Poetry inspired by a painting.

My Heart


My Heart gallops like a frisky horse
It has been racing since I met you.


My heart is melting into love with you
It feels at once like a tranquil pond and sea heaving blue


My heart beats like a distant drum
It counts the wasted days I pine for you


My heart waits behind the glass of time
It drops its reasons, one by one, poured in a hope for you


My heart has strings warping the truth
It spins a gold angel not the yellow canary that is you


"Heart" Painting, Acrylic on canvas, By Farroukh
"My Heart" Poetry by Tasnim Jivaji

Peep into my only life.

Reality
Tabloids, Shows
Have nothing, compared

To
What you
Will See Here

If
You Can
Leave a Bug

And
See What
I hide here.

Where
Is Shame
Respect and Love

Gone
Burned Washed
In Furious Lineage

My
Five souls
Fix me here.

There is no other God - There is no other Me.

If there is a God,
In that Image am I
If I am who I imagine,
Then God, am I there!

Soldiers dont have choices, do they

You know the identity if a true soldier is one that puts on the colours of his country and gets all nice and shaven only to climb onto a plane that will throw him into a dark sky onto hostile soil.  However, that has nothing to do with the fact that he will or will not make enemies there, because the people whom he bears arms against could have been friends deprived of chances for that first greeting, for that possibility to become bosom pals.
They bow on the stage where ancient hatreds were born and nourished and get chosen to play the part of bleeders and slayers of innocents, they cast stones sometimes for wrongs that no longer are wrongs.
For leaders who don the mask of father send their sons to horrible uncharted graves in search for their own glories and to hands stain with metals in the medals that hate to shine for the reasons that they do and would rather have stayed in the belly of mother earth and never been mined to be forged into round guilty honours for death and destruction.

I can't change the tides of life.

What does a mother never say?
That it doesn't feel good to be a mother,

What would a new mother never know until its too late?
That it doesn't make me proud to see the hatred,

Is there more pain than the pangs of labour, huh mother?
Yes, It is a pain to stoop all the time and be kind,

Why would you change the way it works, mother?
It is a shame that they don't learn until it hurts.

What comes next comes and lays the step for an aftermath.

It isnt planned, the great truth is the gamble

The randomness

 

What happens next is never what we plan

It never comes out the way we intend

 

Where we are after the spoils

is where we are, there is no rocket science

 

Why it happens is simple

we have no answers, do not try the math.

 

So all we can do

is be still and let the calm take control