passionate red…

Autumn leaves, Perched on their last journey, Fascinate me. Trying to clutch at the last lap of life, Turning all splendour of their existence Into a carnivalesque-delight. Like a lamp that burns extremely bright for that one last time before it goes out of sight. I watch them flaunt their vestments, Green, orange, red and yellow apparel In the autumn of their lives Show the world whatever they have as a last attempt at life's jubilation Before falling off and drifting Into oblivion: They grow First pale in apprehension of a life about to go- turning yellow, Then realizing slowly that this is their last chance to live their lives, They start giving vent to their feelings Doing what they should have been doing all their lives- They blush orange with realization. Then slowly the passion rises To a crimson red And they show the whole world their colour of scarlet fervour. Only to get detached One by one… They leave their branches And float aimlessly about Carried hither-and-thither by the wind. Then falling to the ground, They resign to the life of oblivion And begin to fade to a brown-black, Dry up, and lose their juices of life Get trampled under the feet and slowly and gradually Disintegrate Till they are no more… But before they depart, they Turn to a bright yellow, gold, Orange red and crimson Showing the world their last bit of passion Before dying out… Like dying at the peak of orgasm Due to a heart attack… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©): Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Autumn Leaves
Dil on 10-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Great piece of writing and especially like the ending.
Dil

Author's Reply:
Thanks Dil,
People do die out of sheer ecstasy! Don't they? Similarly to me it seems that when the leaves change colour, from yellow to orange to blood red, it looks as if they are exulting in joy, slowly as the colours change, their passion keeps rising, and when they reach the height of passion, they get detached and die out- It is like an anticlimax...
Those last two lines seem to sum up the whole phenomenon to me...
(((Hugs for the nice comment))))
Love,
Zoya

Gerry on 10-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Zoya, a lovely descriptive poem.

I wouldn't know about the last two lines--I haven't died yet.
I nearly died once playing the organ though 'think it was Pachelbel'
😉

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Hi, Gerry,
Well it is a well known phenomenon in medicine, due to sheer ecstasy, people's heart ceases up sometimes, in a clutch of spasm. Heart attach most commonly occurs either in the bathroom or at the height of sexual climax.
To be very frank, when I conceived the poem, this line was no where in my mind, but as I sat down to write, and the poem developed, this line sort of automatically came on my pen. I even chuckled to my self: 'Hey! where did that come from?' But, once it was there it seemed to logically sum up the whole idea of the leaves slowly and gradually reaching their height of passion, only to detach and die out...
So, I decided to leave the line as it is; as a kind of punch line, or whatever...
I don't know, may be it the doctor in me, or may be naughty streak in me... lol!
**Hugs**
Love,
Zoya

scotch on 10-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
hi zoya i'd prefer 'because' not 'due' on last line, you don't need 'but before they depart' either in second last stanza,verses 3 and 4 feel like descriptive prose, there is a bit of repitition on some lines, i think it is laboured in some ways, i'd chop and edit... scotch

Author's Reply:
OK Scotch, point taken! I have worked on it, here is my revised version:


Autumn Leaves (Revised):





Autumn leaves,


Perched on their last journey,


Fascinate me



Trying to clutch at the last lap of life,


Turning all splendour of their existence


Into a carnivalesque-delight.


Like a lamp that burns


extremely bright


for that one last time


before it goes out.





I watch them flaunt their vestments,


Green, orange, red and yellow apparel


In the autumn of their lives


Show the world whatever they have


in a last attempt at life’s jubilation


Before falling off and drifting


Into oblivion:





They first grow pale yellow,


in apprehension of


a life about to go.


Then blush orange realizing


It is their last chance to live-


They give vent to their feeling-


With their passion slowly rising


to colour them crimson red;


Only to be detached


One by one






They float about aimlessly,


Carried by the brutal wind,


Fall to the ground and resign


to their cruel destiny


Fade to a brown-black


Dry up, and lose their juices of life


Get trampled under the feet


and gradually disintegrate


Till they are no more






But, not before


Exulting in their last bid at ecstasy,


Showing the world their last bit of passion


In golden yellow, and crimson red






Like dying at the peak of orgasm


Of heart attack!








Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi






SugarMama34 on 11-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Hiya Zoya,
A descriptive write with much imagery for the reader, which I appreciate. I have to be honest though I think that this would be better as a prose rather than trying to rhyme some of the words. For me the rhyme spoils it a little bit. At the end of the day though it is your poem not mine, this is just my humble opinion. Please don't be offended. I do like your work very much.

Hugs,

Sugar. xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Sugar, not at all! I really appreciate your taking interest in my work. Suggestions are always welcome. After all it is all about interaction and helping each other out; and taking Scotch's suggestion into mind I have worked on it already. How do you like the second version, posted above?
((HUGS))
Love, Zoya

SugarMama34 on 11-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Hiya Zoya,
I think that this reads much better to me, personally. there is not as much rhyme and I think it makes this piece stronger and gives out more vivid imagery than the first draft. You have tightened up this piece well with your edit. A better read for me, You have done well with the edited version. Glad I did not offend you at all, I would never offend anyone on purpose.

Hugs,

Sugar.xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile, Sugar, I am happy you like the edited version. I think I'll work a bit more on it and remove the rhyme altogether...
No, not all! No offense taken! I know a mistake, when it is pointed out to me, and I know a suggestion given with good intent.
Thanks again.
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya

RoyBateman on 11-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
So that's what's happening out there...those leaves are having more fun than I thought! The naughty little devils. No wonder it's so noisy at this time of year. Seriously, some great imagery and a fitting tribute to one of the most colourful times of nature's year.

Author's Reply:
Dear Roy, Why don't you also join in the fun and let us know if you like the edited version or the original?
Seriously,thanks a pile for your input.
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

scotch on 11-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
hello zoya i didn't receive your last personal email due to... owing to... because of computer gremlins, i much prefer the second draft, more power to you, i hope it was seen as kind-poetry-love, to criticize aspects, you know i want your poems to be the best they can be and i worry when giving advice as i'm no editor or poetry specialist and i imagine some will say "who does he think he is" it was more a feeling... is it of heart attack or off heart attack? final line query from a queery. take care scotch calling from the charring Cross road in lLondon out and about tonight.

Author's Reply:
Dear Scotch, not all it was taken in the very spirit in which you meant it to be; that is why I went ahead and edited it. I am happy you like the edited version. Any more suggestions? Yes, it is 'of' heart attack.
Such exercises are very healthy help in honing our talents and writing skills, provided meant and taken in the right spirit.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

littleditty on 14-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Dear Zoya -you have edited the first verse to perfection -i loved the carnivalesque idea in your very descriptive autumn poem xxldx :O)

Author's Reply:
Dear Littleditty, I am happy you like my poem and the editing. I think the edited version is more crisp. Would you like to make any more suggestion?
The colours of Autumnal leaves have such a lot of festivity about them, it does have a carnivalesque feel to it; Isn't it?
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

flossieBee on 14-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
I have never thought of Autumn leaves being so infused with ardour before! Thank you


Author's Reply:
Thanks dear FlossieBee, for appreciating the imagination that has gone into personification of nature and giving the autumn leaves a life of their own...
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

barenib on 15-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Zoya - I think you may have got quite wonderfully carried away while you were writing this - the beauty of autumn is a joy which comes across very well here. John.

Author's Reply:
Dear John,,thanks for stepping in commenting. Thanks a pile. You are right, I just love the colours of Autumn!
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 15-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
Dear Zoya - I like the first version, I liked the second too but I think what I most liked was, as other people have said, your wonderfully original way of personifying Autumn. You perfectly encapsulated this 'carnivalesque' season and made me quite smell the leaves, having had their wicked pleasures, smouldering on some distant bonfire.

Love
Tina x

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina, you always catch the soul of my poem and come out in appreciation of it in the most charming manner. This what I love about you. Thanks a million for this lovely comment and the generous rating.
love, Zoya

scotch on 15-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
hi Zoya i was happy to give feedback i think the second reads faster and is far better but that's only my eyes and i'd listen to everyone's views before you settle on the final version, i just didn't like the first one perhaps if you read them both backwards to see which reads best that way, can be a telling exercise... scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Scotch for the feed back. I will make it a point to read both the versions backwards, forwards, diagonally and vertically-in every way- before I make my final decision...lol (just kidding!!!)
((hugs))
Love, Zoya

scotch on 16-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
i'd prefer "to be detached" instead of 'get'...scotch

Author's Reply:
Yeah, sounds much better! Dear Scotch, how extremely sweet of you- you are still working on it. I really appreciated that!
((Hugs to you for that)))
Love, Zoya

BaBy_PoeT on 16-11-2006
Autumn Leaves
hey this ones a really good write... i love the way you described it... its just weldone. really enjoyed reading this wonderful piece...!
take care
xXx-B-P-xXx

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear B-P, for appreciating the essence of the poem. Most people here are so involved in the technicalities of the two versions (also important no doubt), that it somehow masks the real meaning behind the poem. Thanks a pile for bringing out that essential spirit of the poem.
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya


I, like Penelope sit Weaving (posted on: 03-11-06)
Loneliness at times grips you so tightly in it’s embrace, like the talons of an eagle around the neck of its pray… chokes you … But, what if the loneliness is self inflicted?

Loneliness you are my fate! With you I share this relationship Of love and hate; Which will take us together To Hell's Gate; Or may be give us a few peeps Of heaven in its spate!   In my balcony I sit atop Like Rapunzel in her tower aloft- Only I have myself Severed my heavenly locks!   A patient Penelope I sit Weaving my garment of hope, Which, By day I weave, With all my might- Only, to undo at night, And knit again my web by day That is my plight!   Only, The reward of my patient wait: My Odysseus! No! Deep inside, I know: Is, actually The ever evasive Godot!   So you and I My loneliness Have far to go…     Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi   Image: Greek Mythology, Penelope warding off her suitors.
Archived comments for I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Gerry on 03-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Zoya, and I thought SB wrote WFG 😉

Godot does actually make an appearance, please read the third act.
You will find it here:- http://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=13944
or on my second page.

You didn't sever your locks either I can still see them lol

By the way I loved the poem...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry, Thanks for that! Well, through out the play, the two tramps, Estragon & Vladimir, discuss philosophical issues while they wait for the arrival of the mysterious character of Godot; Godot actually never comes
 and in the literary world, waiting for Godot now is synonymous to waiting for some sort of illusionary character, or someone who never comes... I have alluded to it in that sense.

Thanks for the valuable input, anyway.



(((Hugs)))




Love, Zoya

Gerry on 03-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Zoya, In the play by Samuel Beckett 'Godot' does not appear. This play was only in two acts.

However in the third act which I wrote lol. Godot does appear.
I would appreciate your take on this. I have given the URL.

Gerry xxx.



Author's Reply:
lololol! I'll check the URL!

Corin on 04-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Zoya - this is wonderful - I enjoyed it so much - partly I suppose because it is my kind of poem - full of intelligent references - and they were beautifully used, the Title is brilliant. The mood of sadness is so skillfully evoked at the end.
I cannot bear to think of you as some shorn Rapunzel atop an Indian tower block, fruitlessly weaving and unpicking while that bastard Godot wanders around the heavens leaving us all in the lurch. Could you not have got the The Lady of Shallot in as well after the web reference, or was that it?
Don't wait for Godot wait for me - a knight in shining armour with a very long ladder but a rather old horse - so I may be some time as its a long way to the Indies 🙂

Warm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
David dear,
This is so beautiful a response, that I am speechless! So, full of kindness, encouragement and sensitivity! Coming from a poet par excellence like you it is a great compliment indeed!
Thanks a pile!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

royrodel on 04-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
I like the images of Hell’s Gate and Rapunzel

RODEL

Author's Reply:
Dear Roy,
So sweet of you to stop by and comment. It is really appreciated.
Well Rapunzel's locks are severed so that the prince doesn't get excess to the tower... you see the loneliness is self imposed... it is ironic but we do it sometimes for our peace of mind.
((Hugs))
Love, Zoya

orangedream on 04-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Zoya - you've gone and done it again. Another 'beautiful' poem in every sense of the word. You have such a distinctive style and I savoured every word, every line.

warmest wishes
Tina x

Author's Reply:
My dear Tina,
How can I thank you enough? You are always so kind to me!
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

littleditty on 05-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Penny, Rupunzel, i was waiting for Shallot - woman waiting, the quiet time is sometimes self imposed, and necessary, isn't it? time of rest, fallow, time to get strong again. These days, we might cut our locks, but have a sturdy rope ladder in the cupboard! - today (sorry Penny) i feel life's too short to wait too long for anyone, too long to be lonely - *pfff* that Odysseus was a lucky fella! Great ideas and stories woven into your poem Zoya, very much enjoyed -i'll go now, and check that my old rope ladder is still ok! xxxld x

Author's Reply:
Well, that is the whole idea, the wait is no wait; the locks are no locks- severed; the weaving is unweaving;
It is one big self imposed loneliness...
*Sigh*
Thanks for the valuable suggestion:
Next time. I'll weave a big rope and hide it in the cupboard...lol!
Or may be , borrow yours?
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Ionicus on 06-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
How true, Zoya, that at times loneliness is self inflicted.
Many young ladies wait in vain for their knight in shining armour, coming to their rescue on a white stallion, and ignore us poor peasants riding a donkey who would only be too pleased to put the chatelaine on a pedestal.
An auntie of mine rejected many suitors on the ground that one was too tall, one too short, another too fat and so on and so forth. She ended up marrying at an advanced age a short, fat, widower with children.
Your poem, beautifully executed, highlights the regret and self recrimination of someone who has left the opportunity slip by.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Dear Luigi, you have got it slightly wrong there, it is not about letting the opportunity slip by, remember Penelope was married, it is about loneliness in general... which sometimes we like to have, as a better alternative to some oaf breathing down you neck all the time. But, then that can also become oppressive at times...But, yes,it could be interpreted as you did as well-as they say, it is for me to write and for the reader to interpret a poem...
(((Hugs for that in depth analysis)))
By the way I also had an aunt, who met exactly the same fate as yours. As for me, I was married quite young, too young...
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 08-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
This is really good, Zoya. I love the mix of references and especially the image of Rapunzel. Well deserved nom.
One quibble. I do wish 'hope' did not look as if it were meant to rhyme with 'Penelope' 🙂
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear teifii, there must be some telepathy working between us, because I really wanted your opinion on this!

God , no it is not meant to rhyme, but now that you point it out it does,look like it. What If I merge the two lines and make it like this:

A patient Penelope, I sit

Weaving my garment of hope,

Which,

By day I weave,

With all my might-

Only, to undo at night,

And knit again my web by day-

That is my plight!



What do you have to say?





**hugs**

Love, Zoya


flossieBee on 10-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
I really like this too, Zoya, and the idea that loneliness and a sense of isolation can be just as powerful when surrounded by people. I always think of Tithonus who fell in love with the dawn and asked for immortality but forgot to add that he wanted to remain young, so he just got older and more desperate while she remained beautiful until he begged her to let him die.

Author's Reply:
Oh, flossie, this is such a beautiful comment! Yes, one can be lonely in a crowd too; It is the worst kind of loneliness more oppressive than the loneliness of being alone. That is why we sometimes prefer to be lonely and enjoy our solitude, rather than have someone undesirable around in the name of a companion.
I also love this story, there such lot of pathos in it and the moral is great!
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love,
Zoya

SugarMama34 on 11-11-2006
I, like Penelope sit Weaving
Hiya Zoya,
A lovely piece of writing again from you. I particulary liked the sad emotions that you used in this, they came across very well. Nicely worded.

Hugs,

Sugar.xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sugar darling, It is extremely sweet of you to appreciate my poem.
Yeah, sadness is the major underlying emotion here.
((Hugs))
Love,
Zoya


Sweetest are the Songs… (posted on: 27-10-06)
Pain is the most beautiful poem...

Sweetest are the songs that are Sung out in anguished pain. Deepest are the thoughts that strike On days it pours with rain. Wisest are the moments in Silent contemplation spent. Anguished dirges burst forth When the heart with pain is rent. Highest are the mountains scaled With courage, not with ease. Most precious are the pearls that come From deepest of the seas. Most graceful are the moments Spent in peaceful harmony. Most ecstatic are the moments Following deepest of agony… Most poignant are poems that are Born off unshed tears. Brightest is the star that on Darkest of nights appears… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Sweetest are the Songs…
Corin on 29-10-2006
Sweetest are the Songs

Profoundly true this Zoya - it reminds me of a fragment of verse that hs haunted me all my life:-

"We, who have seen the god's kaleidoscope
And played with human passions for our toys,
Know men suffer chiefly by their joys."

Unfortunately I cannot remember the title or who it is by. I thought it was Wilfrid Owen, but I have been unable to trace it and googling it does not work either. 🙁

WArm Wishes

David

Author's Reply:
Yeah, as PB Shelley has said: " And yet, we destroy the very things we love..."

And still we need to experience the deepest of sorrow to become more sensitive to the extent of joy; Suffer depth of agony to appreciate the height of ecstasy; Strife hard to taste the sweet fruit of success...

(((Hugs, David, for that very thought provoking comment)))

It is highly appreciated.

And yes, thanks for choosing this poem as your hot favourite. I am really humbled.

Love,

Zoya


orangedream on 29-10-2006
Sweetest are the Songs

How right you are Zoya :-

'Most ecstatic are the moments
following deep agony'

A beautiful poem. Feel richer for reading it.


love
Tina x

Author's Reply:
Dear Tina, How sweet of you to pick up the line closest to my heart-
We only realize the value of happiness by passing through the Sea of Sorrow, because

Sorrow is the most poignant poem,
Agony- the harbinger of Ecstasy,
Wisdom- the outcome of deep thought,
Success- the pinnacle of strife,
Creativity- the daughter of Loneliness...

Don't you think so?

Thanks for that lovely comment!
(((hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

reckless on 29-10-2006
Sweetest are the Songs

There is universal truth in your lovely poem. I especially like: "Most precious are the pearls that come
From deepest of the seas."
Thanks for sharing it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear reckless, for stepping in and commenting. I am really happy you liked the poem.
Yes, we learn the value of joy after suffering,
The value of ecstasy after we have really tasted the bitter fruit of agony,
Loneliness gives us the solitude to contemplate and is the mother of creativity. lol
Success never comes without strife...
Thanks a pile again for the lovely comment.
(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Gerry on 02-11-2006
Sweetest are the Songs

Zoya, sorry I am late getting here, I have been away.
I loved the format and rhythm in this poem--and the message 😉

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Gerry,
Yes, we have suffer pain at times to realize the true value of joy...
So sweet of you to drop by, I really appreciate it.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

SugarMama34 on 03-11-2006
Sweetest are the Songs

Hiya Zoya,
Such a beautifully written poem that speaks so much in so few stanzas. The flow was good throughout, it did not faulter once. I liked the philisophical approach to this also that was woven into your words. A lovely piece to be proud of.
I enjoyed reading this to the very end.

Cheers From Sugar. x

Author's Reply:
Oh Sugar, I just love your comment, as sweet as your name...
Yes, sorrow and joy, agony and ecstasy, love and pain, success and strife, Silence and wisdom, loneliness and creativity, go hand in hand...
Thanks a pile for this lovely response!
*Hugs*
Love, Zoya


Twilight of Love (posted on: 20-10-06)
' When the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead… When the lips have spoken, Love’s accents are soon forgot.’ Percy Bysshe Shelley

We stand on the banks of the river, Gazing far into the horizon, Each deep in his respective thoughts Sunsets On the horizon of our relationship… Departing sun reflects in your eyes The pain of our tormented years: Your face- ashen gray Your eyes- death of hope- Alive only to the realization of A love no more… Silent words flow back and forth Between us All is said and done Everything is understood Yet, so much unsaid, So much Unexplained, Yet, the anguished pain… We, the companion of the spring, At the autumn of our relationship, Are strangers still… We turn to each other- Our eyes meet- Yet, we do not speak: Futility of words shrieks… I swallow the lump in my throat, My eyes burn with unshed tears, The vessels, emptied, over the years… The water slowly flows down the river, Reminiscent of our bygone years… Sun sinks in the horizon, Witness to our bleak farewell… We part and slowly go our ways Never to meet again… And With you goes a part of me With you dies a part of me Never to live again… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Twilight of Love
orangedream on 20-10-2006
Twilight of Love
This is so beautiful Zoya - you have excelled yourself - but oh, so sad.

The last stanza is very strong, repitition used extremely effectively.

How loudly silent words do speak - much louder than audible ones.

Hugs and love
Tina x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina, for this extremely generous praise.
Yes, parting is painful- very painful! especially if you are parting with your life companion...
Initially written for an 'off' challenge on a visual: 'Off' by Edmund Blair Leighton
http://artmall.vita4me.com/catalog/Leighton_Edmund-Blair/lrg/Off.jpg
where you were supposed to describe the last meeting with your beloved, I thought, I will just share it here.
I am so happy you liked it.
*Hugs*
Love , Zoya

Kat on 21-10-2006
Twilight of Love
Zoya, what a very poignant and movingly sad piece. It moves beautifully down the page/screen. This stanza:

'Yet, so much unsaid,
So much Unexplained,
Yet, the anguished pain
 '

stood out for me and spoke loud and clear, and I think your final stanza is excellent.

Kat x



Author's Reply:
Yeah, Kat, that 'look', the last stanza and the one you mention has moments and shades of truth in it- my truth- and truth always speaks louder than anything else... *Sigh*
Thanks for that heartfelt comment. I am happy I was able to convey the anguish, the pain of parting effectively...
((hug))
Love,
Zoya

discopants on 21-10-2006
Twilight of Love
Zoya
You've intertwined the status of the relationship with the unwinding of the relationship particularly effectively. As others have said, it finishes particularly strongly.

Disco

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Disco, for that beautiful, in depth analysis of the poem. Pain and sorrow have a language universal. Whoever loves and looses knows the anguish of parting. It is difficult to let go, but a relationship gone stale is best put to rest... But the anguish remains... And yes, a part of you dies... You are never the same again!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya

eddiesolo on 26-10-2006
Twilight of Love
I found this moving yet so sad.

Last stanza stood out for me.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile for that heart felt comment dear Eddie, and the generous rating, it is much appreciated.
Yes, goodbyes are sad - even tragic at times.
The last line has an element of truth in it, may be that is why it is effective? lol...
There is a couplet by the famous Urdu poet Iqbal:
"What emits from the heart
goes to the heart"

(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Zoya on 26-10-2006
Twilight of Love
Thanks a pile for that heart felt comment dear Eddie, and the generous rating, it is much appreciated.
Yes, goodbyes are sad - even tragic at times.
The last line has an element of truth in it, may be that is why it is effective? lol...
There is a couplet by the famous Urdu poet Iqbal:
"What emits from the heart
goes to the heart"

(((Hugs)))
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:

SugarMama34 on 05-11-2006
Twilight of Love
Hiya Zoya,
This is a very beautiful and sad write. It tells of all the emotions a person goes through when a relationship ends and how the turmoil effects us so deeply, even years later.
I can relate and appreciate this, as will so many others.
When things go wrong and people get hurt deeply, things are never the same on the inside, though our face can tell a different story if we want it to.
A lovely write that was apleasure to read.

Hugs,

Sugar.xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Sugar for that Lovely comment.
Yes, one is never the same again. Something breaks inside, something is permanently altered. We can't forget the love, and yet we don't want to remember the painful experience... I think the best way to deal with it is to sublimate the pain and let it enrich you- to make you more empathetic to other peoples' pain...
It is extremely sweet of you to stop by and take pains to comment, Sugar, you have made me very happy.
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


Lunar Enchantment (posted on: 09-10-06)
Moon holds a mystical fascination for me. Sometimes I wake up, Moon shimmering bright on my face, filling my soul with its ethereal glow, lifting my spirits…

The Moon shone so bright on my face It woke me up last night Moonbeams cast alluring luminescence My skin glowed silver bright Their ethereal spirit crept into my dreams Stirring my subconscious sight: I was riding the grand Milky Way High up the firmament You were besides me in Golden Chariot Upon the Moon Crescent Stars played like Leprechauns in the sky Constellations danced assent The world was bathed in magical haze Away from life's laments. These moments of spiritual enhancement Are the gifts of lunar enchantment… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Lunar Enchantment
orangedream on 09-10-2006
Lunar Enchantment
What an enchanting picture you paint, Zoya. I too, am fascinated by anything lunar. My other half has taken some wonderful close-ups of the moon, you can see all the seas quite clearly - if you see what I mean! That's another thing that fascinates me too - all those wonderful names, ie Serpent Sea, Sea of Showers, Sea of Nectar, Sea of Tranquility etc. etc.

Your poem is gentle and tranquil too. I enjoyed it very much, thank you Zoya.

Loved the bit about the leprechauns!

kindest regards
:-)Tina

Author's Reply:
The Moonlight has a surrealistic alluring quality about it. I was literally woken up by the moonlight shinning bright on my face on this moonlit night, as if it is asking me to wake up to its beauty. I was enveloped in its magical haze, and in that twilight zone of consciousness between waking and slumbering, these images came to me. I woke up in th wee hours of the morn and penned these lines. The spell stayed me with me the whole day, elating my spirits lifting my soul...
(((hugs for that lovely comment))))
I would like to drown in the sea of Nectar!
Love,
Zoya

Gerry on 09-10-2006
Lunar Enchantment
Zoya, you sentimental girl you---;-)
I liked it...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Not exactly sentimental - emotional, may be romantic...
What is a poet without a bit of romance.
I just love full moonlit nights.
**Hugs Gerry for that lovely comment**
Love,
Zoya

narcissa on 11-10-2006
Lunar Enchantment
I know exactly what you mean. Very well illustrated with beautiful imagery and vocabulary. I wasn't sure I liked the leprechaun image, it jolted a bit for me and I wondered what references you were trying to make with it.
Otherwise this flowed really well.
Laura x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Laura, If you travel with me into the dreamland, created by the magic of the moonlight, and enter the fantasy land of subconscious that the dreams are made of according to Sigmund Fraud, then probably these little magical creatures called Leprechauns - which when fly about look like little stars twinkling in the sky - won't jolt but rock with you ...
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love,
Zoya

Zoya on 12-10-2006
Lunar Enchantment
Thanks dear Laura, If you travel with me into the dreamland, created by the magic of the moonlight, and enter the fantasy land of subconscious that the dreams are made of according to Sigmund Fraud, then probably these little magical creatures called Leprechauns - which when fly about look like little stars twinkling in the sky - won't jolt but rock with you ...
(((Hugs for the nice comment)))
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:


Misty Valley (posted on: 18-09-06)
Our inner landscape is reflected in the outer landscape: The same landscape, when we are gloomy, looks blue; when happy, sunny and bright. Our moods colour our perception.

                                                                 Misty evening                                                      Sparkling mountain spring                                                                  Setting Sun                                                                  Scarlet hues                                                              Lone log cabin                                                                  Valley blue.                                                                  Fireplace                                                      Crackling yellow flames,                                                                  I alone                                                          Besides the hearth                                                      Waiting with abated heart:                                                                  A knock                                                                  Footsteps                                                      Slipping over stairs of Time                                                                 Quivering lips                                                              Trembling hearts                                                      Unfolding mysteries of past.                                                                      Or                                                              Just this longing                                                      Moments drowning with the heart.                                                                      'Till                                                              On a foggy night                                                      Along with the setting sun                                                      I drown in the Sea of Time.                                                          Hope was never mine... Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright© Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Misty Valley
Sunken on 19-09-2006
Misty Valley
Hello Ms. Zoya. Your poem is more lovely than a nice ladies panties. Really, it's very lovely. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he tunes into mars by pressing an empty glass to a radiator

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Sunken, for he compliment. I take as one, because for a 'ladies' lover' like you, for whom 'nice panties' are the epitome of beauty and loveliness, this has to be the greatest compliment.

Take care.

And don't let this sink in too far...

Love,

Zoya

Bradene on 29-09-2006
Misty Valley
How did I miss this, such a dreamy quality. I enjoyed it immensely, Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Val, for stepping in to comment.
**Hugs**
Love,
Zoya


WHO AM I? (posted on: 08-09-06)
So troubled is the soul sometime that you question your very existence on this Earth, the very purpose in life, the use of your being in this Universe….

'Shall man be even as the foam That sits an instant on the ocean's face And is taken by the passing breeze- And is no more?' Kahlil Gibran WHO AM I? Who am I? What am I? A dot on Earth, A speck in the scheme of universe… A grain of sand Blown by the wind, From land to land… A piece of cloud Risen from earth Floating endless in the sky Melting in few drops of rain Back to earth in similar vein… A tender leaf, First fresh and green, Now yellowing with golden hue, Clinging still to the bough of life, Of use to very few! Who knows? What might ensue? A dewdrop On a blade of grass, Here now, and With the first ray of the sun, Evaporate into thin air, Gone, never to reappear... In short-lived moments of life- life hanging in the air- Will I shine a while? Break the rays of Sun into Multicoloured rainbow bright, Or just perish - disappear long before that? A comet hurled from the sky: Strike the earth, Becomes a star in the sky, A planet around the sun- A far cry… Or simply disintegrate to dust in the sky… Who knows? But, my end is near… Will I shine a last time? Before the heavens claim me back into their fold... What am I? Who am I? Why am I? Just to exist… And soon to die? Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for WHO AM I?
Gerry on 08-09-2006
WHO AM I?
Zoya, you pose the eternal question in a lovely poem.
I enjoyed reading this. Kahlil Gibran was a great philosopher.

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerry for that lovely comment.
Yes, the eternal question of why was I sent to this world, often bothers me. And then when I think of the inevitable, I tell myself, but I have not made any difference. Is this my wont? Was this the purpose
of my existence? and it makes me sad...
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 08-09-2006
WHO AM I?
Zoya, I think this is so beautiful and indeed, it shines.

Don't we all ask ourselves these questions?

I guess I tend to look at my life as another ripple on a pond, travelling ever outwards. Everything I do, be it large or small having endless repercussions, ad infinitum.

kindest regards
orangedream

Author's Reply:
How beautifully you put it - like a ripple in a pond spreading ever outwards...
Yes, I suppose life does have a way of coming up full circle...
Thanks for that very thought provoking response.
**Hugs**
Love,
Zoya

lefthandpen on 08-09-2006
WHO AM I?
Such a lovely way of putting the big questions. I feel that one day we will all know the answers!

Peace, miz x

Author's Reply:
Yes, we all ask ourselves these questions at one point or the other in life, and the answer eludes us most of the time.
It is the big question of every thinking mind.
And in the entire world you are so small, a part of this vast universe.
Then you ask your self, is this all there is to my life? Will I pass from this world, unknown, unheard of, unloved, uncared for... and so many more questions of existential nature...
Thanks for the comment.
Love,
Zoya

Kat on 08-09-2006
WHO AM I?
I really enjoyed your poem, Zoya. Beautifully expressed.

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Kat dear, for stepping in and commenting.
**hugs**
Love,
Zoya


The Calm and the Turbulent Sea (posted on: 01-09-06)
Sea holds a great fascination for me: some times tranquil, sometimes serene, sometimes strong, sometimes deep, stretching far into horizon, caring, caressing my feet; Sea holds…

The tranquil sea Sends rippling waves To kiss the virgin shore, To caress it gently, And come back presently… But never satisfied They come right back again, Again and again Going farther and farther, Rising higher and higher, Till on a moonlit night They reach orgasmic heights, Only to crash against the rocks To beat against the cliffs, And whip-up a frenzied storm 'Till they are thoroughly Shattered and smashed, But completely satisfied and quenched… The sea thoroughly exhausted, Calms down, and for days Lies in delicious slumber Tranquil and serene, As if it's never been, That troubled, that keen With all the passionate tumults, Buried deep within… But sometimes in its wake, It leaves behind a precious pearl For the beloved shore… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for The Calm and the Turbulent Sea
orangedream on 01-09-2006
The Calm and the Turbulent Sea
This is a pearl in itself, dear Zoya ... of the rarest kind.

Beautifully atmospheric - could almost smell the sea and the sand.

Thank you for taking me there.

kindest regards
orangedream

Author's Reply:
And this comment of yours dear Orange, is a precious pearl in the treasure trove of my most pleasent memories.

I absolutely love the sea. Do you?

Thanks a pile for this lovely comment.

Lopve,

Zoya

Gerry on 01-09-2006
The Calm and the Turbulent Sea
Zoya, superb writing here--leaves a nice feeling...

Gerry xxx.

PS did you find the pics? 😉

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Gerry dear, for stopping by and leaving this nice comment.
Yes, I saw the pics and also left comment. Check it out.
Love, Zoya

CVaughan on 01-09-2006
The Calm and the Turbulent Sea
Zoya - good one - and easy to share in your enjoyment of one of nature's treasures. Very well put together I'd say. Cheers - Frank

Author's Reply:
Thanks Frank, for the heartfelt appreciation of the poem.
Take care,
Love,
Zoya

scotch on 02-09-2006
The Calm and the Turbulent Sea
beautiful...scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Scotch, so nice of you to stop by and find time to comment.
Love,
Zoya


WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT (posted on: 25-08-06)
Monday the 2ist of August 2006, a woman in the Central Indian District of Sagar commits 'Sati’, an ancient Indian custom where a woman immolates herself on the Funeral Pyre of her husband, this is considered pious. I would like to share my concern over how a woman 'burns’ in the literal and metaphorical 'fire’ of age-old customs in India.

WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Ages have come, ages have gone, eras come and go, but the plight of women is likely to remain the same.
The world has helplessly watched, while women were subjected to discrimination, oppression, exploitation, degradation, aggression, humiliation; you name it and women have suffered it…
Four steps backward accompany each step forward in the effort to improve women's conditions.

Woman Burning Bright

Centuries come, and centuries go,
From moment to moment I burn along
Life is burning desert sand.

A Pooja lamp, I'm burning bright;
But without a wick, an incandescent light.

In the hellfire of separation, I burn,
My beloved unconcerned.

Bowl of poison, I drink without a hitch;
Like Mira, my moon is eclipsed.

With Sita on the burning pyre,
I withstand the test of fire.

Like a candle melts my soul,
Moths by the thousands circling close.

My womb is scorched, again and again.
A mother, I love without a gain….

My forehead vermilion dyed;
Bright, red flames. A Burning Bride.

A Sati, I burn on the Funeral-Pyre
Even today. Oh, useless ire….

As one born into a large litter,
I am sold - a slave - to the highest bidder.

Still in the womb, quietly done away,
I never saw the light of day.

'Wood burns to coal, coal to ashes,
I burn so, neither coal nor ashes….'

Centuries have gone, and centuries will come,
From moment to moment I burn along.
Humanity is a barren desert….


Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi

Note: Salman Rushdie once said: 'We, Indians love to burn our women.'
Sure enough, for the criminal, it is the easiest, and the safest way of doing away with unwanted women.
For eons of time, and all over the world, excesses done onto women are a reality. India is no exception.

Pooja-prayer
Meera Bai, a Sufi poetess of Bhakti cult, considered herself a consort of Lord Krishna, the worldly and wise deity and philosopher, who propounded the famous Bhagwad Geeta philosophy of Karma.
In a conspiracy, being a king's wife, she was made to drink a bowl of potent poison. The legend goes that - deeply in love -she drank the poison, and survived by the sheer power of her love. She symbolizes divine, sublime, pure love…
Sita of Ramayana, was forced to go through the Test by fire, by sitting on a burning pyre, to prove her chastity, after her husband Ram, the king of Ayodhaya, rescued her from the clutches of Ravana, the demon king of Lanka, who had abducted her, and kept her for a long time.
Bride Burning is a term coined in India and refers to the Dowry Deaths, another unique Indian term, where women, who don't bring enough dower for the groom, are 'accidentally' burned by exploding Kerosene stoves, or simply in so-called 'kitchen accidents'.
Sati (Sattee), an ancient Indian tradition of burning the wife on the funeral pyre of her husband to save her honour, is also called Johar in the Rajpoot tradition of women of fallen warriors jumping into a tank of fire, to ward against their pillage at the hands of the enemy.
Sati literally means a virtuous woman. A woman was considered virtuous, if she died on her husband's funeral pyre. In dying this way, she was also promised a place in heaven. Satis were worshipped as Goddesses and temples were built in their memory. This heinous practice still persists, despite its ban way back in 1829. The famous case of its revival in modern times, of Roop Kanwar, took place in 1987! Since then five cases of Sati, have been registered in India.
Sold to the highest bidder, refers to girls from Hydrabad, who are sold to old Arab Sheikhs. Girls from the poor States of Bihar and Bengal are sold to land owners of Rajisthan. Due to shortage of women in this state, they have resorted to the practice of polygamy and treat their women no better than slaves.
Quietly in the womb, refers to Foeticide, which has replaced female infanticide - the ancient Indian practice of strangulation, or burying alive of baby girls. Since the advent of Ultrasound, as soon as the sex of the foetus is determined to be that of a female, the baby is aborted, even though since 1994, sex determination is termed illegal in India. According to a recent survey, 10 million girls fell victim to female foeticide in last two decades, and the term 'Missing Girls' is coined, to depict the glaring gap between the estimated number of girls that should be born to each 1000 boys, and the number that are actually born. The figures stand at a shocking 793 girls to each 1000 boys born, while the estimated number should be equal.
'Wood burns to coal' Quote from Meera Bai's poem:
'Lakri jali bhai koela,
Koela bhaya rakh,
Main birhan aise jali,
Koela bhai na rakh…'


Archived comments for WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
orangedream on 25-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
What can I say, Zoya. A brilliant write on such an emotive subject.

The text of the short poem, in my view, was well written and almost self-explanatory, which was not an easy thing to do, bearing in mind the subject matter.

The text that followed was enlightening and made both fascinating and shocking reading.

Well done Zoya - I feel richer for having read it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile for such an encouraging comment dear Orange,

Yes, plight of women is appalling all over the world, more so in the so called third world. Being a woman myself, I feel strongly for these poor women. These women are mostly uneducated, rather illiterate, and don't have a voice at all. They are not even aware of a thing called human rights, leave alone their own rights as equal sharer of the earth' s wealth and dignity.

I try to give voice to these women and also create awareness about them and in them with my poems...Some times it really helps; Since I write in Urdu as well, the language spoken widely in most of India, I often read my poems in public meetings, women usually are very responsive.

On one such occasion a woman came to me and said, I had saved her life; she was going to commit suicide, so dejected she was with her wretched life, but after hearing this poem she decided to fight for her rights and not to end her life...

Thanks again for the nice comment and casting you vote...

Love,

Zoya

Ionicus on 25-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Dear Zoya, you are to be applauded for trying to create awareness about women's plight in your country.
The inhuman traditions that you describe in this emotive poem are really appalling and are allowed to continue partly by ignorance but also because of outdated practices no longer relevant in a modern world.
You use some good imagery yet I felt that the rhythm lacked somewhat. It read, to me as this was translated from your original language. Could that be it? You said that you also write in Urdu.
All in all, a good effort.
Love, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
My dear Luigi,
Yes, the age old traditions jealously guarded by the so called self-appointed guardians of culture, leading to an almost fanatical adherence to the orthodox values and religious practices are if not anything detrimental to the progress of the nation as a whole. India in some parts is still very old fashioned, and the reason behind it is lack of education and therefore awareness. I try to create awareness by my poems.
And yes, you have guessed it right, it was translated from the original Urdu. As the subject is very topical and the terminology very Indian, it is not very easy to translate it in another language, in fact I have written it in colloquial language in the original, in order to suite the subject. However I will try to work on the rhythm, which does suffer in a place or two, may be.
Thanks for the advise.
Love,
Goya

Gerry on 25-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Zoya, nice to see you back again. I have read quite a lot about this practice, referred to in my books as 'suti' or 'suttee'. I too thought it was long gone. Terrible to think it still occurs.
Why do they do it, is their life so miserable?

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry, It is appalling indeed. Thanks for the nice comment.

As to why do they do it, it is a very complicated answer, however I will try to answer it here. On one hand yes, their life is indeed very miserable- widows in India (again old inhuman belief) are still considered ill omen, they are supposed to cast an ill spell by their very presence on the unmarried women, therefore are ostracized in many parts of the country; They live in the so called 'Vidhva Ashrams', literally meaning Widow Homes, and you would be shocked to know there are forty thousand women still living in the institutionalized hell of these Ashrams (I even have a poem on them).

But still it is not is not easy to take ones life willfully- they are indoctrinated by the priests and some family members, with vested interests, to commit 'Sati' and ensure a place in Paradise; Relatives and large crowds gather around them, and cheer and applaud their 'pious' deed. When due to the sheer pain of burns, they try to run away, they are beaten back on the pyre with sticks- it is an event, a spectacle, which thousands watch with sadistic pleasure gleaming in their eyes. It is grotesque, heinous and inhuman to say the least; Even talking about it gives me goose pimples, but it is true, believe it or not!

Love,

Zoya

woodbine on 25-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Dear Zoya,
It does appear the world over that women do most of the work and the men get the most of the money and the least of the obligations. But in India as you vividly illustrate the situation is much worse. The answer if there is one in the short term must lie in better, fairer education for girls, as well as boys who will become fathers and brothers. I was going to refer to this as a crusading poem but campaigning is a better word for this thought provoking well conidered poem..
John xxx

Author's Reply:
Thanks John, for that very encouraging and flattering response.
It indeed is a crusade of sorts with me, because in recent times, these practices are seeing a revival, due to the a long spell (of two terms) of a communal government we have just voted out, and extreme frustration and poverty amongst the less privileged sections of society.
We have a lot of NGOs (Non Governmental Organizations) taking up cudgels against these atrocities on women; They also have on their agenda, education and creating awareness amongst the socially and culturally backward sections of the society. The things are improving but believe me it is not easy, the law of the land rules. NGOs face a lot of trouble,and are even assaulted at times for taking up these women's cause.
I try and create awareness amongst these women and in society by my poems, it is my humble way of contributing to the cause, I also do a lot of public speaking on these topics in villages and darker nooks of the towns. Yes, education is very important.
Thanks a pile for taking interest in this not a very pleasant but extremely important debate on women, our treasure, our sisters our mothers.
Love,
Zoya

RoyBateman on 26-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
A fascinating yet horrifying read, Zoya - I know that this horrific practice was the subject of much debate in Britain in the early 19th Century - after the slave trade had been banned, many voices were raised concerning suttee, or suti, or as you say - and you should know - sati. Should the East India Company interfere with "native custom"? Being stout Christians (which I'm not!) they decided "yes", and, as you point out, it was banned. I'm sure it still persisted, of course. After all, look what happened in the 1850s concerning possible animal fat on cartridges. It's all very complex - should the EIC have even been the controlling power? Now, we'd say no. Should it have banned this? I'd still say yes, but by what right?
Anyway, Zoya, it's very dispiriting that it still goes on, along with any form of female oppression. I grew up in the liberated '60s, and I never thought I'd be writing this in 2006!! The world didn't change much, we just thought it had....

Author's Reply:
Dear Roy,
Thanks a pile for the interest shown in my poem, and the in depth knowledge on the subject.
Yes, it still happens! Believe it or not!
Yes, people fought for it way back in the nineteenth century. Indian leader Rajaram Mohan Roy, through his organization Brahmo Samaj was among the first who fought to eliminate Sati. The British Government banned the ritual of sati in 1829. However, it took large-scale social reforms by Dayanand Saraswati (of Arya Samaj), Mahatma Gandhi and the like to actually stop the practice. But as I said in recent times some of these age-old heinous practices are being revived.
And that is why my concern for them...
It was called by various names: 'Sati' (Su-thi, a.k.a. Suttee), now it is called plain Sati...
Not only this, what about the ancient Devdasi system? Where women were literally married off to Temples, yes, temples, and were supposed to be the wives of the temple deity. They 'served' the temple priests and local kings and lords, and this service (read sexual satisfaction) was supposed to b akin to service of God! This institutionalized exploitation, the worst kind, and most criticized form of prostitution still persists in many states of South India, in village of Saudhanti for example near Banglore.
Or what about Widows of Vrindavan, widows, by their very presence, are supposed to be bad ‘omen’ for the unmarried women of the family, therefore they are sent to Vidhva Asheram, literally meaning Widow Homes; they incidentally are supposed to be consorts of Lord Krishna the Hindu God of wordily wisdom...Oh, I could site so many examples...
What appalls me is the sanction by society, and glorification by the religious priests; That IS most dangerous and horrifying!
And today happens to be Women's Equality Day!
Ironic isn't it?
That is why we must talk about it; the international community should also condemn it, just as it condemned the name 'Hitler' of a restaurant in Mumbai recently.
It is not just a local custom, it is a question of humanitarian rights being ignored or allowed to perpetuate under the garb of religion and local cultural beliefs. It is just like women being declared ‘witches’ in the middle ages and burnt alive like Joan of Ark...
Sorry, Roy
Got carried away, but I do feel strongly about it...
Love,
Zoya

PS Read my article: 'Atrocities on Women Through the Ages', if you like?
http://www.sikhspectrum.com/022006/women.htm




Zoya on 26-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Dear Roy,
Thanks a pile for the interest shown in my poem and the in depth knowledge on the subject.
Yes, it still happens! Believe it or not!
Yes, people fought for it way back in the nineteenth century. Indian leader Rajaram Mohan Roy, through his organization Brahmo Samaj was among the first who fought to eliminate Sati. The British Government banned the ritual of sati in 1829. However, it took large-scale social reforms by Dayanand Saraswati (of Arya Samaj), Mahatma Gandhi and the like to actually stop the practice. But as I said in recent times some of these age-old heinous practices are being revived.
And that is why my concern for them...
It was called by various names: 'Sati' (Su-thi, a.k.a. Suttee), now it is called plain Sati...
Not only this, what about the ancient Devdasi system? Where women were literally married off to Temples, yes, temples, and were supposed to be the wives of the temple deity. They 'served' the temple priests and local kings and lords, and this service (read sexual satisfaction) was supposed to b akin to service of God! This institutionalized exploitation, the worst kind, and most criticized form of prostitution still persists in many states of South India, in village of Saudhanti for example near Banglore.
Or what about Widows of Vrindavan, widows, by their very presence, are supposed to be bad ‘omen’ for the unmarried women of the family, therefore they are sent to Vidhva Asheram, literally meaning Widow Homes; they incidentally are supposed to be consorts of Lord Krishna the Hindu God of wordily wisdom...Oh, I could site so many examples...
What appalls me is the sanction by society, and glorification by the religious priests; that is most dangerous and horrifying!
And Today happens to be Women's Equality Day!
Ironic isn't it?
That is why we must talk about it; the international community should also condemn it, just as it condemned the name 'Hitler' of a restaurant in Mumbai recently.
It is not just a local custom, it is a question of humanitarian rights being ignored or allowed to perpetuate under the garb of religion and local cultural beliefs. It is just like women being declared ‘witches’ in the middle ages and burnt alive like Joan of Ark...
Sorry, Roy
Got carried away, but I do feel strongly about it...
Love,
Zoya
PS Read my article: 'Atrocities on Women Through the Ages', if you like?
http://www.sikhspectrum.com/022006/women.htm

Author's Reply:
Sorry, to have posted this in the wrong column, guys.
Zoya.

Dargo77 on 26-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Zoya, your poem and the following text made me feel ashamed to live in a world where this kind of practice still occurs. The subject matter was well told, and I am glad that you have brought this to the attention of the UKA readership. I feel I must nominate this, in the hope, that it makes it into the anthology, and thus bring this terrible practice to a larger audience.
Regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:
Awwwww Dargo, what can I say? You have indeed overwhelmed me today!
Thanks a pile for the nomination.
I am happy to know that you feel, just as I do, strongly about these hard realities of life. Imagine the plight of the women who suffer this treatment every day, live it, suffer it, and are made to lump it.
Thanks again!
I am too overwhelmed to say any thing else at the moment (blushes)...
Love,
Zoya

orangedream on 26-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Just to say, 'congrats on the nomination'. If Dargo hadn't done it - I would!

Have a peaceful weekend, Zoya.
love
orangedream

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Orange, you are so kind to me.
May God Bless you!
Love,
Zoya

e-griff on 26-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
OK, you forced me to read your work 🙂 This one is not 'emotional' in the same sense as the others I have read (about love), but a burning emotion about a human situation, which I am quite able to deal with. I have comments on two levels.

But first, I copied this off the site and laid it out normally (left justified) so I could read it properly. (just and old trad, me)

1st level, moral: People bully and abuse other people. In this case maybe not you, but some here have ascribed the abuse of women here to men alone. My guess is that women too support such beliefs. Also men are abused in various ways by bullies (of both sexes). I feel it wrong to focus on the gender issue here. The practice/belief (of sati) is wrong, IMO, I agree completely. However, sadly the world is full of such beliefs, at all levels, and many, many human beings suffer and sometimes (well, often) die as a result.
(how is sati connected with the burning of unsatisfactory daughter-in-laws, which happens even in the UK (and who makes that decision - the husband's mother? ))

2. I think technically, as Luigi politely suggested, the rhyme of the poem needs improvement. As it stands, for me, it doesn't flow. You could change it to simple blank verse, but at the moment the near-but-not-quite rhymes distract from the message for me. For some people, this will not be so (that is the wonder of human diversity) but I think a reasonable slice would prefer a little more improvement.

Anyway, you've got until next year to brush it up a bit (if you want) before it's published. Congrats on the nom! JOhnG

Author's Reply:
Aha, So, you have come!



Let us take this one by one, 'cause this is long:



You can read it right to left or left to right, the meaning will remain the same.



Level Zero: I did not force you to come to my page. You came off your own.

You, in answering my remark on your poem, confused me with another lady, to begin with. I, in all good spirit said, it is OK, I don't blame you, since you have never been to my page. You said, how, did I know that? I said because you never commented. To which you came up with this famous explanation of yours:

You said, my poems were too emotional; you did not like my style. I, still in all good faith, said, ‘it is fine by me. I guess I am emotional; but, I think a poet should be emotional, but to each his own’, period.

After that you still decided to come off your own, and not because, I forced you to. (I have a nagging suspicion; you came because I refused get provoked even after your not very pleasant remarks)

Level one: This poem is emotional!

People bully others, in this case certainly not me (if we exclude your bullying me from it), it is precisely because of this, we talk about it. If they did not, we would not talk about it.

Secondly, if a lot of people do something wrong, it does not make it right, just as if a mob of hundred rioters lynches a man, it does not justify their act of violence, the man is killed, and killing is a crime. Similarly burning of women, whether by women or men, is a crime and cannot be justified or phoo phoo-ed as a gender issue here.

Though, I do not see why gender issued should be phoo phoo-ed either.

Women suffer all over the world, and there are no two ways about it. So we talk about it. If men were burning on their wife’s pyre we would talk about it too. But they don't and never did. Dowry deaths also happen to woman, a man is never asked for a dower. Only a woman is asked, only a woman is burnt. So we talk about it


Widows are discriminated against, they cannot remarry, and men can. So, we talk about it. A widower can marry as many times as he wants to, it is precisely because of this he gets rid of his wife (by burning her if you please), so that he can remarry, again and again. So, we talk about it.

Ultrasound is used to determine the sex of a baby. If it is a girl, it is aborted, if it is a boy, it is not. This has caused a gross deficit of girls.

It certainly is a gender issue; even a misogynist can see that. So we talk about it.

What we are talking about here Griff, is ‘Atrocities on Women Through the Ages’


I hope that helps?

Level two: As for rhythm, I take Luigi’s advice, because he means well. I can always work on that; there is always room for improvement, no one is perfect. And yes, one year is more than enough for that.

I hope that helps too?

Thanks for the congratulating me on the nomination.

Love, Zoya

Zoya on 26-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Aha, So, you have come!

Let us take this one by one, 'cause this is long:

You can read it right to left or left to right, the meaning will remain the same.

Level Zero: I did not force you to come to my page. You came off your own.
You, in answering my remark on your poem, confused me with another lady, to begin with. I, in all good spirit said, it is OK, I don't blame you, since you have never been to my page. You said, how, did I know that? I said because you never commented. To which you came up with this famous explanation of yours:
You said, my poems were too emotional; you did not like my style. I, still in all good faith, said, ‘it is fine by me. I guess I am emotional; but, I think a poet should be emotional, but to each his own’, period.
After that you still decided to come off your own, and not because, I forced you to. (I have a nagging suspicion; you came because I refused get provoked even after your not very pleasant remarks)
Level one: This poem is emotional!
People bully others, in this case certainly not me (if we exclude your bullying me from it), it is precisely because of this, we talk about it. If they did not, we would not talk about it.
Secondly, if a lot of people do something wrong, it does not make it right, just as if a mob of hundred rioters lynches a man, it does not justify their act of violence, the man is killed, and killing is a crime. Similarly burning of women, whether by women or men, is a crime and cannot be justified or phoo phoo-ed as a gender issue here.
Though, I do not see why gender issued should be phoo phoo-ed either.
Women suffer all over the world, and there are no two ways about it. So we talk about it. If men were burning on their wife’s pyre we would talk about it too. But they don't and never did. Dowry deaths also happen to woman, a man is never asked for a dower. Only a woman is asked, only a woman is burnt. So we talk about it

Widows are discriminated against, they cannot remarry, and men can. So, we talk about it. A widower can marry as many times as he wants to, it is precisely because of this he gets rid of her wife (by burning her if you please), so that he can remarry, again and again. So, we talk about it.
Ultrasound is used to determine the sex of a baby. If it is a girl, it is aborted, if it is a boy, it is not. This has caused a gross deficit of girls.
It certainly is a gender issue; even a misogynist can see that. So we talk about it.
What we are talking about here Griff, is ‘Atrocities on Women Through the Ages’

I hope that helps?
Level two: As for rhythm, I take Luigi’s advice, because he means well. I can always work on that; there is always room for improvement, no one is perfect. And yes, one year is more than enough for that.
I hope that helps too?
Thanks for the congratulating me on the nomination.
Love, Zoya


Author's Reply:
Sorry folks, wrong box again.
Zoya

orangedream on 27-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Level Zero

Whilst I accept e-griff's point that there are countless other tragedies in the world, you chose to write about Sati and not about the genicide in Rwanda, for example, which is your inalienable right, as is the layout of the piece.

Level One

For me, Dargo said it all and I throughly endorse his nomination, as it stands, in its entirety. And surely the majority of comments received to date, would constitute a reasonable slice, would it not?

regards
orangedream





Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Orange, for your invaluable support.
I am really honoured to have a friend like you.
I would be forever grateful to you for this.
*hugs*
Love,
Zoya

littleditty on 27-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Hello Zoya -I very much enjoyed reading your very informative sub which puts forward some of the experience that results from inequality within your society. The explanation under your poem helps put the actions in context - gender inequalities need to be looked at as such -then one can determine exactly what it is about the way society is organised/what is considered cultural, religious, social, norm etc - that leads to such inequalities. As already mentioned, education is so important - equal access to education to females is important. Awareness is important - and for 'us' who often take our rights for granted, it is important to be made aware. However - the puzzle of tradition, culture and custom, and modernity, is a tricky one, as is the fact that people often do not take to change easily, and rarely, if ever, relinquish power freely. When one asks who has the power, it becomes a gender issue, a class and socio-economic issue too. The inequality of men and women in your society (and of course, others) is something not altered quickly, and certainly not without awareness, collaboration and action - this is much of what your sub is about, i think. And to this end -i see you are doing just fine! The poetics? I like the couplets, and can agree that for your future english speaking audiences, some more concessions to the ear may benefit a couple of them. However, this is not a nursery rhyme, and slight or blatant jarring is effective in a poem that is instructive and is intended to make people think about a subject. Also, a translation that acknowledges that it is a translation by not perfecting syntax etc for the foreign ear, gives an authenticity and cultural root to a piece –so –your call! Well done for what you are trying to do - i know that women in your country are forming collectives and voices are trying to be heard - we can forget here that equal rights to education, work, vote, inheritance, divorce, etc etc make woman a commodity/object with few opportunities to change society and the people in it for the better, making it easy for old ways/the same people to dominate. Many boroughs in London will not reveal the sex of the foetus anymore - this is a good thing. Small steps, big voices: doing what little one can do - and here i think you have done it well. Nicky x

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Nicky, for the in depth analysis. This is what this poem is meant to provoke, healthy, enlightened and thought provoking discussion. Yes, the question is not an easy one and not solved in a day. There are no ready made answers and costume made solutions. Such age old practices, no matter how obnoxious they are, are not easily removed. But, we must keep on trying. Is it not that every drop in the ocean counts? And perseverance has its results, that we shall 'overcome one day' if we keep on trying? And that is what we are trying to do. The first step towards solving a problem is to define a problem. They say, recognition of a problem is half the solution. Creating awareness about it is the most important step to begin with. And that what I am trying to do.
As you rightly said, small steps big voices.
Thanks a pile again for the support of this issue.
**hugs**
Love,
Zoya

Abel on 27-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Very, very well done, Zoya. Brilliant, and many congrats on the nom...well deserved. Writing what we know is the most and best that we can do, isn't it? And you have done it here. Real and true.

Best to you,

w

Author's Reply:
Thanks my dear Abel, for your valuable comment, very timely and much needed and appreciated.
Trying to do, whatever little we can; and isn't the pen mightier than a sword. I am against swords; all we poets are, so we take up the pen.
The sufferings of women are enormous, each couplet here is drenched in the blood of thousands of women, and it is soaked in the tears of even a larger number. This poem is just a drop in the ocean of a large sea of inhumanity, injustices, oppression, suppression and discrimination of women. It is not enough to express their sufferings... yet, here it is!
This not history, this is not an academic discussion but, this is hard-core reality. Today’s reality, and there is a crying need to address it.
Thanks a pile again,
*Hugs*
Love,
Zoya


e-griff on 27-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
All I'll say Zoya, with the best will in the world, is that we seem to have here is a misunderstanding. I sometimes am 'humorous' (which is what the remark about 'making me come here' was - it was completely lighthearted for my part.) But it is a fact you specifically asked me to read some of your work in a PM, and I have done so, and commented as honestly as I could.

I think all my replies to your PM's were perfectly polite and kind . Here I fear you may have read things into my comments which were not intended, so maybe I was not clear enough. (And I fail to see how I could have given the appearance of 'bullying' you in any way.)

In any case , I will be more careful in future. Very best, JOhnG 🙂

Author's Reply:
Dear John, it is perfectly alright with me, as I said in my PM earlier, please don't stress yourself over it. I am COOL.
You made a remark and I replied accordingly. Now the misunderstanding is resolved, and it is OK. Friends? Right?
All the best,
Zoya

Yutka on 28-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Zoya, I am amazed that this cruel and inhumane tradition is still keeping on, and well done for bringing it to our attention. And why can't women take up the plight for women?What a ridiculous thing to talk here about gender issues. We live in a "politically correct" time, where common sense often has flown out of the window.
The real issue here is the idea justifying sati is that women have worth only in relation to men. This illustrates women's lack of status as individuals in India and should be announced and fought.
To the poem itself: it conveys indeed the feeling of a translation but also a kind of purity to the original source which attracts a reader. You could try, may be, another English version that reads more in a flow and then compare both versions as a poetical challenge. I would see it as quite interesting.
Love from Yutka:)


Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Yukta, for hitting the nail right on the head. The issue here is not just a feminist issue- by that I don't mean the narrow bra-burning feminism, but serious true meaning of the word, of equality, and freedom of choice, and freedom to make choices- it is a humanitarian issue, a human rights issue. We live in a world where it is being proved time and again that women are equal to men, can do as well as men, sometimes even better than men. In such a world, if a woman is treated as a second-class citizen, an outcast, an ill omen, a burden, a commodity, it is appalling, to say the least, and needs to be addressed, discussed and condemned. After all women constitute half the population of the world.
And in such a world the balance in India is horribly titled towards men. It is a matter of very grave concern indeed.
Thanks Yukta, for supporting this very important cause and raising such a valid point.
I am really impressed.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Love,
Zoya

reckless on 28-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
A powerful piece on a difficult and often neglected subject. It does strike me that so many cultural beliefs and practices are bound up with the exercise - and abuse - of power. Society has a lot to do to erode these old beliefs. Well done on highlighting this.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Reckless, for stepping in and taking part in what by now has become a lively, but very useful debate.

Yes, there is a lot of concern in India these days, especially concerning the growing deficit of girls in the country, something of what happened in China very recently: there are no girls to marry!

Female infanticide is replaced by female foeticide. On one hand is the discrimination against girl child, on the other hand abortion clinics are thriving in the country, they have mushroomed in the smallest of towns and villages. Their slogan is: 'Spend five thousand Today; Save five lacks Tomorrow!' there by meaning ‘spend five thousand on abortion today; and save five lacks of dower money tomorrow’ (when no girl will be born, she won’t be married, when there would be no marriage there would be no fat dowry of lacks and lacks of rupees to be given.) ... All this is inter-linked: Lack of education>economic dependence on men> dowry money> unwanted girls>female infanticide/foeticide> deficit of girls...and the vicious cycle goes on...

Thanks again for your support.

Love, xxx, Zoya


Gerry on 28-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Zoya, I returned to this post out of interest to see further comments. With regards to the message you convey--you have punched that home and it is clear. As someone who has visited your country a number of times I know first hand how many poorer people are treated, and especially young girls. My wife and I have personal experience of the latter.

There is growing wealth now in India and a way will have to be found to distribute this wealth more evenly among the vast population (not an easy task) however increasing status in society makes sensible change much easier to accomplish.

With regard to your poem and the way it was written I have no problem with that at all--it worked well for me. However I am not an expert on poetic form, in my view anything seems to go these days lol.

I would add though that seeing this is obviously a vast subject maybe a prose article could be written to supplement this poem. From reading your comments I think you would have no problem perhaps writing a thousand words, I am sure it would be well received.

You write like an Indian because you are Indian. My wife and I have had many laughs reading the Times of India in Bangalore. Indian syntax is different and long may it stay that way. I will be making a donation to help unfortunate Indian women and I am sure you will have stirred many consciences.

Thank you...

Gerry.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry, thanks for stepping by and that in depth analysis and comments.
I do have two article already published on this subject titled, 'Atrocities on Women Through the Ages', and 'Female Foeticide in India'. Check them out if you like:
http://www.sikhspectrum.com/022006/women.htm
http://www.sikhspectrum.com/052006/foeticide.htm
These articles have some photos of girls and women too that I have taken, in and around Aligarh over the years.
Thanks again for the useful comment.
Love,
Zoya

Gerry on 29-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Zoya, thank you for pointing me to your posts on this subject.

I have read both of your well written articles and find them extremely disturbing. Ingrained customs such as you describe are hard to eradicate--but we are in the 21 century now.

A way must be found to stop this abuse of Indian women and girls--and indeed the abuse of woman and girls anywhere in the world. It is sickening to any normal person.

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Gerry, for taking time off to go through those articles.

Yes, it is high time something was done to put a stop to the already existing heinous practices and especially the revival of dying out customs.

There are a lot of factors involved here. There is first of all poverty, which is on the rise in the rural India. Agriculture, largely dependent on rains, due to global warming is suffering greatly. And more than 65% of Indian population survives on agriculture. Recent suicides by farmers in Gujarat, Maharashtra, Orissa and Andhra states of India are enough to highlight this disturbing fact. Caught in a debt-trap, unable pay the loan, due to failing crops because of lack of rain, these poor farmers resort to suicide.

Lack of education and awareness is another factor responsible for perpetuation of these practices. Do you know that there is a tribal community in Rajisthan, where there is a tradition amongst women to go to the city to become prostitutes and support their families? As soon as the girl grows up, she is sent to the big city, ironically her own father, brother or husband acts as her pimp. She comes home once in six months with clothes, household goods and money. Men don’t work.

The age-old system of dowry is also so deeply ingrained in the society that the moment a girl is born, her father starts looking upon her as a potential financial drain on his already limited income, therefore the rise in Foeticide in India.

May be we should raise this question in the forum, and send a resolution to the say, 'Save the Girl Child Campaign', launched by the New Delhi Government on the 8th of March this year, condemning the heinous practice, from the UKA Forum platform? What do you think of that?

Love,

Zoya


Gerry on 29-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
Zoya, place a forum entry and state your reasons and aims. I am sure you will get lots of backing. I think it is a great idea.
I will put my name and a donation to anything that can stop this abuse...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Lovely, I draft a resolution today.
Thanks for backing the idea, in fact it came to me after reading your last comment, and also other people's responses.
I think this would be a great to take an initiative on this issue.
Thanks again,
Love, Zoya

teifii on 31-08-2006
WOMAN BURNING BRIGHT
It makes one wonder about the preoccupation some have here with 'women's right'. I know there are inequalities but they are surely put in the shade by the awful plight of women in India. Well done, Zoya, for bringing it to our attention.
And congrats on the nom.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Hi Daffy,


Thanks for lighting up my page with your presence again. I am delighted and honoured indeed.


Yes, sometimes reality is stranger than fiction. That the discrimination, degradation, oppression and suppression of women have become so deeply ingrained in our society, it is considered quite the norm. Cynics either just accept it as a necessary evil, or brush it aside as a can't-be-helped problem...


And this apathy is dangerous. Therefore the humble effort, to raise awareness about these very grievous and disturbing trends still existent in our society...


Thanks a pile again, dear Daffy.


*Hugs*


Love,


Sincerely,


Zoya


Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud (posted on: 14-07-06)
Desire sometimes is so strong; you want to be one with your beloved. Oneness sometimes is so complete; it’s painfully ecstatic, even spiritual. You are so elated; you feel as light a cloud. Yet strangely enough You are left craving for more. These moments are so rare that you want to share…

Sometimes I feel, I am a cloud, Roaming over hill and dale, Deep undulating valleys With great ease I scale, Swoop down and imperceptibly Creep into your home and hearth, Mingle with every breath of yours And reach your soul and heart, Delve into the deep recesses Of your mind, my paramour! Steal that pearl of wisdom And speak out from your tongue, Find that smile of joy And play upon your lips, Absorb those tears of agony, Linger a while upon your lashes, And become the rain that washes, The sorrows of your heart… Sometimes, I feel upon The horizon of your being, I am that very cloud… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Romany on 14-07-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Linger a while upon your lashes,
And become the rain that washes,
The sorrows of your heart


The above lines are my favourite. A passionate poem that speaks of the desire to be all consuming and all consumed in love.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Dear Romany,
Yeah, Isn't it a strong desire? Oneness with the beloved is so all consuming a desire that it can be even painful, especially if you are deeply and madly in love, Well this poem was written at the height of such a relationship...The feeling is beautiful, it is like a heady wine, it is simply divine!
Thanks for finding time to stop by and comment. I am much obliged, dear Romany.
*Hugs*
Love, xxx, Zoya

Sunken on 14-07-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Hello Ms. Zoya. I like your poem more than the girl who served me at Argos today. This is quite a compliment as she had a lovely smile and one of those studs through her chin. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he's not been approved

Author's Reply:
Thanks, dear Sunken, and I like your comment better than the boy who serves me tea every day, at my Clinic teashop. This one is even a greater compliment, because the boy is a very sweet boy and supports his entire family, so responsible is he. Though it's a pity, his nose is not pierced...
Thanks a pile for finding time to comment, it is much appreciated.
Love, xxx, Zoya

Gerry on 15-07-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Zoya, many will relate to this--if they are honest, although I don't think they would be quite as eloquent with their words 😉

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry,
Isn't honesty the best policy? As for eloquence, it is the endeavor of each poet to express him/her self to the best of his capacity. And, even if one person turns around to say: 'You have said what I wanted to say all along but, could not find words to do so!' Well I think my job is done, my poem is successful!
What do you have to say to that Gerry, eh?
Thanks for stopping by, it is much appreciated.
**Hugs for that lovely comment**
Love, xxx, Zoya


RoyBateman on 16-07-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Well, Zoya I think you succeeded in putting it all into words for all the old romantics out there - well done! (Yes, I included myself in that number.) A really passionate flow of emotion, with some lovely imagery.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Roy,
I knew you would be a romantic, and if all romantics of the world, like you and me, unite, what a lovely place the world would become to live in! Right?
I am in London at the moment enjoying a holiday with my daughter, that is why this momentary absence from the scene. Will be back by 10th of Aug. Will try and log in as much as I can in the meanwhile
Thanks for the lovely comment,
Love, xxx, Zoya

Ionicus on 18-07-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
A poem that reveals your romantic and passionate side.
I bet that you will soon have quite a following of ardent admirers from UkAuthors. Be on your guard.
Love, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi, for that sweet comment. That you are an admirer is quite a compliment in itself.
Love, xxx, Zoya

Lare on 24-07-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Hi Zoya...wow...what wonderful imagery and pleasant thoughts to put the reader in. I like how you distinguish that one is not merely dancing on a cloud...but...is actually the cloud itself...doing what clouds do best...filling us with wonderfully soft dreams and expectancy...I really like this a lot, Zoya...very nicely done...

Lare

Author's Reply:
Hi Lare,
What a beautifully worded comment. It is poetry in itself...
Thanks a pile for that.
Love, xxx, Zoya

Bradene on 24-08-2006
Sometimes I feel I am a Cloud
Lovely poem beautifully written. puts me in a nice warm mood pitty there is no one to share it with!! :pve Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, for that nice warm comment, puts a smile on my face.
Yes, this poem talks of a time I really was madly in love.
*Sigh*
Sincerely,
Zoya


Makes Football; But Scores Naught (posted on: 07-07-06)
The World Cup fever has reached its peak! India, though not in the World Cup, is the second largest producer of footballs, after Pakistan. Around 10,000 children are involved in stitching and manufacturing of footballs in Jallandhar and Meerut districts in India, where these football manufacturing units are located, and to whom the multinational sporting companies give contracts.

As the world is gripped by Soccer-Mania, Children go crazy, playing football- In the backyards, by lanes and rain drenched Maidans. Some want to become Maradona, some Ronaldinho or Beckham. I'm lucky; my son and daughter are simultaneously on the line, One in Delhi, the other in London, thrilled, we begin to chat; But their responses come in monosyllables- Both are watching Football! I leave grown men, jumping like juvenile delinquents in front of blue screens, and decide to step out for a breath of fresh air; but football is the air… I notice a boy sitting with hundreds of soccer balls- A tiny figure huddled amongst them- on the footpath. The gleam in his eyes belies his tattered clothes, sweat-drenched, clinging to his tanned back. ''Look what a beautiful ball it is, buy it for your son! I stitched it myself last night, it was the last one''; He holds his colourful creation, proudly out to me, It is then, that I notice, his pricked and wounded fingers, One swollen with septic, puss oozing out of it… Alarmed! I look up, ours eyes meet, and he looks away sheepishly…. Suddenly, I know the reason behind those glistening eyes. '' Please buy a ball! If I don't sell all, I won't get my five rupees!'' ''Is that all you make in a day?'' By now I am appalled! '' No, today I had fever, so they sent me to sell the balls, But tomorrow, I'll go back again to stitching footballs; They pay me 3-5 rupees for stitching a ball, and I can stitch in a day, two big footballs!'' I calculate that mentally- comes to 12-20 cents per day, That is all! I imagine him sitting, with hundred other boys his age, Hunched, in dimly lit halls, And stitching with frenzied fervour, multicolored footballs…. With sharp needles and rusted knives, injuring his hands, Oblivious of the impending backache and poor eyesight. Working through the pain of untreated sores, 'cause the work has to go on… There is a big demand these days - the soccer fever is on…. And he cannot even dream of playing with these balls… And I picture my children, laughing and shouting, playing football in the front lawn… My lost demeanor perplexes him: '' Don't you have children at all?'' I come to myself, quickly pay him 200 rupees, the cost of two balls, And hurriedly drive away, from those multicoloured balls. But, after a hundred yards, I've to stop and park on the side, The road is swimming in front of my eyes; I cannot drive at all…. And the honest boy comes running after me: ''Excuse me, you forgot to collect your balls!'' Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Note:On12th June, the World Against Child Labour Day, ILO symbolically waved a '' Red Card to Child Labour''; World Cup football legend Roger Milla of Cameroon '' Kicked the football against Child Labour'', in a friendly match in Geneva, on this day. Bachpan Bachao Andolan (BBA) in India and Global march against Child Labour mounted a massive campaign during FIFA World Cup 2002, appealing to the FIFA, sporting good manufacturers and the world at large for child-labour-free-footballs. The efforts resulted in announcement by FIFA to introduce a code of conduct in collaboration with the World Federation of the Sporting Goods Industry (WFSGI) to specifically monitor the elimination of child labour in India and Pakistan's soccer ball industry. However FIFA has failed to implement the code of conduct. For real photos of these children, you can log on to the following links: http://www.bba.org.in/news/football.php3 http://www.hindu.com/2006/06/27/stories/2006062705460200.htm
Archived comments for Makes Football; But Scores Naught
RoyBateman on 07-07-2006
Makes Football; But Scores Naught
Though this trade is known about, this is still genuinely shocking. It's the same with all sports equipment, sas far as I know - the clubs sell strips for a fortune, and they're made for pennies by virtually slave labour. It's not a trade I'd ever support - but I'm not sure where the shirt and jeans I'm wearing were made, so maybe I'm guilty too. I wish there was an answer, as you so obviously do. Thank you, Zoya, for giving this exposure.

Author's Reply:
Dear Roy,
Thanks a pile for stopping by and what I would call 'supporting the cause of these children'. We all agree that, child labour robs children off their childhood, physical, mental and psychological health, and deprives them of their first and foremost right that of education. In this year's release of its bulletin, The World against Child Labour faction of ILO, has emphasized the need of creating awareness all over world of the plight of these children, which certainly would be helpful in pressurizing the institutions, be it sporting or manufacturing in other units, for profit, in curbing this practice, which is deliberately, hidden and concealed from the organizations dedicated to and involved in eradicating and abolishing child labour.
'Children who are compelled to work are robbed of childhood itself,'
UNICEF Executive Director Ann M. Veneman said on the International
Day Against Child Labour. 'The majority of child labourers are hidden from
view and beyond the reach of the law. Many of them are denied basic health
care, education, adequate nutrition, and the protection and security of
their communities and families.'
Here are some facts and figures for you to ponder over:
Worldwide, there are an estimated 246 million children engaged in child
labour. Some 180 million children aged 5–17 (or 73 per cent of all child
labourers) are believed to be engaged in the worst forms of child labour,
including working in hazardous conditions such as in mines and with
dangerous machinery. Of these children, 5.7 million are forced into debt
bondage or other forms of slavery, 1.8 million are forced into
prostitution or pornography and 600,000 are engaged in other illicit
activities.
So, dear Roy, I am chipping in my bit by creating awareness while your are doing so by supporting the cause on this page...
Remember, every drop in the ocean counts!
***Hugs for that Golden heart of yours***
Love, xxx, Zoya

Gerry on 07-07-2006
Makes Football; But Scores Naught
Zoya, child labour was prevalent in the UK into the twentieth century. It is of course long gone now and children are well looked after (not always by the parents though). It is disgraceful that it persists anywhere in the twenty first century.

This has to be tackled from the top, where does the Indian government stand? Thank you for drawing our attention to this matter, it is all too easy to forget it--there being so many charities in need of money all the time. This one deserves to be at the top of the list though, it is absolutely appalling that children are abused in any way.

I remember seeing young boys working on road construction in India. They should have been in school. Is school free in India? It should be mandatory until at least fifteen--in all countries.

How is it possible to tell when buying items made in India or China if child labour or abuse as been involved? I am sure no one of sound mind would purchase anything if they knew abuse of children was used during manufacture.

An appalling situation...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:

eddiesolo on 08-07-2006
Makes Football; But Scores Naught
My young lad pestered me silly for an official England shirt.

It cost me ÂŁ35! I wonder how much the poor souls who made them took home. Makes me sad and I always try to give some money to charities who help kids out of poverty etc.

So called adults and countries who do this should be utterly ashamed.

Nice piece Zoya and well done on bringing it to our attention.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:

CVaughan on 22-07-2006
Makes Football; But Scores Naught
Zoya - you tipped me off you were writing on this subject after seeing my own short piece on similar lines and commenting on it for which I thank you. I too was upset at the knowledge there is so much exploitation of these youngsters and I've never seen the practical results at first hand like you. As to your depiction of the trade and its implications as exposed in your poem this is excellent moving and spot on. Well done indeed literate and poignantly ended a slice of real life honest and true and so so sad. Regards, keep up the good work. Enjoy England. Frank

Author's Reply:
My dear Frank, thanks for picking this poem up as your favourite, I am honoured, thankful and much humbled. I really do not remember, why I did not answer this then, something I never do; I think it fell victim to the one of the various outages we used to have on the UKA those days
 anyway, I am awfully sorry for that.
Children are exploited all over the world, because they are vulnerable, weak, easy to boss over and can be terrorized into submission. Child trafficking, where children are ‘supplied’ as domestic workers- maidservants, industry workers, and common labourers or simply to satisfy the needs of paedophiles, is common between countries. In India they are hot favourites in Carpet industries, Tea plantations, Embroidery units, Lock factories and in of course in Football making industries

It is the scourge of our modern day worlds that on one hand we pamper our children, on the other exploit them, and abuse them, bully them or simply use them for our selfish purposes

You know, I feel strongly about this and write, speak publicly and give lectures whenever I can to create awareness, besides being associated with organizations that liberate and rehabilitate them.
Your concern for them is very touching!
(((Hugs)))
Love, Zoya


David at Michelangelo Square (posted on: 30-06-06)
I saw the original statue at the Galleria dell’ Accademia, yet, a copy of David, silhouetted against the golden sky, looming large on a hill at Michelangelo Square, was truly awesome...

  He stands tall. Black granite Silhouetted against the crimson sky Proud and blithe, A faraway look in his eyes Dishevelled golden locks One leg tense, alert, Right hand hangs at his side The other, relaxed, Bent to hold a slingshot, Casually slung over his shoulder, Dynamic, active, ready for fight, Every ripple of his muscles Tugging deep, at the root of my vitals… So much grace, Such unabashed Show of strength, Courage, vitality, Virility, sensuality, Beauty in full splendour Towering over me. I look up In awe Mesmerized. I Long, Crave… Pulverize.   He is not real. He is not there. Yet, I, A mortal Puny woman, Uninitiated, All of twenty-one Helplessly stare and Yearn.   The sun sets behind the hill, The valley lights up With thousands of lights blinking in its belly, Clouds play hide-and-seek with the Sun… I lie down on the cool, velvet grass I Succumb, Slain, a Goliath, at his feet. I Envy Bathsheba Three thousand years too late…   Day and Night, Down and Dusk A look-over his feat in mock glee. Heaven's twinkle stars above… Florence is witness to my first unrequited love…     Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi   http://badpopcorn.com/wp-content/uploads/2006/08/300px-David_von_Michelangelo.jpg
Archived comments for David at Michelangelo Square
Gerry on 30-06-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
Zoya, I can imagine what a first viewing of this superb sculpture would do to a young lady.
You captured the moment well in poetry...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Dear Gerry,
This truly is an awesome statue! Michelangelo also happens to be my favourite Renaissance's sculptor and artist. He is no doubt, one of the most popular Italian Renaissance artist, as is evident by the fact that the recently concluded exhibition of Michelangelo's Art had to be kept open till the midnight hours for the first time in the 247 years of history of British Museum in London.
**Hugs for that very nice comment**
Love, xxx, Zoya

RoyBateman on 01-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
Sorry, but unrequited is how it's gonna stay! He certainly had the desired effect, didn't he? Very well expressed - I've not seen the statue, but I can fully understand the effect great sculpture and art can have - I spent ages just wandering round "The Kiss" the first time I saw it. (Well, one of the four versions that exist.) Unbelievable that cold stone could trigger such emotions. I can really sense the awe here - very well done.

Author's Reply:
Well, Roy, no wonder the sculptures of Rodin are called 'poetry in stone'. May be that is what is called, 'giving life to stone'. When an artist creates a piece of art, he sees and envisions the finished work in that piece of stone, long before he starts carving it. Sometimes, he goes around looking for the right texture, tinge and the right quality of marble for ages (I know Michelangelo did that, though David was carved from a piece lying in the yard for ages, and given to him), and does not start carving it till he has the right one before him.
A piece of stone seizes to be a stone in the hands of a sculptor; Just as words seize to be just words, once a poet carves them into a poem.
Thanks a pile for that lovely comment!
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

karenuk on 01-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
Beautifully done. REally evocative and great descriptive language.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Karenuk, this is my way of paying tribute to this most magnificent artist of all times.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

narcissa on 02-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
I wonder, have you read Julian Barnes' satirical novel "England, England"? One character states that when the replica of David was put in place of the original so that the latter could be cleaned, there were no complaints and it was just as popular. Who will ever know if this is indeed a fact?

What is wonderful about this poem, I find, is that your structure somehow statuesque, stately.
I love the changing images you relay to the reader, and the feel of the impressive looming of the statue.
Really enjoyed this one.
Laura x

Author's Reply:
No, Laura, I have not read that novel, but I know what you mean...
There are always pieces or art that move you immensely , at one point or the other in your life. The images always haunt you, and keep coming back to you, some times they take up the expression in form of a poem. This is one such piece of art.
***hugs for such a nice comment***
Love, xxx, Zoya

Yutka on 02-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
I remember him well, when I lived in Florence, I passed him everyday and was in awe of his presence. A sculptress myself I try hard to follow Michelangelo....but could not never even reach the powe rof his little finger....you brought it all alive again....

Yutka:)

Author's Reply:
Yeah, Yukta, Being a sculptor your self you know well what it means to inject life in to a piece of marble, by the sheer power of your imagination, vision and skill of fingers, and a mind that can create. I am sure you are as great a sculptor as you are a poet. Wish, I could see some of your art.
***hugs for that very inspiring comment***
Thanks a pile!
Love. xxx, Zoya

SueRed on 05-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
This is fantastic! Very insightful...

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue, David of Michelangelo is one of the most magnificent pieces of art that I have known.
**Hugs for stepping in**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Ionicus on 06-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
Really an excellent piece. Very stylish and descriptive.
Thanks for pointing it out to me as I had missed it.
Love, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Dear Luigi, it is so kind of you to step in, read and comment on my poem. I am really obliged. Thanks a pile!
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

eddiesolo on 06-07-2006
David at Michelangelo Square
Firstly: I apologise, I thought I had commented on this...I did read it.

Secondly: I very majestic piece that makes you feel the statue, I love it.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Eddie, For stepping in again specifically to comment, it's much appreciated. Yes this is a magnificent statue, a perfect piece of art. I love it too.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya


The Little Beggar in the Street (posted on: 23-06-06)
12 June, The World Against Child Labour Day was quietly marked amongst the World Cup brouhaha. On this day, caught in another kind of web, of disease, starvation and death, is the little boy on the street. Let's give him a thought.

That young boy by the fire, He begs in the street, To quench the collective fire Of his family's belly. Crippled - Sometimes intentionally, Much against his desire- To cash in on the pity, Of the entire world, He feeds his family And, much to his ire Goes to sleep On a half-filled stomach. Alone in this world, He is the child in the street. And sometimes, He is picked up By a peddler of drugs, who makes him an addict and Blackmails him into peddling. His blood filled with the poison, He sinks into the quagmire Of disease, addiction, exploitation, And quenching the desire Of lusty men, the sire, To someone debonair To whom he is catered On beaches, In dingy ghettos, And in bars. He doesn't reach maturity, He'll die in the street On a cold, friendless night, By some dying fire, This boy in the street, Alone in the world. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright: Zoya Zaidi Note: Goa's Beach Boys are famous. Child trafficking is listed, as the worst form of Child Labour in convention no 182 of ILO. Trafficking happens in nearly all countries of the world. As a result, more than 1.2 million children are living away from their home and families with people who force them to work. Dear Friends, please put your comments in my journal entry section for the little Beggar under: "Drop your Alms here for the little Beggar boy!" since my 'put your comments here' box has mysteriousely disappeared from this page, Thanks
Archived comments for The Little Beggar in the Street
Andrea on 28-06-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
Zoya, the reason the comments box didn't appear, is because your submission was at fault. Our system recognises a space (space bar) as a html code thus ' ' is invisible because we made this invisible to avoid confusion.

But it is there if you space, the page appears as you see.

Your submission contained hundreds of   tags (thus:                                              

between words, hence the odd page layout as the tags are stripped from the edit section so you don't see them.

Just copy and paste directly from WORD in future, and all should be fine.


Author's Reply:
My dear Andrea,
I cannot thank you enough for fixing this for me. May be all those tags appeared because it was a repost? I do not even remember how I re-posted the whole poem.
Anyway, as they say, all is well that ends well. I promise to be careful in future.
Thanks a pile, again for figuring this out for me, and solving my problem, which I must confess was beginning to frustrate me a little.
**Fond hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Andrea on 28-06-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
See? Tags disappeared. Here they are (no spaces)

& n b s p

Author's Reply:
Dear Andrea,
Thanks, and I cannot help adding here that thanks to this problem, you have come to my page again after a long time. I wish, you would come more often to my page, not to solve my problems but to sometimes just relax and read my poetry.
Hope to see more of you here.
love,
Sincerely,
Zoya

sirat on 29-06-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
I don't know if it still happens but in the past I found that if I pasted in from a normal Word document there were some odd effects: for example, elipses (three dots) turned into full stops (one dot) and paragraphs often double-spaced. I find the best format to use is "plain text". You can save as "plain text", open it again (in Word Pad or Note Pad if you like), copy it to your clipboard and paste it into the box. That seems to preserve formatting, but of course formatting in plain text mode is very limited so if there are any italics or bolds or bits you want to indent or centre etc. you'll have to do that separately once it's in the box. Ther same applies if you paste in from Word, things like ithat disappear and have to be reconstructed.

Author's Reply:
Dear Sirat, how very sweet of you to explain in such detail to me the nuances of posting the texts. I shall certainly try to follow that in future.
**Warm hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Dazza on 07-07-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
I've seen kids like this too and it more than breaks my heart. If I dwell too long on stuff like this the injustice makes me ache. As per Zoya you seem to have a trove of experiences that are flowing beautifully into UKA. Dazza.

Author's Reply:
Dear Dazza, Unfortunately this trove has no treasure in it, instead it's full of tears of woe, tears shed, unshed and dried up in the eyes of those who are most of the time not even aware of their rights, so gullible, vulnerable, and naive are they; they the children of our world, our inheritors of tomorrow. I know these words might sound big and lofty to you but each and every one one them rings true...
And if I am a poet, who is supposed to be a human being with a sensitive heart and soul, who is supposed to feel and react to what is happening to him/her and around him/her, more sensitively than others; and most of all responsible for expressing his feelings, then it becomes my responsibility to talk about that what ails me. And I see these children every day all around me, working day in and day out...The least I can do is to raise my voice against the injustices done to them. Though this is very little but this humble contribution of mine at least creates awareness amongst those who are so cozy in their proverbial ivory towers. If I can make them even a little uncomfortable, some of my job is done, my effort are not entirely useless.
According to HEREA (Human Rights Education Associates) an international
non-governmental organization that supports human rights learning; Hundreds of millions of children are forced to work when they should be learning and playing, which deprives them, their families and nations the opportunity to develop and thrive; UNICEF's Executive Director,Veneman, said on 12 June, the World Against Child Labour Day: 'Combating child labour requires political leadership and broad-based partnerships; Parents, community leaders, the private sector and governments – must all take responsibility to ensure that children are not exploited in the workplace.'
So, it becomes our responsibility some where too...Phew!
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya`



Zoya on 07-07-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
Comment by: Poet
(Posted on 06-26-2006 at 06:02 pm)

Comment:
Hello Zoya,

Your piece was so moving and so obviously from the depths of your plumbed-soul.
There is no greater atrocity than preying on the innocent. One wants to think there is enough benevolence in the universe that these things will all be subject to some form of justice. Alas, too many realists out here, I'm afraid. We all can at different times fall victim to apathy and where then does this leave those most needy?
Thanks for writing this very important piece!
God Bless,
Gary

Delete this comment.
Author reply:
My dear Gary,
Yes, this is indeed a very important issue, which is neglected most of the time or swept under the carpet because the aggrieved party does not even know that it is being exploited, oppressed, and made use of, because the sufferer is the innocent vulnerable child...
According to UNICEF the worst kind of exploitation that children are subjected to, as listed in Convention No. 182 of ILO, is Child Trafficking, the second being domestic workers in private homes, and then the child labour in mining industry.
There are more then millions of children involved world over including Brazil, Turkey, Tanzania, Venezuela, in child trafikking...even an advance country like UK is not spared from child trafikking...
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya



Reply or Update.

Author's Reply:

Zoya on 07-07-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
Comment by: Romany
(Posted on 06-25-2006 at 08:46 pm)

Comment:
Romany writes:
Heart breaking. And where in the hell do we even begin to put an end to
this? Poor souls,

Romany.


Delete this comment.
Author reply:
Well dear Romany, as thy say, charity begins at home; you could start by helping those around you, bringing to book any form of exploitation or abuse, that you notice, because this happens every where, Trafficking in children is there, every where... Besides there are voluntary organizations, which are involved in creating awareness, monitoring child abuse, mobilizing public opinions against the perpetrators, and multinational organizations involved in exploiting children, in industry, mining, trafficking, drug dealing, sex trafficking etc.
You could volunteer for HEREA, UNICEF, ILO etc.
You can begin with educating yourself about their problems, becoming aware of their plight. Find out about the different profit making organizations where they are involved, and being exploited...Then your knowledge, itself will prompt you about where to bnegin...
Phew!
**Hugs for your concern**
Love, xxx, Zoya


Reply or Update.

Author's Reply:

Lare on 08-07-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
Hi Zoya...this is so very powerfully written. This really tugs at the heart with real, honest emotion. It has put a lump in my throat that's for sure.

I wrote a piece that is posted on my page entitled "Her Eyes Told Me"...I hope you get a chance to read this and I look forward to your comment...

Lare

Author's Reply:

Dazza on 14-11-2006
The Little Beggar in the Street
Zoya, just read this in "book" form, great piece, you must see some shattering things and you write of them with humanity, Dazza.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Dazza, for visiting my page again, just to tell me you liked the poem in the anthology.
I see these children every day in the streets, I feel strongly for them, and write about them a lot. They do not have a childhood at all. Because of poverty and disease sometimes older siblings have to look after their younger brothers and sisters, it is amazing to see these 'little mothers' carrying their younger brothers perched on their hips and playing around in the neighborhood. They are very loving and caring towards them...they learn early.
((Hugs for that lovely comment)))
Love, Zoya


Taj Mahal by Moonlight (posted on: 09-06-06)
Taj Mahal, a monument of love enshrined in white pristine marble is breathtakingly beautiful on a full-moon-lit-night; the marble dome, with its intricate inlay work, glows like a delicate, fragile maiden bathed in moonlight…

The moon casts a diaphanous veil Over the face of night. Beauty, entombed in marble glows, Bathed in silver light; Four minarets look heavenward The 'Gombad' blushes with luminescence… A spirit of love roams the night Through the corridors of Time, And overlooks the graves Of two Lovers there enshrined… Zephyr blows with cool fragrance, The fountains come alive, Red roses whisper songs of love Sweet melody plays in tender harmony. Laughter of a maiden rings, Echoes through the shrine, Footsteps, light, chase one another In the garden of Time, A kiss is planted with ardent Love On lips of Beauty, A swish of muslin robes is heard Rustling in the breeze, A sigh escapes the lips of Time Somewhere in the groves... Two souls rise above the dome And in the garden roam Hand in hand, in the glory of A love three centuries old… Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi I dedicate this piece to all those in love... Taj Mahal: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taj_Mahal built by the Moghal emperor Shahjahan in the memory of his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal, recently celebrated its 350th birthday. I also invite every one to come to India; to visit Taj by moonlight...
Archived comments for Taj Mahal by Moonlight
scotch on 09-06-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
hi Zoya you've transported me again, from scotchx

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Scotch, You are very kind. This indeed is on of my inspired writes. The surrealistic quality is intentional to give the Taj, that romantic mysterious quality associated with the eternal love it symbolizes.
Thanks for the lovely comment.
**hugs**
Love , xxx, Zoya

Abel on 09-06-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
To view such an image, to me, would be like being transported to another planet, strange and beautiful. Thanks for sharing this.

w

Author's Reply:
Hi Ward, come to India and I'll take you to see the Taj, it's only 80km from Aligarh, just an hour and a half drive.
Come to India my friend.
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

redlobster on 10-06-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Lovely, romantic and you've captured the mystical quality very well. I appreciated it although I'm not in love!!!

Author's Reply:
Come dear Red, come and fall in love with Taj Mahal!
I can assure you you love lorn heart would not be disappointed!
**Hugs**
love,
Zoya

niece on 10-06-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Zoya,
Beautifully described...tho I admit I've never seen it. The only time I visited Delhi many years ago, I missed seeing it due to shortage of time.
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece, what a pity! Come again. I will drive you down to the Taj.
It's worth visiting India for. India your home land, Niece darling!
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Gerry on 11-06-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Zoya, I have had the pleasure of visiting India on a number of occasions---One day I will visit the Taj Mahal.
A lovely poem...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
My dear Gerry,
If you have no visited Taj Mahal, you have not visited the true India. Now you have to come to India again to visit Taj Mahal, the true spirit of India. Be my guest, I'll drive you down to the Taj myself, it is only, 80 km from Aligarh, where I stay.
Looking forward to meeting you in India on your next visit,
Sincerely your,
Zoya

discopants on 27-06-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
You paint a vivid picture with the imagery you use here and captured the romantic essence of the scene.

I haven't visited India yet; I intended visiting a friend who was
working in Delhi for a couple of years but I just didn't get round to doing it and he's now moved on to Colombo.


Author's Reply:
Dear Disco,
But you have won yourself a new friend here on UKA. Please be my guest, come to India, I'll take you to this monument of love, ethereal beauty, a marvel of art and architecture. A shrine where even the most prosaic cannot help feeling poetic.
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

karenuk on 01-07-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
You describe it really well 🙂

Author's Reply:
No, dear Karenuk, I don't! I can not do justice to the delicate beauty in marble, that really glows in the moonlight with an ethereal inner light.
Thanks for the nice comment!
***hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya

Yutka on 02-07-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
your poem is a true invitation to come and see it for oneself, hopefully with a lover who also appreciates the beauty in the moonlight. I hope, one day, Zoya...
Yutka:)

Author's Reply:
Yes, dear Yukta, there is tradition between honeymooners and young lovers to come to the Taj by moonlight hand in hand, and stroll through its many splendid gardens, get themselves photographed in front of this famous shrine of love of delicate and magnificent beauty, a rare feat in marble. Incidentally these days Taj is open to viewers by moonlight...
Come be my guest, I'll take you to the Taj myself.
*Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Dazza on 03-07-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
Dazza writes:
It is your natty combo of lush image and strong sentiment that works
and moves. Dazza

Author's Reply:
Dear Dazza, And it is a zany combination of your appreciation and wit, that moves and shakes.
Thanks a pile for posting this. You really are kind.
**Cyber hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

skinnyscot on 01-09-2006
Taj Mahal by Moonlight
a very beautiful poem. The romance is strong and the imagery powerful.


Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Skinnyscot,
Taj Mahal has always fascinated me, especially by moonlight. Once, I saw it by moonlight in my adolescence, the image has never left me since; it is just gorgeous, divine...
Sincerely,
Zoya


Words of Fire, Writ in Heart's Blood, Over the Surface of Water (posted on: 02-06-06)
''Is it that the ages engulf us and remember us not Save as a name upon a page writ in water in place of ink?'' Kahlil Gibran

Words of fire Written in heart's blood Over surface of water Are mine. Words of nameless desire, Burning with an inner fire, Craving, Longing, Are the names Seen through all the flames. The flames are thine, The names are mine. Words dipped in heart's blood, Colour of smouldering embers, Amber of my molten soul, Anguish of my heart on fire In flames; flames of my life entire… The fire is thine, The ashes mine. Words of love Melt, Words of joy Exult Words of hope Lament, Words of passion Consume, Tinged with compassion, Exhume Mysteries of the past assume An endless dimension. The heart is mine, The blood is thine. The words of life's blood With flames afire, Writ on the surface of water Float Smudge Blur Vanish, Quench Cool Shiver On the water Drift away Sink Ripples Circle around Grow bigger still and Fade, then Slowly Disappear. The Sea is Thine The drowning's mine. Words of fire Written in heart's blood On the surface of water Extinguish Pale Drift Sink Never retrieved again While I Stand on the Shores of Time, Watch, Stare, And despair. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Quote from ''Letters of Fire'', inspired by John Keats' Epitaph: ''Here lies one whose name was writ in water!'' John Keats
Archived comments for Words of Fire, Writ in Heart's Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Abel on 02-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Zoya, what a passionate, intense piece. Love the lines
" The Sea is Thine
The drowning’s mine."

Very, very special work.

Ward


Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Abel dear,
You have made my day!
Yes, sometimes we are seized by these existential questions, like, what next, what will happen to us, our words, is it worth it etc.etc.? The more you think about it the more you despair.
***hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya

sledge on 02-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
This poem is a beautiful creation, Zoya.
Whatever existential questions I ask, the poem exists now, to help me answer them.
Any despairing thoughts I had have been washed away
by this inspiring Sea.
Love, Terry

Author's Reply:
Oh, my Gosh, Sledge!
I couldn't have asked for a better comment. So utterly sweet of you.
I am overwhelmed by your response. Please accept my heartfelt thanks.
***hug***
Love, xxx, Zoya

niece on 03-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Dear Zoya,
Such a lovely poem...the images are truly beautiful...!
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
You are most welcome niece!
Thanks for stepping in to read and comment.
Yes, we do have the anguish of a poet sometimes seize us with all its might!
***hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya

littleditty on 03-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Zoya -this needs reading over and over - i see/agree with your words - perhaps i am The Queen of De-Nile when i reach the end of your thread of ideas and want the last word to be wonderment instead of despair? I will read again and again - thank you xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Dear littleditty,
What a lovely comment that is; a real compliment-upon-compliment of a comment!
Well, I hope it will be 'wonder' in the final analysis, may be your words will come true?
May be we poets will have our voices heard and make a difference to this world, one day? May be, just may be?
***Hugs for that very thought-provoking comment again***
Love, xxx, Zoya

scotch on 04-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
hi Zoya i think this is strong, intense and although short lines it has to be re-read with pathos at end... i'm no expert though scotch

Author's Reply:
dear Scotch,
There could not have been a more expert comment.
Thanks a pile for stopping over and finding time to comment.
Yes, we are some times seizes with anguish as to the out come of our words in the world after...
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Jolen on 06-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
A really emotive piece. Wonderful visuals.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
My dear Jolen,
Thanks a pile for finding time to stop by and read my work.
You don't know, how happy you have made me!
Yeah, we are sometimes seized with this emotion, what next after me? Are our words really worth the passion, time, feelings, heart and soul that we put into them? Or is it that they have no value, no worth, no purpose?
***hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya

RoyBateman on 06-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Really strong - a great gush of emotion, and quite overpowering (though in a good way, obviously) with some really wonderful imagery. The repetition works well, too - overall, a heartfelt and moving poem.

Author's Reply:
Dear Roy,

Thanks a pile for this lovely comment.

Yes, I read it aloud again and again to make sure that the repetition was not too jarring!

**Hugs**

Love, xxx, Zoya

ThePhoenix on 07-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Miss Zoya,

I really really REALLY love this poem, its enchanting, a spell, mesmerizing, its definitely one of my favorites.

Its so emotive, at times I felt sure and resolute floating and then I was dashed upon rocks and drowned by despair.

very good read, thank you very much.

The Phoenix

Author's Reply:
My dear Phoenix,

Your comment in itself reads like a poem,

like honey dew it pours into my ears.

I am overwhelmed by your response,

That the poet's anguish is equally shared by you

Enthralls me true; what can I say in response to your love

But, that May God Bless You!



**hugs**

Love, xxx, Zoya

Dazza on 07-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Su-freakin'-perb! Your best, a beauty! Dazza.

Author's Reply:
My dear Dazza,
Your response is fun-freakin'-tastic!
Thanks a pile for stepping in and finding time to empathize with the anguish of my heart.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

teifii on 23-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Dear Zoya,
I finally got here after being waylaid by others of yours [all good]
having followed the trail from your signature page before replying to
your message on my Tychev poem. This is the best, I think. A favourite
for me. I love the effect of mingling created by the alternating yours
and mine. My really choice bit is:
Writ on the surface of water
Float
Smudge
Blur
Vanish,
Quench
Cool
Shiver
On the water
Drift away
Sink

which somehow paints a perfect picture of the way water swallows
anything, starting with clear visibility and then the smoothness returning
unblemished.
Well deserved nib. Now I can go back and reply to your message.


Author's Reply:
Dear teiffi,
I am so thankful to you for coming and meticulously going through my work. I am so proud of this comment of yours.
Yes, it is every poets anguish, what after me? Will I be remembered, understood or be of any use to man kind, or will my words, my deeds, die with me?
An eternal question, with no answers. Only Time can tell!
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

eddiesolo on 24-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Hi Zoya,

What can I say that hasn't all ready been said.

This is a very strong and emotional piece. Full of moving energy.

Well worthy of the nib and a ten from me.

Si:-)





Author's Reply:
Dear Solo,
I am so overwhelmed by your kind response, that I have no words to thank you.
Please continue reading my work, and keep encouraging me in future as well. I would be most obliged.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Yutka on 27-06-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Zoya, your poem is superb, and you are lovely!

hugs from Yutka:)

Author's Reply:
And you are most kind Yukta,
What can I say except that you indulgence is most appreciated, I am elated.
**Fond hugs**
Love , xxx, Goya

Gerry on 02-07-2006
Words of Fire, Writ in Heart’s Blood, Over the Surface of Water
Zoya, I commented on this poem when it first appeared.
I came back to read it again to find my comment is not there.
C'est la vie. Anyway it proves I liked it--I came back to read it again lol 😉

Gerry xxx'

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry, Thanks a pile for coming back to read a poem, it is so flattering. Your last comment must have got usurped, like a lot of other comments, by the outage.
Any way now we have this one.
***Hugs for being so sweet***
Love, xxx, Zoya


IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE? (posted on: 26-05-06)
Inspired by the worst carnage of one community by the other in the history of Religious Riots in India, since its independence.

Exactly 4 years ago, on the fateful day of 28th Feb.2002; A train, Sabarmati Express, passing through the town of Godra, carrying a group of religious extremist Karsevaks, returning from the disputed religious site in the town of Ayodhya, caught fire; The religious community immediately concluded it was the work of the other religious community; What ensued was the worst carnage in the history of riots in the independent India- '' The post Godra Carnage of Gujarat'' 28th Feb-10th March, 2002, & beyond- Ten thousand people were massacred in a matter of few days; 4-7 thousand had to flee the state… IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE? Birds were chirruping at Dawn. When I woke up to their song, Demons of the nightmares, like spirits, Still hovered on my consciousness. Thousands of bloodthirsty men, Swords and daggers, spears in hands, Swarmed the streets in frenzied mobs, ''Blood!'' they cried, red demon-eyed, Ferocious, beastly, animallike, ''Slash them open. Slice them up. ''Annihilate. Exterminate. ''Spare-not-one!'' Oh, Vengeful hate. ''Our Brothers we will burn today! ''Disrobe our Mothers in the street. '' Rape our Sisters, indiscreet! ''Burn them alive on a funeral-pyre. ''Set every house and hut on fire. ''Bloody Holi we will play! ''Dance the wild Tandov today!'' Blood-curdling cries rose to the sky Like hunted-animals we ran, I, and others of my clan, Helter-skelter, high and low… Blood-splattered bodies strewn on the street, Some were dead, others still struggling to breathe… Terror-stricken, shrieking wildly, Stumbling, tumbling, I ran for my life… The Devils hot in my pursuit, When suddenly, my foot was caught In something warm, and wet and soft. Unconscious, I fell on the ground… When I came to it was dark, Still, quiet, not a sound. The Silence of death reigned all around… Heart in throat with fear I lay Scarcely breathing soiled and frayed…. Perched upon an old Banyan tree, Four vultures eyed me, Waiting for my soul to flee…. Their shrieks woke me from my dream. Birds were singing the selfsame song, Which is the harbinger of Dawn. Was it a nightmare, Or is it true? Why then my soul is troubled so And brews tumult in my bosom? ''Almighty!'' cried my anguished heart, ''Will our troubles e'er be gone? When will the birds sing in a new Dawn? When will peace and love prevail? Our gardens would be Paradise! Oh! When will mankind be that wise?'' Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Holi- festival of colours celebrated in India, marking the advent of summer and beginning of harvesting season. Tandov-Lord Shiva's, (God incarnate of Destruction and Creation in Vedic mythology), impassioned dance of destruction. Please read my journal for more details on Gujarat carnage. http://asianaffairs.com/june2002/images/communalism1.jpg     
Archived comments for IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
Lare on 26-05-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
Hi Zoya...wow...this is very captivating...very emotional...the imagery is so very powerful. You have written this beautifully...your words captured me from the very start and before I realized it I was already at the end...the ending was very well done and your words were very well chosen...everything flowed in a very strong rhythm...very well done, Zoya...so very well done...

Lare


Author's Reply:
Dear Lare, thank so very much for such a heart felt comment. It was not easy writing this. An anticipatory Curfew order was clamped all over India during these communal riots. En-caged within the confines of my house, all I could do was to watch these images being flashed twenty four hours on my TV screen; they haunted me day and night, even visited me in my dreams. It was on literally waking up from such a nightmare one morning when I wrote this poem.
Thanks again for your comment.
love, xxx, Zoya

Gerry on 26-05-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
Zoya. I thought religion was suppose to promote love and harmony. What is wrong with the world? it just goes on and on.
A well written but frightening poem...

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry,
That is the irony of the whole situation; The very religion, that is supposed to bring peace, greatest battles and crusades are, and were, fought in its name. People can go hungry for days together and not utter a word of protest, but try defiling, or even just criticizing their religion- they are immediately up in arms. Then they are merciless in taking their 'revenge'...
Love, xxx, Zoya

Abel on 31-05-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
The power with which you speak is impressive. As I told you earlier, such work is important. You've done it wonderfully here, Doc.

Ward

Author's Reply:
My dear Ward,
It is awfully nice of you to write such highly appreciative comments
on my poem. I am totally speechless.
When human beings become savages they can be worse than animals,
because their brain also gets involved in the savagery.
It is appalling, to say the least.
Ethnic cleansing is the worst kind of Fascism.
Thanks a pile for such a nice comment!
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

sledge on 01-06-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
What an evocation of a ravening, murdering mob! I felt the breathless fear carrying me along.
A strong message indeed Zoya, but who will answer your final questions? A beautifully-written piece on a dreadfully sad subject.
Love, Terry

Author's Reply:
What a heartfelt comment dear Terry, The poem was written during the riots, when I was trapped within the confines of my house and curfew order was clamped all over India. All I could do was to helplessly watch the scenes being flashed live on the TV screen 24 hours a day. Giving me literal Nightmares.
As to the final question, we can only hope. Mankind has yet to learn this lesson.
**hugs**
love, xxx, Zoya

ThePhoenix on 02-06-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
Zoya,

I really liked this poem, the brutality and horror from your perspective it clearly affected you. Individually everyone of those people was a normal, but when xenophobia and the thrall of the mob gets hold of us we run with the pack, we are such disgusting pitiful basic creatures.

do we deserve what we get? do we treat others as we wish to be treated ourselves? to we stand a chance?

thank you for the beautiful poem, I especially liked the pace of it, as though I was actually running from (occasionally with) the mob.

Author's Reply:
It was written during the riots, when I was confined to my house, since an anticipatory curfew order was clamped through out India. These are the real scenes described, just as I witnessed them on the TV screen 24 hours a day. They haunted me at night as well, turning into Nightmares. This was actually written when I woke up from such a nightmare. Reality is sometimes more scary than any nightmare or any fiction or a horror movie, you just have to perceive it.
Man can be the worst savage, when he gets down to it. Even today,just thinking about it turns my stomach.
May be it would be of interest to you to know that, out of those thousands of people only 14 were tried, and recently only two were convicted rest let off, due lack of enough evidence against them. The only lone witness, a young girl, turned hostile three times during the trial, and she was threatened with her life so many times...
thanks for the heartfelt comment. I really and truly appreciate it.

Dazza on 04-06-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
Zoya, you recall a diiferent age of writing, epic, huge scape and in your own way, love Dazza.

Author's Reply:
That, dear Dazza, is a huge compliment, I am not sure I deserve. I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for that.
I really do not know, how to answer that? I write from my heart and whatever touches my soul. I do not consciously follow any particular genre of writing of form of poetry for that matter. I just follow my thoughts.
Thanks a pile again for that very generous comment.
***Hugs***
Love, xxx, Zoya

teifii on 23-06-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
Quite horrific, which is of course what it should be. You have
certainly caught the feel of panic. I think the nib fairy should have noticed
this.
Daff



Author's Reply:
Dear teiffi,
Thanks for the support.
Yes, man can be the worst beast, if he come down to it, because his intellect also goes into it!
What happens in the name of religion, ethnicity, race, can be most appalling, to say the least. Just think of those who actually suffered this; this was only a nightmare with me, but what about those who lived this nightmare? Are still living it! How they are trying to pick up the threads, and trying to start reliving, trying unsuccessfully to forget the trauma and move ahead with their lives, and failing miserably? Whenever I think of them my blood boils. These are the grim realities people are living in today's world; A world, supposedly aware of human rights and keeping Human Rights watch.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

JeffDray on 23-06-2006
IS IT A NIGHTMARE; OR IS IT TRUE?
It's amazing how religion can provoke the most unreligious reactions.
There are fanatics in every religion, until recently in Ireland
so-called Christians would kill each other simply because they didn't
subscribe to the same brand of christianity. I'm a peaceful heathen

Author's Reply:
Yes, dear Jeff,
It really is amazing how people can do just about anything most devilish in the name of religion.
People can quietly bear up with poverty, exploitation, corruption, oppression and suppression, but say a word against religion, and then see how they whip up a frenzy with their emotions? They just leave all their logic and reasoning behind and take up arms against any one who deviates just a bit from the narrow beaten path of conformity and orthodoxy!
Thanks for your very nice and thought provoking comment.
Love, xxx, Zoya


CoLouRs (posted on: 08-05-06)
Pondering over moods that colour our perceptions, I wondered: What, if feelings were colours…

CoLouRs If feelings were colours Then I would colour My Sorrow Blue, My Passion Red, My Happiness Pink My Agony Black My Sadness a Grayish hue My calm Sky-Blue My Envy naturally Green My Jealousy always Yellow The colour of my Peace Would be a Dove-White My Disquiet A mix of Red, Blue and White My Confusion A jumble of all hues My Satisfaction A Turquoise-Blue The colour of my Compassion Fuchsia, just like the flower My Sympathy A molten Golden-Brown My Empathy would be Transparent without a tinge So it could take The hues of other people's feelings The colour of my Anger A frothing Emerald-Green The colour of my Love Sometimes Crimson Sometimes Blue Sometimes Pink Sometimes a Golden hue Sometimes Silver bright As a Moon-lit-Night Sometimes Yellow Sometimes Green And sometimes Black-as-Hell But it's Red I love the best 'Cause it happens to be The colour of my Soul. The colours of my Ecstasy Would be like a Rainbow With a fragrance all its own So sweet I can't describe it. My Hatred is a Jade-Green A shade I have but seldom seen, The colour of my Desire That of a lustrous Sapphire With its hues entire… The colour of my Cravings are like those of Persian Engravings In the town of Astrakhan, The colour of my Shame A Shocking-Pink And my Humility An Ivory-White, Which remains in the background Yet outshines The colour of my Wonder At the magic of the World A Pearly-White, or Lavender. The colour of my Elation Is bubbling like Champagne Yet that of my Serenity A Silver Moon-lit-Night The colour of my Tranquility A Golden Sandy Beach The colour of my Salvation I have yet to Define… Author: Zoya Zaidi Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India
Archived comments for CoLouRs
RoyBateman on 08-05-2006
CoLouRs
What a great idea for a poem...not that it hasn't been used before, but I don't think I've seen the theme so well developed and imaginative before. I particularly liked the Astrakhan and empathy parts - you really conjured up a vivid picture there. This deserves to be widely read, and I hope that it is!

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile my dear Roy, for that very generous remark.To the best of my knowledge, this theme has not been exploited before. I'll let you into a little secret, it was written in one inspirational moment in 10 minutes flat, almost in frenzied fervour, by the time I was through with it, I had a feeling of attaining Nirvana.
**hugs for your support**
Love,
Zoya

niece on 09-05-2006
CoLouRs
Zoya,
Do you paint? Because you've just painted a most lovely picture in my mind with this beautiful poem of yours!
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
How did you guess that, dear niece? Yes, I do paint, but due to my busy schedule do not get enough time to paint full fledged canvasses, therefore satisfy myself by trying to paint word pictures.

Thanks a pile for this very lovely comment.

**Hugs**

Love, xxx, Zoya

Dargo77 on 09-05-2006
CoLouRs
Zoya, I am very turquoise-blue with your poem, and green that I never wrote it.
Regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:
My dear Drago,
I am fragrant with a rainbow on your comment and feel ivory white in the bargain.
**HUGS**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Gerry on 09-05-2006
CoLouRs
Zoya, I enjoyed this very much--it is clear you have a thing with colours 😉
You may be interested to read My post 'Of Physical Stress and Colour.'

Gerry xxx.

Author's Reply:
Dear Gerry, thanks a pile for your invitation, I certainly make it a point to respond to it. I just realized and you might have noticed, feelings like stress, frustration, depression do not appear in my poem, nevertheless I certainly check you poem out.
*Hugs*
Love,xxx, Zoya

teifii on 15-05-2006
CoLouRs
Whew. A rainbow on the page. Really lovely, the best colour poem I've read yet.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Awwwwww! The best comment I have had as yet on my poem! That too coming from a poet par excellence like you, is a compliment indeed. Thanks a pile Daffy, for your kind indulgence and the encouraging remarks.
May I take th liberty of a *hug*?
Love,
Zoya

Abel on 15-05-2006
CoLouRs
The imagery of a true word-painter. Lovely, Doc. Thoroughly enjoyed this piece.

Ward

Author's Reply:
Loads of thanks dear Ward, What a flattering comment! Yeah, this was an inspired piece, I wrote when we were playing a game of 'Name your favorite things"; When it came to colours I just said, it depends on my mood, and thus the poem was born. Funny isn't it how we get inspired in the most unlikely situations.
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

eddiesolo on 21-05-2006
CoLouRs
What a great piece Zoya!

Loved the style of this and I loved that last line.

Well done.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
What a lovely comment dear eddie, That last line is very Indian in concept. Salvation is a feeling, if it can be called that, very akin to the concept of Nirvana; It just came, in fact it had to come, after enumerating every feeling, the last one has to be salvation. Isn't it?

Thanks a pile for the nice comment.

Love, xxx, Zoya

scotch on 04-06-2006
CoLouRs
hi Zoya i feel there is a lot of soul and quite succint style, whether it rambles i'm not sure i must read more of your work...scotch

Author's Reply:
Dear Scotch,
So sweet of you to stop by and read all my work. thanks a pile.
And you are most welcome to go through all my work; In fact nothing would give me more pleasure.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya


Betrayed (posted on: 01-05-06)
Agony of first betrayal is as intense as the ecstasy of first love itself. Your whole world comes crumbling down- it can really break you- only a super human effort can prevent you from succumbing to it. Time, the great healer passes…yet the scars remain…you’re never the same again…

That night you left me, Alone, on the hot desert sands. Earthquake, Thunder, Lightening, Raging storms; Cracking, Crumbling Walls, Shaking the very foundations of my soul. Deep gaps, Chasms, Schisms, Un-breachable, Un-broachable, Persist, Gaping wounds Oozing sores Exist. Even today. Time seeps through, Unable to Breach the gaps, Repair the wounds, While Deep within the bowels of My Earth-being A hot furnace rages Molten Lava seethes. Ask not Look not deep into my eyes Peep not into my soul Touch not my brow Wet not my lips... Let the dormant Vesuvius be. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
Archived comments for Betrayed
niece on 02-05-2006
Betrayed
Zoya,
This is lovely! And such a heart-breaker...the more I read it the more I like it...Beautiful!
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece, so sweet of you to stop by and find time to comment. A broken heart is a broken heart! The more intense the love the deeper the wound of betrayal, the longer it lasts, the deeper the scars. Well I am sure you have experienced it too; who hasn't? You know what I mean?


***Hugs***


Love,


Zoya

Jen_Christabel on 02-05-2006
Betrayed
This is beautifully executed and really touches the heart.
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:
Hi, Jennifer,
What comes from the heart, goes to the heart.
And when the heart breaks, out comes an anguished cry, loud and clear!
*Hugs* for that lovely comment.
Love,
Zoya

BlueyedSoul on 06-05-2006
Betrayed
Hello dear Zoya, stopped by to give you support, not that you need it...you words stand on their own. As always, beautiful to read you, a blessing to know you, and an inspiration to my soul on a day when I am so very vulnerable to such wounds as this....amazing you are my dear.

~BlueyedSoul

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Cindy darling, I could do with a bit of a support to day. You're always so kind to me a true friend indeed. May God bless you.

***Hugs***

Love, xxx, Zoya

Abel on 18-05-2006
Betrayed
I had missed this one...your voice is clear and strong (even with the vulnerability that resulted from the hurt) on this, your heartbreak true. Wonderfully spoken, Z.

Ward

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile, dear Abel,
And yet, here I stand exposed before you, do not judge me too harshly...
Time the great healer passes, and like all chronic ailments, the wound loses its intensity and becomes blunt and the edges...but the scars remain...
**hugs for that beautiful understanding**
love, xxx, Zoya

scotch on 08-06-2006
Betrayed
powerful words succint style..scotch

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Scotch,

When heart breaks, it breaks silently, no body hears, nobody sees, and yet it shatters you completely from inside. And the world goes on... You wake up from such a nightmare and wonder: "How come, world is the same, while I am nothing of what I was. My world's completely changed; Shattered to pieces!!! And yet the outside world goes on...?"

Thanks a pile for that heartfelt comment!

I am much obliged!

**Hugs**

Love, xxx, Zoya

teifii on 23-06-2006
Betrayed
3)The comment on "Betrayed":
UKAuthors member teifii

...has posted a comment under your
submission titled -- Betrayed
at http://ukauthors.com/article16210.html

teifii writes:
Just came to this while looking for Words of Fire. It's very good IMHO
- excellent sustained metaphor. I like the precarious feel of
'Deep within
the bowels of
My Earth-being
A hot furnace rages
Molten Lava seethes. '
Daff


Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Daff for posting this.
Yes, agony of first betrayal is as intense as the ecstasy of first love itself; there is no doubt about that. We love, are betrayed, suffer and then again love after sometime, each time hoping fore the best. But there is no feeling akin to ecstasy of first love or the agony of its betrayal. It is never the same again...
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya


Nocturne (posted on: 28-04-06)
New Year’s Eve, driving down from Delhi…Memories, dreams, desires and fantasies intermingle conjuring up images in the fog…

Nocturne Thick fog Silent night Moon is shining bright, You and I on a high Road to eternity. Time is lost in the mist, Cradled, rocked to sleep. The mist gently casts a spell on us in its wake and we get the feeling of being suspended in Time and Space By Moonbeam bathed. You're silent I do not speak a word. Silence reigns between us, Heartbeats hear each other, Breaths, whispers intermingle. I close my eyes, I hold my breath, I feel you with my soul, and Magic is held between us... Dewdrops condense The windscreen sweats Lips are sealed Silence speaks, Hearts communicate Time is Mesmerized: Moments stretch into Eternity Our souls compose a Nocturne. Author: Zoya Zaidi Aligarh (UP), India Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi Poetic translation of my Urdu poem: ''Kohre ki Chaader". Alas! Most of it is lost in translation!
Archived comments for Nocturne
niece on 28-04-2006
Nocturne
Zoya,
If most of it is lost in translation, I can't imagine how lovely your Urdu poem must be...! A beautiful romantic poem...espeically loved the way you've played around with the double meaning of "Nocturne"!
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece,
Urdu, in my opinion, is the language of poetry, next to Persian only in its richness and beauty of poetic expression. My mother and aunt (both arguably the most accomplished living poets of Urdu in the subcontinent) don't even consider ever writing poetry in English. I usually always feel my translations are inadequate, original always sounds better, so I don't indulge in exercises often. But sometimes, you know...
Thanks a pile for your appreciation dear Niece, the play of the double meaning of 'Nocturne' is intentional by the way.
((((Hugs))))
Love, xxx, Zoya

teifii on 28-04-2006
Nocturne
Well, all I can say is that if most of it was lost, the original must have been amazing. Wish I could read Urdu. Welcome to UKA. You look like being an excellent addition.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile my dear Teiffii, you are a translator par excellence, you know how it is to translate and yet retain the essence of the original, but I have tried, and since it is my own poem, no one is complaining, except may be the inevitable three, I me and myself?

This surrealistic poem is really an inspired piece of poetry, the original, I'll let you into the secret, is quite dear to my heart.

Thanks again for you kindness.

Love and respects,

Zoya

Jen_Christabel on 28-04-2006
Nocturne
If it is lost in translation, the original must be even better :o)
Great write.
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jennifer,
I am happy you liked my poem. It is extremely kind of you to step in and find time to go through my work.
Love,
Zoya

Hazy on 28-04-2006
Nocturne
Well done on your 'nib', Zoya!

The second and third stanzas of your poem were my fave, the imagery was great!

Welcome, indeed!

Hazy x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Hazy, you Nome de Plume so beautiful; Surreal!
I love to paint word pictures and tell stories, imagery always comes handy in such situations. Should be posting more such poems in future.
I hope you will continue to enjoy my poems in future too?
Cheerio!
Love,
Zoya

Bradene on 30-04-2006
Nocturne
What a beautifully written poem lots of magic imagery and atmosphere. Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a lot Val, for that beautiful reply. I am happy you like the imagery, about the magic, what can I say, must be the magic of the moment, I was in...
**hugs**
love, Zoya

Sunken on 30-04-2006
Nocturne
Hello young Zoya. You have a lovely way with words. More lovely even than my favorite washing up powder (Persil Automatic - the one that doesn't fade colours). I hope that this comment finds you in positions relative to typing and that the work you conjure up is of the same high quality as 'Nocturne'. Well done on your nib, it really suits you. Thanks.

s
u
n
k
e
n

his favorite light-bulb is the 60 watt (standard bayonet fitting/pearl effect glass)

Author's Reply:
Thanks young Sunken,
You have hit the right octave with your comment and struck a right cord on the piano of my heart, I am singing away to my next poem.
Hope to find you at gate of the concert hall dressed in your tuxedo to applaud and cheer me...
**hugs** for that detergent effect, I hope the colours of my creativity won't run away with your soap...
Love,
Zoya

Dargo77 on 30-04-2006
Nocturne
Zoya, enjoyed your poem. Look forward to reading more of your work.
Regards,
Dargo

Author's Reply:
Dear Drago,
I am extremely happy to know that you enjoyed my poem. Thanks a pile for that.
Sincerely yours,
Zoya

Abel on 22-05-2006
Nocturne
I don't know how I missed this one, Doc. Beautiful, vivid descriptions of a few moments from a night-ride. So well delivered. I'd love to hear you read the Urdu version, to hear the alternate rhythm. How could it be better than this, though? 🙂

Best,
Ward

Author's Reply:
My dear Ward,
Thanks a pile for that very flattering remark.
Urdu is such a beautiful language, in fact it is the language of poetry, in its lyricism it is next to only Persian, its words fall like honey dew on your ears when a poem is well recited. I haven't yet got a hang of the audio facility here, otherwise may be I'll recite the "Nocturne" in Urdu as well as in English.
Thanks again.
**hugs**
Love,
Zoya

scotch on 04-06-2006
Nocturne
i like this best of the 3 i've commented on hope to see more ...scotch

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Scotch to be kind enough to give so much time to my work.
And please see more, in fact all my poems, the pleasure would me entirely mine. In fact it would be an honour to have you comment on my work.
looking forward to see more of you here on my page.
You are most welcome, in fact eagerly awaited.
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

Yutka on 05-06-2006
Nocturne
I can feel the passion in your heart when you write these words, Zoya.
What is lovlier than being mesmerized when:

Moments stretch into Eternity
Our souls compose a Nocturne.

I am still listening to your "tunes", even after they have finished.
Will you read the urdu version for us?
lots of love from Yutka:)




Author's Reply:
My dear Yukta,
What a lovely commentator you make. I can see you are as good a critic, as you are a poet.
I am so happy to sing a song for you that lingers even after I am gone, I am reminded of song in Hindi:
"Meree Aawaz hee pahchaan hai, gar yaad rahe" ("My voice is my quintessence, only if you can remember it.")
As for the audio, I haven't yet tried it out, but I could send you the original in Achriya, if you want? or Roman, if you don't know Hindi? Do you?
**hugs**
I so happy you came to my page!
Love, xxx, Zoya

scotch on 08-06-2006
Nocturne
hi Zoya yeah it's strong stuff like when you meet someone special and know with a look, a chemistry... scotch

Author's Reply:
Exactly dear Scotch,
With that someone special, yearnings, cravings, desires, fantasy, dreams, and reality, lose their distinction, at such moments only the magic remains and Time is mesmerized...Only the Nocturne of souls plays in the hearts...'Sigh!'
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

discopants on 27-06-2006
Nocturne
Hi Zoya. You've created an atmospheric piece- the moon, the mist and the dewdrops mingled together with the connection between the characters themselves works very well.

As for your comment earlier about not being satisfied with the English translation, I think it's partly because you're so familiar with the original piece in its original language. I would draw this analogy- whenever a song I like is covered/performed by another artist, I always prefer the original, almost disregarding the merits of the new version
because the original is *my* version. Hope that makes sense!



Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Disco, for that very beautiful comment.
The surrealistic atmosphere is created deliberately, as that is how we exactly feel in mist-surreal!
And I think you are right about one always preferring the first version. But, it is partly because Urdu gives in beautifully to poetry, it is a language made for poetry, everything sounds so beautiful in it, even the spoken language is lyrical.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya


THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers (posted on: 21-04-06)
Children are easy to boss over, force into labour, terrorize into submission, and cajole into exploitation, because they are vulnerable, weak, unable to protect themselves, naïve, gullible, and most of all, totally ignorant of their rights as citizens of this world, and inheritors of our tomorrow.

THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers There is hardly a place on this earth, or an era in history, where child-labour does, or did not exist. In India alone, the officially estimated figures, stand at a shocking 12, 5 million in the age group of four, to fourteen and this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are Carpet-Weavers of Mirzapur, Tea Plantation workers of Darjeeling, Zari workers of Banaras, Embroidery labourers in Delhi, Lock Factory workers of Aligarh, Silver Needle factory workers, match factory workers … the list goes on and children are employed everywhere, for a meager salary, and sometimes for free, under the pretext of being apprentices; working day in and day out, being scolded, kicked, and beaten into submission, and labour, often beyond their capacity. It is hard not to be appalled by this situation. THE CARPET WEAVERS He breathes the fibre That he weaves with ease Into a carpet of sheer beauty. The carpet will adorn the floor Of those who trample it Under their feet. The fibre settles in his lungs, In a pattern, quite similar To the one he weaves. It cannot be seen, it's heard In his every wheezing breath. He weaves his childhood Into that carpet, His dreams into its pattern, His blood and sweat into Each and every knot, His soul into its warmth. He weaves his heart Into each flower, His freedom into the wings of every bird in flight, His blood colours every rose, His sweat the yellow of each lily. His innocence he weaves Into the softness of each bud, His nights are in the blackness Of the background. Where do his tears go? They dry-up as he begins to grow. Old and haggard Long before his time His skin, no longer soft Like the delicate carpet, But rough and torn. A rug Trampled by Time. When next you step                                                 On such a carpet, Please, remember him, That little boy, His childhood might be Woven into it… Author: Zoya Zaidi                                             Aligarh (UP), India                                             Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi Note: The carpet-fibres get deposited into the lungs, causing pneumoconiosis, a form of interstitial fibrosis of the lungs.
Archived comments for THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Sunken on 21-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Hello Ms. Zoya. Isn't it warm? Welcome to Uka and huge congratulations on posting a thought provoking and extremely well written piece.

s
u
n
k
e
n

sponsored by gary barlow

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile Sunken,
It is awfully encouraging of you to appreciate my work. Feels good on the first day. Well, these children are ill treated to say the least. In a recent Raid in Delhi Zari units, ten children were hurdled in to a hole, hardly the size of a large box, to avoid detection by the police. They were nearly suffocated in there before they could be rescued. Needless to say that we are still far from implementing the law against Child Labour. According to the Child labour laws in India, including the 1986 Child Labour (Prohibition and Regulation) Act, the policy of the government is to ban employment of children below the age of fourteen years in factories, mines and hazardous employment. Ironically, this law is broken everyday, everywhere by millions.
Humanity still has to learn a lot.
Zoya

niece on 21-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Hi Zoya,
A hard-hitting and powerful poem! You hear a lot about child labour in the media, but, Zoya, you've managed to tell us something they never could...
Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece,
When you see the exploitation of these children everywhere from up close, with a poets heart, you describe it with your soul. Reading about it in News papers just cannot have that kind of an effect. Every day I helplessly watched children working at Car Mechanic, Tailor, Tea-vendor, and Retailer’s shops, working day in and day out, being scolded, kicked, and beaten into submission, and labour, often beyond their capacity. It can be very disturbing to say the least.

Kat on 22-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Hi Zoya

You are indeed creating a much needed awareness by sharing your lovely work. I really enjoyed reading this well-written and moving piece and will keep a look out for more.

All the best

Kat :o)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat for that very thoughtful remark of yours.
Awareness is indeed very necessary. The plight of these children is indeed appalling, with very poor working conditions. Though there is law against Child Labour, but it is broken by millions every day in India. Thank you for that kind heart of yours.
Love,
Zoya

littleditty on 23-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Well done - well written - Zoya -i have sent your ukapage to a friend who wants to a do a project with photography/words and kids in india- xxxlittleditty x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile littleditty,
It is awfully nice of you to appreciate my work, it is very encouraging, since this is my first post. I belong to Aligarh, one of the towns mentioned above, and have some first hand photos of these children at work, which I could send to your friend, ask her to email me, it would be real pleasure to interact with her on the plight of these children. And yes you are most welcome to send the page to her.
Love, and best wishes,
Sincerely, Zoya

shackleton on 23-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Very moving poem, Zoya. I felt the anguish of every stitch made by that child, through your words. There's a terrible price being paid for the world's growing affluence. Your poem shouts out on behalf of every child labourer. Welcome to UKA - keep writing! Take care now.

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Shackleton, it is very kind of you to step by to read my poem on the plight of these children. I will heed your advise and post in near future the rest of the poems under this series, this is the First of the poems written under the common heading of "Children of a Lesser God-Bonded Labourers". That they work under very appalling condition is putting it mildly, they are being robbed off their childhood and health, and made to live a life of deprivation and poverty is something which can make every human heart bleed. Thanks for your empathy.
Sincerely, Zoya

BlueyedSoul on 25-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Zoya, my dear friend, you are brilliant!

~BlueyedSoul

Author's Reply:
Thanks, my dear Blueyed soul, you are really very kind.

Take care,

Love,

Zoya

Apolloneia on 25-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
I think it's a very well written poem! I give a ten to 'that little boy' that spoke through your poem so loud and clear..

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Apolloneia, for stopping by to read my poem. It indeed is encouraging since this is my very first post.
Yes, the plight of these children is indeed very very poor. They are often forced by their own parents to work, because of extreme poverty. They succumb to disease and occupational hazards, very early in life.
Love,
Take care,
Zoya

Abel on 25-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Oh my, Doc, this is a brilliant, thought provoking piece...what shall we do? You are a gift to the UKA, thanks for sharing this with us.

Ward

Author's Reply:
Awww Abel , what can I say,
You take my breath away,
Shower me with your praise
I am sure I do not deserve,
Thanks a pile is all I can say
I am so overwhelmed today!

Thanks again for your kindness.
Love,
Zoya


pencilcase on 26-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Hello Zoya,

Your poem has a clear and important message. I particularly like...

He weaves...
His freedom into the wings
of every bird in flight,

This is a strong and central image, at the heart of the poem, and in keeping with the overall theme, but which also provokes thought about the ironic hypocrisy of the (maybe beautiful) end-product versus the situation from which it arose.

I also like...

His nights are in the blackness
Of the background.

Now that's a really good way of putting it.

Steve



Author's Reply:
Thanks Steve for that very, very reflective comment, particularly because it shows you have taken your valuable time off, to not only read, but reflect deeply as well on this already very grave reality of life. Yes, you are perfectly right, that is the idea, to make people realize what goes into the making of a piece of decoration for the opulent. The juxtaposition of the beauty of the carpet against the child's life-blood is deliberate to high light the irony of the whole situation.
Thanks again for this very poignant comment. I am really touched as I feel deeply for these children.
Love,
*Hugs*
Zoya

Bradene on 26-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
I finally got around to reading this thought provoking piece without being interrupted again. What a revelation. So well written and with such sincerity too. I congratulate you and look forward to reading more of your work Welcome to UKA Love Val x

Author's Reply:
Tanks a pile Val,
It is indeed very kind of you to find time to read my poem.
I really feel deeply for these unhappy children, who don't get a childhood, earning their whole family's livelihood, and losing their health and childhood in the bargain.
Thanks again,
*Hugs*
Love,
Zoya

teifii on 28-04-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Excellent poem Zoya. The message can't be given one time too many. But it is also well constructed. To my mind so much free verse reads just like chopped prose but this has real rhythm. It reads aloud really well.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile, Daff,
That coming from you is a real compliment. Especially the bit about rhythm. My mother, who is an Urdu poet, always says, in free verse the internal rhythm is very important. A lot of people in Urdu, also write 'prose poetry' in the name of free verse, she thinks it is not honest poetry.
Tanks again teifii, for this very, very, encouraging and heart warming comment.
***Hugs***
Love,
Zoya

zenbuddhist on 03-05-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
As a father of an eight year old boy...I absolutely understand , children look to adults for love and protection...ther is no excuse for exploitation and cruelty......you got to me emotionly with this excellent poem....cheers Z

Author's Reply:
Children should get a childhood, as their human right. But there are 12 million children in India alone who are forced to work as child labourers, that too in subhuman conditions at times. I work for rescue of these children and also create the much needed awareness.

Thanks a pile for going through my work.

*Hugs*

Love,

Zoya

Ionicus on 03-05-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
A very poignant and thought provoking poem.
I find difficult to choose a favourite stanza: they are equally forceful and each one a gem.
An excellent debut and worthy of the 'Great Read' label.
Love, Luigi x.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Luigi, for that very encouraging comment. It means a lot to me, and urges me to go on penning.
These children do need a voice and support of some sort. If nothing else, I can at least create the much needed awareness.
Thanks again for stepping in, it was awfully nice of you..
Love, Zoya

eddiesolo on 21-05-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Very powerful piece and well written.

I see this has been nibbed and so it deserves to be.

Take care.

Si:-)

Author's Reply:
Dear Eddie,
It is so kind of you to stop by and have a look at my texts, it is really much appreciated.
Yes, this is written with a lot of compassion, love and anguish toward these unfortunate children, who actually never get a childhood. You can imagine, what twisted personalities they would be grow up with, that is if they really reach maturity,
and do not die a premature death.
*Hugs*
Zoya

Zoya on 22-05-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Dear Eddie,
It is so kind of you to stop by and have a look at my texts, it is really much appreciated.
Yes, this is written with a lot of compassion, love and anguish toward these unfortunate children, who actually never get a childhood. You can imagine, what twisted personalities they would be grow up with, that is if they really reach maturity,
and do not die a premature death.
*Hugs*
Zoya

Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 01-06-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Thanks for directing me to this, Zoya - it is indeed a powerful and moving piece of work that leaves one searching for words strong enough to match the subject. We tend to look upon child labour as something from the past, that Victorian philanthropists gradually eradicated...but obviously that's not so everywhere. You've done well to remind us that child labour, like slavery, actually still exists and needs tackling head-on. An important piece of writing!

Author's Reply:
Thanks a pile dear Roy, to take time out to read this. Yes, child labour not only exists but thrives(hate to use the word, but it is true), even today. This coupled with malnourishment and starvation and premature death for children , makes my anguished heart cry out for these young ones who don't get a childhood at all.
**Hugs for eliciting your support**
Love, xxx, Zoya

scotch on 05-06-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
wonderful writing it transported me to the spot in India where life is so tough... a favourite from scotch

Author's Reply:
My dear Scotch,
Life for these children is so tough.
They need every heart, that can beat for them.
They need every soul, that can sigh for them.
They need every brain, that can think for them.
They need every human being who can help them, support them, feel for them.
Thanks dear Scotch, for the most compassionate comment.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

CVaughan on 06-06-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
Zoya - just read this, first of your's I have read, as you suggested I might. Well am so impressed by your astute weaving of your subject material into this effusive material. It is important the content and deserves to be seen and appreciated by yet more people than on UKA imo. Have you disseminated it anywhere in the areas where people could use it in campaigning? I think you should. This is so sad, what you portray and something we rich Weterners don't even know or think about ( I'm not rich BTW but am compared to the poor children of your poem). I shall PM you if I may about further thoughts on this Zoya - regards - Frank 11 oo 10 from me oh well maximum anyway!


Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Vaughan for taking time out to step in, and not only go through my work but comment so generously.
May God bless your kind and compassionate heart!
Though we have a law in India against child labour, but sadly enough it is broken every day, every where, all the time...
This is first of the series of five poems on these children, each describing a separate industry where these bonded labour children are exploited. I should be posting the other poems by and by- had to split them into three posts due to the short attention span problem with net users.
About spreading it, I really am not good at that, but, may be you can help me there with some suggestions on how it can be done?
Thanks a pile again for the heartening comment.
**Hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya

redlobster on 08-06-2006
THE CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD, Bonded Labourers
You painted such a vivid picture with the words.

His skin, no longer soft
Like the delicate carpet,
But rough and torn. A rug
Trampled by Time

Amazing how people treasure a possession so much more than a life. A really powerful poem

Author's Reply:
Yes, this poem is meant to shake people out of their smugness.
If you look at these children, it is heart-rending, they even have an adult expression on their faces, shorn of all childish innocence...
Thanks a pile for this very heart-felt comment dear red.
**hugs**
Love, xxx, Zoya