Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Sonnet for Karbala

I call out from the grand mosque's slim minaret,
"Allahu Akbar, faithful come to prayer"
At Karbala, site of the Imam's slaughter,
Where Muslims come to repent their sins, regret.
But is our ancient, austere religion yet
Ours to practice, free from haunting fear?
For I'm afraid, on the streets walks a slayer,
He rules the land with machine gun and bullet.

From the time when Baghdad was founded by flames,
The chants of prayer have merged with those of death,
It was not enough that one Hussein had bled.
Greeks, Mongols, Americans shall press their claims,
Fools shed blood in this land until their last breath,
Iraq shall come to peace, when all men are dead.

(a-b-b-a-a-b-b-a c-d-e-c-d-e)

Thursday, May 14, 2009

The Capital Sonnet

It's said when stubborn it is strong,
Thus swollen it will pick a fight.
Buried in sand it knows no wrong,
That's when it is not screwed on right.

When it's in love, it's over heels,
No sense can be drilled in at all.
It will claim none knows what it feels,
Till the rest bang theirs on a wall.

At times of pride it is held high,
Yet it must roll when fault is found.
It's the seat of reason but why
Do pretty faces turn it round?

The sanctum of our existence,
Yet bodyless, it makes no sense.

(a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g)

Saturday, May 09, 2009

Variant of Kosovo Polje

Who stood at Kosovo Polje?
Who heard the guns at Waterloo?
Who remembers those days today,
To bear the rancour this day too?

Who won, who lost at Panipat:
What's true and what is forgery?
None alive really would care but
For some cheap rag of history.

The writer's pen captures in ink,
The time we were meant to forget.
We read much but we do not think,
And contrived hatred we beget.

The last who remember are dead
We rush to take their place instead.

(a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g)

Friday, May 08, 2009

Kosovo Polje

Who stood at Kosovo Polje?
Who heard the guns at Waterloo?
Who remembers those days today,
To bear the rancour this day too?

The writer's pen captures in ink,
The time we were meant to forget.
We read much but we do not think,
And contrived hatred we beget.

None lives who saw the mad work done.
But mention an imagined past,
None hesitate to pick a gun
And swear to defend to the last.

The last who remember are dead
We rush to take their place instead.

(a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g)