I Do Not

I do not see, 

what others see,

In shallow depths and vain facades,

But only seek to see,

How the smallest of cogs fit into

this miracle of an existence

I do not hear, 

what others hear,

When shouts ring out in the silence

But only strain to hear,

The sounds of the individual lost,

In the crowds at the retreat

I do not smell,

what others smell,

The odours of our daily existence,

But only savour the smell,

Of people and flowers,

Of a different reality.

I do not feel,

what others feel,

As they stumble on in life,

But only seek to feel,

The sand papered reality,

That my mind creates.

I do not taste,

what others taste,

As they walk through this world,

But only try to taste,

The bitter flavour of emotions,

Crushed under people’s feet.

By Syed Ashraf Husain

PS - another of the poems I have started writing searching for a deeper meaning

I am not fascinated

I am not fascinated
by big names and lofty titles and
long runs after things that are illusionary.
But to fascinate me
tell me your heart’s desires
and where do you yourself want to be .

I am not fascinated
by yatches, watches , gadgets and
all the one thousand one glittery things around.
But to fascinate me
tell me how you looked inside
and realized that not every jewel you desire .

I am not fascinated
by drunk nights, hungover mornings and
the new names for the ancient drinks.
But to fascinate me
tell me about deep thoughts in high moments
and what you still remembered the morning after .

I am not fascinated
by beauty , fashion, and
all other things that will be gone tomorrow.
But to fascinate me
tell me did the beauty also have a heart
and were the depths of her intellect really deep.

I am not fascinated
by shamans , mystics and
the one hundred one teachers for hire.
But to fascinate me
tell me was the mystic's jounrney just for himself
and all guidance to others a freely given gift .

I am not fascinated
by your conquest of weaker souls and
all the rest that is external to you.
But to fascinate me
tell me did you conquer you own soul
and finally leave your ego by the roadside .

I am not fascinated
by who did you love and
who did you betray.
But to fascinate me
tell me of the pain when the beloved left
and silence that you heard in the beloved’s absence .

I am not fascinated
by tales of crushes, fantasies and
a dozen shades of lust.
But to fascinate me
tell me did you really love the beloved
and was that love pure enough to be called love.

Syed Ashraf Husain ' दाग़ ' ' ڈاگ ' 

P.S. Sometimes I cant write poetry for days and sometimes I finish a whole poem in 30 minutes flat. Its always how heavy the heart is.

The Edge

I shall walk to the edge of the cliff,
Muse and stare deep into the chasm,
And maybe for the first time I will shout out loud,
In the darkness that rises from the abyss,
Your name and the songs of your beauty.

The pilgrim cannot walk forever through the desert,
The wanderer will sometimes come back to a familiar place,
Sounds of glee ripple in deserted buildings too,
And as the same story repeats through all of history,
The ill in love sometimes shout the beloveds name.

As I travel through a city of strangers,
Of closed doors and windows with dark shades,
In the silence and desolation of the abyss,
I will shout out your name in the wilderness,
Again and again like a madman incarnate,
And maybe the sounds will drag away with them,
All my emotions and the intoxication of your name.

For all of humanity it’s the curse of Adam and Eve,
For as they were banished from the gardens of heaven,
It seemed God also sent along his wrath till the end of time,
A hundred emotions of joy but a thousand flavours of misery,
And even today when a man wakes up drowning in the blues,
Its the curse of Adam and Eve coursing through his every breath

As I stare into the abyss of dark emotions,
And as the abyss stares back at me,
Maybe for once I could see eye to eye ,
With twisted fate and the paradox of desire’s,
And the poet in me could just laugh and laugh,
At the vagaries of time.

By Ace
PS- I wrote this poetry sometime back inspired by the darkness of a dark dark day. I experimented with an alternating style where stanza's alternate between a macro and micro picture. Example the first stanza is about me but the next one talks in general of philosophy

Something about her

Another Haiku :P

"Its something about her,
Magical, mysterious, beautiful, elegant and heavenly,
That Every time I see her , I fall for her again."

Postscript- Its the tragedy of our lives being unable to see the woods for the trees. Of feeling lonely in a crowd. But thats us!!

Haiku

Her long tresses like beautiful thunder clouds,
Frequently tied back yet when free
Cascade around her shimmering like visions of paradise.

PS This is a line I have been trying to pen for three days. Still haven't perfected but Haiku makes you choose what to say. As of now I could write an epic on the dark tresses.

poetry

As you stare right through me.

Love is an illusion, a myth,

Its all compromises I shouted,

I have had my chances with love,

This heart ain't falling for anyone again,

Love is an illusion, a myth.

Its easy to break hearts,

Hearts of stone or hearts of broken glass,

The poet nurses all his wounds in silence,

But poetry flows out unabated,

The emotions need a release after all

I shout in the silence of the times,

The emptiness of dark nights,

Railing against the travesty of life,

That yet again I fall for someone,

A someone who stares right through me

I immortalize you through poetry,

Yet broken verses reveal no names,

And as you smile at the world,

I just keep gazing at you,

As I can't see anyone prettier around.

If you could be mine, 

I would walk along till the end of time,

Make you the heroine of epic tales,

Partner in stories of legendary fun,

Lazy days, busy days, rainy days ,sunny days

But you are also the heart breaker,

Pretending not to see the obvious, 

When I hang onto every word you say,

 For the most painful thing is seeing you,

Oblivious as you stare right through me,
Like I am a ghost who isn't even there..

Love-IS IT WORTH IT ALL!!

I have in my writings and poems long debated about the existence of love; at times doubted it, some other times accepted it, at moments slandered its power but have most of the time been simply awed and dazed by an emotion so strong;humbled by the strength it endows a person.

Indeed perhaps one of the best kept secrets in modern day H.R. texts is that there is no stronger motivation than love or its antithesis -hate. Love has the strength to drive us further than we believed possible. In the name of love generations before us and generations after us will continue to make unbelievably altruistic sacrifices. So the company that can create love within its employees for itself, has gained a band of loyal followers that will stick behind it like a rock. But to create that love is supremely difficult and that is why strategies such as this are not thought for employees. Maximum HRs could hope for a sense of belonging and loyalty.

The anti thesis hate is a dark emotion that can equally stir up deep feelings. Indeed if love is an emotion that can make us do good, hate can make us do the biggest wrong. But enough. This post is about love and hate shall be added to the list of potential future topics.

Anyway the paradox is this most cultures value love but in many cultures love can often be forbidden and a sin in some forms. As a person who broke his heart and from the broken pieces found poetry flowing, love is a central theme. Also as an Indian where love is celebrated and cheered by the societies in the movies but when a guy goes around with a girl in real life, it is frowned upon. Indeed India is a land where arranged marriages are seen by parents as a duty to their wards and love marriages are a immoral, corrupting force destroying society.

But we are humans and our emotions are not in control. As a poet put it
" Aag ka kya hai pal do pal mein lagti hai,
Bujhte bujhte ek zamaana lagta hain."
(love is like a fire which can flare up in a moments but to die out or extinguish it takes a hole era)

Anyway my question is this does magical love exists. In fact have a look at "Walk The Line", a biopic movie about the singers Johnny Cash and June Cash. They were married to others when they met, johnny won her over after a lot of efforts and they were happily married for 35 years raising kids, playing music and died withing three months of each other. Is not that love that can be envied.

So does love matter and does true love exists

Another year wanders by

Another year wanders by,

The dust swirls in the wind,

Confused rain moistens random evenings,

I see the familiar all around,

And yet I can't recognize the streets.

The world's going round and round,

And round and round and round,

And suddenly I see the familiarity,

For in a hazy flash I realize,

I have been here before.

The darkness claws at the light,

I can see the shadows at the back of my mind,

I want to close my eyes,

Hear the sounds, feel the shackles,

But I wonder what if the darkness waits,

Only for a moment like that.

To those who have closed their eyes,

Its all gone,

Now just follow the crowd,

But I could never shut my mind,

Questioning, wondering, musing, imagining

Its easy to sit back,

To watch life culminate at its pace,

But I must hope, fight persevere and believe,

For I want the shadows, the dazzles,

The sugars, the limes,

The almonds, the raisins,

The dates, the apples,

All those flavours, the wines,

Even from the grapes of wrath.

The FeelingSeason of blues

Its the season of blues,
I heard the wind say,
As it swirled up the dust,
And tugged at the drying leaves,
End of stay on the branch,
As now is the season of gloom,
The coming of the end,
Of all we see around

There will be new dawns,
New seasons,
Spring and autumns,
But people forget ,
Those will be another year,
Another time,
But the present would have long,
Been vanquished to dust.

In the lonely season of blues,
Everyone survives in isolation,
Loneliness in a crowd,
Maladies with no cures,
There is a numbing within,
A disconnect with the world,
Feelings,
Bottled up emotions

Feelings that are not felt,
Emotions seemingly absent,
Near yet so far,
There is no grief,
No tears, no cries,
In this season of the Blues,
Yet a weight hangs,
All around,
Everywhere

From tha archives-nahin,ek ghazal

Beyond my poetry and prose in English, I have also occasionally dabbled in writing poetry in Hindi, or o be more specific ghazals(Hindi and Urdu for a large part of history was the same language written in different scripts). This ghazal(the first one I ever completed) does not really adhere to traditional rhyme and meter. Thats why I call my blog disjointed verses.

By the way, I use the takhallus,(poetic pseudonym) Daag . Urdu poetry has this tradition that the poet in the last sher(stanza refers back to himself in the third person).

There is a story behind this ghazal and indeed there is a theme that connects all the ghazals I have written till now(I have written so less that its possible). But that story of solitude and loneliness is another blog post. This ghazal was part of my second year of engineering magazine(around three and a half years old.) Time flows.

Nahin, ek ghazal

Usne mujhe aashiq kahke taal diya,magar
Baat mein uski ek jaadu tha jo main rootha bhee nahin.

Kehti hai khel hain sab,magar mujhe bataaye woh aaj
Aag agar idhar hai to kya dhuan udhar nahin.

Ye khumar nahin suroor hai tera kya bataaon tumhe,
main tere ishq mein yun dooba ki jaaga hi nahin.

Main uske do isharon mein hee sab samajh jaata hoon,
Woh teen lafzon mein bhee kyun haal bata paati nahin.

Wahi meri munsif hai, wahi meri qaatil bhee,
Mere ishq ke haq mein phaisla degi ya nahin.

'Daag', jal rahee hai ek ghazal seene mein,
Arz karta hoon baar-baar, phir bhee kyun bujhtee nahin.

Syed Ashraf Husain 'Daag'

नहीं, एक ग़ज़ल

उसने मुझे आशिक कहके ताल दिया,मगर
बात में उसकी एक जादू था जो मैं रूठा भी नहीं |

कहती है खेल हैं सब,मगर मुझे बताये वोह आज
आग अगर इधर है तो क्या धुआं उधर नहीं |

ये खुमार नहीं सुरूर है तेरा क्या बताओं तुम्हे,
मैं तेरे इश्क में यूँ डूबा की जागा ही नहीं |

मैं उसके दो इशारों में ही सब समझ जाता हूँ,
वोह तीन लफ़्ज़ों में भी क्यूँ हाल बता पाती नहीं |

वही मेरी मुंसिफ है, वही मेरी कातिल भी,
मेरे इश्क के हक में फैसला देगी या नहीं |

'दाग़', जल रही है एक ग़ज़ल सीने में,
अर्ज़ करता हूँ बार-बारफ़, फिर भी क्यूँ बुझती नहीं .|

स्येद अशरफ हुसैन 'दाग़ '

Feelings

Feelings always seem,
a mirage.
A rainbow sandwich ,
with layers,
unknown,unseen and
untasted.

I bite, I munch, I savor,
I introspect,
And I still dont know,
what I feel for you,
how your memories bring up the tastes,
they do.

Doubt is my enemy,
I know.
There were the sparks,
But I thought it was just a phase,
You and me had nothing in common,
I thought and I told myself.

Now the cycle of doubt completes,
You hang over me and all around,
Like a smog on a wintery morning,
And on a happy day or sad day,
I replay in head again and again,
Your laugh,
Your smiles and the waving of compliments,
Your random new accent.

In times like these,
Where I am myself unsure of the truth,
How do I tell it to you,
For when you will read this here,
You will smell a scent from the past,
And wonder if it's you,
This narcissistic refers to.

Late night regrets

A dark cloud muffles the stars,
Its now late at night,
Loneliness creeps upto me in the darkness,
And I am there looking at your number.

I want to call,
Feel a frayed connection,
Imaginary or real,
And simply talk my heart out.

I look at the past,
And wonder ifff,
Just if,
I should have taken the risk,
And created magic myself when I could ,
Rather than hope for it to rise from nothing,
For I wonder if just maybe,
Just Maybe,
There could be a story between us

The connection though frayed,
Still exists.
Maybe time has not all,
Run out,
For I still remember you,
Pretty as the flowers,
With the flowers,
But now time has taken you,
So far far away

I ramble,
Delusional,
Hallucinating on a dark night,
Its late and lonely,
And I look at your number.

Again as always,
I wonder if I should call,
For you shall never call,
But I must maintain facades,
And today I feel overcome by regret,
So I shall call when I can again,
Fake the laugh.
And the attitude.

The pages of a closed book ruffle again

"Phir usi bewafa pe marte hai,
Phir wohi zindagi hamaari hai"

The pages of a closed book rustle again,
Someone calls, who I had long ago forgotten,
A wind that had long ago died awakens,
My heart suddenly skips a beat.

Its her again,my heart moans,
Cruel crusher of love,
Heartless destroyer of a poet's heart,
And a brazen pretender as if nothing happened.

I spent years forgetting her,
Telling myself each day its all over,
Till I myself grew blind to the realities,
But someone returns from the past,
Destroying the calm,still the same heartbreaker as ever,
And I suddenly despair on realizing,
Love even if one-sided,never dies,
And she will haunt me forever

Two great great videos

The best wedding dance EVER. You gotta see this. Lovely idea.

WhoIsTheMonkey.com

The next has to be the video of the year. Iwatched the whole video and I actually cried. Anyway all the text that follows has been taken from, whoisthemonkey.com . Please read the article because that will help you in understanding it all

[From Sports Illustrated, By Rick Reilly] I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay For their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.

But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.

Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in Marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a Wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and Pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars--all in the same day.

Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back Mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. On a bike. Makes Taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?

And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except save his life. This love story began in Winchester , Mass. , 43 years ago, when Rick Was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him Brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.

"He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;'' Dick says doctors told him And his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. ``Put him in an Institution.''

But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes Followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the Engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was Anything to help the boy communicate. ``No way,'' Dick says he was told. ``There's nothing going on in his brain.''

"Tell him a joke,'' Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a Lot was going on in his brain. Rigged up with a computer that allowed Him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his Head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? ``Go Bruins!'' And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the School organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, ``Dad, I want To do that.''

Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described ``porker'' who never ran More than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he Tried. ``Then it was me who was handicapped,'' Dick says. ``I was sore For two weeks.''

That day changed Rick's life. ``Dad,'' he typed, ``when we were running, It felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!''

And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly Shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.

``No way,'' Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a Single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few Years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then They found a way to get into the race Officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the Qualifying time for Boston the following year.

Then somebody said, ``Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?''

How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he Was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick Tried.

Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii . It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud Getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you Think?

Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? ``No way,'' he says. Dick does it purely for ``the awesome feeling'' he gets seeing Rick with A cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.

This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best Time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992--only 35 minutes off the world Record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to Be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the Time.

``No question about it,'' Rick types. ``My dad is the Father of the Century.''

And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a Mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries Was 95% clogged. ``If you hadn't been in such great shape,'' One doctor told him, ``you probably would've died 15 years ago.'' So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.

Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass. , always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.

That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.

``The thing I'd most like,'' Rick types, ``is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once.''

Three cheers for Dick Hoyt. May Allah give everyone the courage to be such patient parents.
ENJOY

MUSINGS -yet again

MUSINGS
The most wonderful sight to me is a little child frolicking about his or her mother. For the child there is no past, there is no future. He lives in the present. And the best part is if he is happy then joy fills his whole existence and the happiness is quite absolute.

The tragic part is he is unknowing of the ravages that time shall inflict on him as it passes by. Growing up is a traumatic experience. We loose the sense of absoluteness. Everything becomes conditional. Nothing , absolutely nothing can satisfy. And even in the zenith of our times we cant find the absolute joy a child enjoys. That’s the paradox. The child playing with a cardboard box is happier than us by a long margin.

Go back to the earliest memories that you have of yourself. I am sure if you were to look deep enough you would be unable to recognize yourself and feel like an impostor peeping into a forbidden window of foreign memories.

‘Truth or dare’ and the other games that we play as adults to have fun are far more complicated than our earlier childhood games. The innocence of childhood on departure took away the innocence of our games. These games of adulthood are all silent battles where everyone is testing the other. What we seek evidences of weaknesses in others and holes in their armour. This is what gives us the high in such games.

And the thing is as children we desperately want to grow up and be adults while once we grow up most of us would do anything to return to that age of innoncence which by now has long gone, never to return, ever.

Falling in love can really hurt you

Falling in love can really hurt you

Guess what I long suspected has finally turned out to be true. Love can be dangerous. Quoting from a paper

It’s official now. According to scientists, love really hurts.
Researchers at
Imperial College London have revealed that the range of physical effects caused
by the ups and downs of romance can cause serious long-term damage to the human
body.
"Our bodies are constantly going through a roller coaster of emotions
and love has some very obvious physical effects," said Prof. Martin Cowie of
Imperial College.
"Pupils dilate, palms become sweaty and the heart rate
increases. Large amounts of adrenaline are running through our system which does
cause problems," he added.
He said that stress-related illnesses at work
arise from similar physical conditions. Prof. Cowie, who has been studying the
effect of emotions on humans, said there is evidence that bereavement can
increase the risk of heart problems and death.
He said that inability to
acknowledge the effects of emotion on health makes things worse.

What more can I say!!!!!!!!

My heart is crying out loud tonight
Coz I just want to hold you close,
And time is flying away too fast

Am stumbling through a jungle,
Cant really see through the haze,
And I am running in circles for you.

Suddenly my poetry rhymes,
Don’t know what magic you did,
For I just cant get over you.

The world can feel my love,
Everyone asks me your name,
I just wish you had a face.

P.S. this is poetry I wrote recently in June. Its quite rare I indulge such fantasies of mine knowing how morose poetry sounds to most people. Its because of this only that I have shifted to small paras

THE CALM

Frankly the poet learnt he could write prose and forgot about verse.
Thats me.
Now this is a new poem that I have penned.

In fact its quite rare me writing and completing a poetry in the last couple of years. TO put it in the right perspective I wrote 80+ poems when I first started penning poetry and have written just four-five in the next six years.

So enjoy it and let me know.

THE CALM

I look inside and I find darkness,
I look outside only to find the aftermath of a storm,
Deserted flotsam littered shores, an eerie calm in my heart

Written on the spur of the moment,
This is poetry unplugged,
Lines penned before the night takes them away forever.

I wake up to find it all lost,
Broken hazy visions of a long night,
Only some holes patched by the written words.

The fever plagues me now,
De-addiction symptoms from her or maladies unknown,
Can’t really step across the line and let you know!

Seldom does poetry not rhyme,
Broken verse seldom makes a song,
A banshee’s wail shatters the uneasy calm.

Syed Ashraf Husain

Do sher

Jisne humko chaaha usko hum chah na sake,
Jis ko hum chahate the usse hum paa na sake.

Yeh samajh lo ki dil ke tootne ka khel hai,
Kisi ka toda aur apna bhee bachaa na sake.


http://www.orkut.com/Profile.aspx?uid=5578578773749868883&pcy=0&t=0

Thats my orkut profile.

If u want an invitation letme know

Your Birthdate: August 14

People wouldn't take you for a passionate person - and that's where they'd be wrong. You can develop deep emotions quickly, and you're the type most likely to move in with someone after a few dates. Number of True Loves You'll Have: 6 Number of Times You'll Have Your Heart Broken: 3 You are most compatible with people born on the 5th, 14th, and 23rd of the month.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean For Your Love Life?


Now U could agree with everything but I dispute the figure about no. of times I will ahve my heart broken!!

Why??

Simple my heart has already been broken more