Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Madness is the cure

What the heart does not find is that madness is a cure
To the darkness that resides, where love does not endure

Long have I awaited for the breaking of the night
Far have I strove for Dawn's early light
Feeling the harsh reality of the coldness of the wind
Break through the layers of the soul's encrusted sin

What are thoughts towards the sun, they are a million mile run
To the depths of lifeless space, that shines back God's warm embrace

Indeed madness is the cure, to shout out life's allure

Sunday, December 25, 2011


Here I am, the day after, kitty on lap, listening to "Delicate" by Damien Rice, sort of happy.
Every try really listening to your heart? Feel the vibration inside as your heart beats pump in waves of warmth? Ever try to remove the films from it so that you can feel God's light shine on through.
When you did, for surely there have been times that you have in moments of clarity, did you remember it afterwards?
I know I'm blessed in many ways by God, and I'm glad Rubina Auntie gave me "The Alchemist" By Paulo Coelho to remind me to listen to my heart and follow what my dream is eventually when I find it. I tried the whole night to listen to my heart, feeling the tremors of God from His words, and from the vibration inside, the gift He gave me, the ability to love. I hope it continues to get me out of this weird funk I've been, and to live a little, bit by bit.

Christmas was nice, I went with Usha to the Sonargon Hotel to see the Christmas trees. It was beautiful...though it was a sad contrast when I returned to Kathalbagan to see so many people still working the streets, the men, women and children. There is no such thing as Christmas for most of Bangladesh obviously, the Hotel was just an interesting anomaly for people like me in my position.

Anika matched me in the presents I bought, which is awesome, because by the time everyone came around, we had a decent amount of gifts. It was a nice touch, but I was so tired afterwards! I feel asleep on the couch with kitty while waiting on a call.
And then I finished the Alchemist and I couldn't sleep again!

Well today is my last day with individual freedom, dad is coming tomorrow, and that's another joy, so this joy too must come to an end and be enjoyed.
Peace and blessings of God be upon you,

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Family and friends

if bliss was made of marshmallow frost
In your oven would my eyes wander lost

"oh silly boy, marshmallows are Haram, go dream of chocolate sauce"

I think I wrote that out of just being sleepy and imagining marshmallows as pillows...but now I'm more thinking about how Bangladesh is FREEZING!
I guess NJ would be freezing too...if it wasn't for fossil fuels and indoor heating!
At least the cat is in my lap, I tend to steal it away from Nanu when I can at night so can get some warmth. Too bad that I'm allergic to the cat, I end up sneezing through the night. Well it's so cold that I'm blowing my nose either way, one more reason couldn't hurt.

I'm planning Christmas here in Bangladesh...which is strange considering I hardly celebrate Christmas at home.
Fortunately, being a non-Christian, I have the ability to make Christmas into whatever I want here because no one knows anything about it really in the family...sort of like a missionary introducing Catholicism to South Americans but involving presents not back breaking labor.'s the closest thing to you in so many ways, blood, proximity, familiarity. The only thing that isn't is choice. I wonder if we were given the option to choose family if we ever would choose who we have. That's the beauty in it.
Well God let us have both ways...familiar family, unfamiliar friends. One by birth, one chosen, though in the end I wonder how many would choose the latter over the former.
The thing about friends is, like I said, we choose them. They fit our needs, they listen to us grumble, and they'll catch us when we stumble. If those criteria are not met, or if we ourselves change, then eventually we'll go through the difficult transition of choosing new ones.
Family; if they are good ones, will love us no matter what. But love and affection are two very different terms. Just because they love us doesn't mean they'll show it when we need it, or even show much at all. I've seen so many friends my age just starving for some warmth, when all they get is verbal abuse for not being good enough. Low SAT scores, a C (or many times even a B), comparison to "better" children, it really lowers your self esteem.
When I went to college, I gained a lot of friends. I'd like to say that I'm blessed with showing affection and giving trust as well as empathy, it helps with people who are sensitive to that. Many of my friends were affectionate, loving people. However, I made the mistake of treating them like family. In that complete devotional way, I called friends "brothers" or put my complete emotional bond to quite a few people. What I learned eventually is that the consequence is that most people aren't accustomed to such affection, especially at a stage in our lives where we are changing our perception in what we need. Hence, my reliance on people, which was a substitute for my obvious reliance on my family, slowly changed till I realized rather than supporting and being supported by others, I need to grow on my own.
It makes sense, family to friends to me, and now back to family again along with me.
I'm here in Bangladesh, still understanding the difference between family, friendship, and identity.
Family, God bless the gift of one, will always love you, but having grown accustomed to you always being there, may not grow to understand you. Friends, though they may support and understand your needs, may not travel across the world for you. Of course I said may, because I hope that there will always be exceptions, and may they eventually be the norm.
I think my parents were right though, children sounded so much more obedient a few generations ago, so I can understand the current South Asian generation's plight with their night clubbing, arguably lazier (I don't know that many people my age in America that study as much as their counter parts in Asia) and more disobedient generation. However, I think their is a wonderful culture in America where we think for ourselves. That type of thinking is starting to bloom independently here in Bangladesh itself.

As for cousins, that one is a tough one, they are your nearest in terms of age and blood, and they arguably some of your best companions given enough time. But there is still a line. You grow up with friends and you choose them out of your needs. But when your cousins grow up differently than you, you're still close, but is the understanding still there? As I leave Bangladesh in less than 3 weeks, I guess I'll be beating myself up about it.
Oh to be a strong human in a sea of doubts, where I've learned to compare myself to people of strength and to shame myself looking at the hard work of people who have less. Then I remember, with shame, not to compare myself to people, yet the thought still lingers on.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


So it's been a while...I think I was in a mix between a self induced funk (more recently) and a food eating binge (previously) to make up for trying to figure out what I enjoy.
So since my last post I slaughtered 3 goats and a chicken.
One goat during Eid, I held the blade with the Imam and we did it. The thing is, when he said to stop cutting...we shouldn't have. The goat died miserably, it was still coughing like it was 30 seconds before when it was still whole. It was still full of enough vitality to raise its head and stare back at us.
What do I remember the most that day? The few specks of blood on my hand from the cut
Also the cow I wrote about. Every cow that comes to the slaughter apparently is scared shitless...this one was no exception, there were a few piles right next to after the deed was done.
So much fear, eyes go white, the jerking. I wonder if there really is a humane way to murder. Sanitized meat murder without the danger of eviscerating the corpse.
I am a murderer...yet I don't feel as bad as this terrible piece of prose reflects. I realized I wanted to do it again, by my own hand, and not mess up.
I had my opportunity with two more goats that my Uncle from America bought to slaughter in commemoration of naming his child (why does that sound barbaric in my Western personal lens when it isn't to me). I did the same thing, held the hand with the Imam and did it. Though I should mention that before the deed, I was petting the goats when they were crying, doing my best to calm them down.
And down they went. One, and then the next, slammed head down next to the corpse of the last.
Again, I remember the drops of blood after I said the words.
Death in the name of God...for meat, for life.
This is the pain we must take, inflict, in that we are justified, in fact demanded, to use God's name.
All this killing in the name of God, is right here for livelihood, not for pure murder.
So much of that cow we killed on Eid, and those two goats also that day, they went to the poor. We fed about a third of each animal to the poor.
The burden of humanity is supposedly being a benevolent Shepard in my faith, which seems to be a task that no human is honor bound to keep.
We eat and we eat and we eat, but we forget the consequences of these actions.
I killed a chicken two weeks ago
And I did it wrong, oh God I did it wrong. I was supposed to slit its throat, but I ended up doing the opposite of the first goat and I cut too much to the point where it was beheaded. I held onto to that head so tightly as the rest of the body went away, watching its beak move up and down, knowing it couldn't scream with its body being ripped away by the edge of my blade. I noticed the drops of blood upon my hand
I then skinned the chicken, tearing through was has now become a covering to the "meat". Do you realize how warm meat is? No, because if you're like me, you've only seen meat cut after being defrosted. But meat, flesh, another animal's body, is warm, and as the life leaves the body, so does the warmness flow out. I was then taught how to cut the flesh into meat to cook.
That day I threw up. I'm not sure if it was because of the process, but I felt nauseous.
I hate throwing up, this was the first time this trip. Which is actually great, because 5 years ago I threw up 12 times, 9 of those times in one day.
Ever since then I was in a slump,
But I can't give up can I,
Life is full of so many cruelties for so many other people, that I need to forget the little things that rage inside my head and forget the anger.
I guess this is helping, because right now I'm angry over something else, pretty insignificant in the course of my visit here. But heck, that doesn't mean I should just suppress it as usual. Me not emphasizing that I deserve what I want is a major reason why people don't believe keeping their word is meaningful. But that's loopy, and you probably don't need this seemingly random tangent. Just know that thoughts, no matter how disconnected, are all part of a web, so beautiful, so original that you wouldn't realize that it was a true pattern. It's the best type.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

cows Eid Mubarak

So I thought the highlight of my day would be seeing another bull desperately try to force itself on the bull we just crashed our bull into a tin store...but I think sitting with the cow at night, chanting what I would with prayer beads silently in my head, and watching it look at me quietly, then calm down further when I played guitar for it, first in the scale of D, then C, I think that was nice.

The market wasn't as smelly as I thought it'd be, it certainly smelled better than a Chittagong rest stop, and the cows were so big! I went with my Uncle, Dhrubo, and Shohag. There were cows with horns that made them look like a post card, I think they were from India, and then there were bulls that swished their tail with huge menace! I won't forget one cow, it was crying, and just so angry, it attacked anyone within its roped up vicinity.
I believe we bought our cow for the sum of 55,000 tk, divide that by 70 if you want it in US currency.
Getting the bull out was the most fun, and dangerous, part of the trip, our cow, which was so quiet initially, started developing a temper. It struck me at the left side ab with its horn, but luckily it wasn't a hard blow. Then a team of runaway cows proceded to nearly run me over as we were guiding the cow through moving trucks, rickshaws, and more carefully, other cows.
I can really see why US cattle ranchers tend to castrate most of their male cattle, bulls have tempers and they are damn horny, even without a female present. I think our cow tried to mount another bull in the first 5 minutes, and later on, a huge black bull tried to get on top of our bull, forcing our cow into the wall of a tin shop.
I really give credit to Shohag and another unnamed hired hand who took the cow all the way back to Kathalbagan, he even lost his sandals early on and went through barefoot, my uncle got a rickshaw for the rest of us.
When the cow arrived, it seemed utterly in dismay to be within the garage, so my uncle very affectionately moved it to an outside area. I've never seen him so nice to another life form before...except now that I recall, other animals, so it makes sense.
My other cousins came today, and I gave them their gifts.
I spent 5k tk yesterday for the gifts, so I'm glad I could do something of happiness for them!
After they left, like I mentioned earlier, I just sat with the bull and just recited what I would with prayer beads...subahanallah, allahamdullilah. It seemed to quiet down and stare at me when I did them, even though I recited them in my head, oh these moments. I then sang and played guitar, which seemed to make it calm down some more. Then the cats came and it got mega pissed off. I almost wish I could ask my ex for advice on handling the cow, on making sure its fed right and what not, but then again I'm sure US ranchers have different methods that might not be available...still, how do you even pet a cow? It tends to put its butt towards me and that's the only time it lets me touch it without trying to gore me. Hmm.
And it'll be slaughtered, or sacrificed, murdered, or consumed, either word, in two days
I think I'll be holding the knife with the priest who does the slaughtering...
If that sounds cruel I apologize, I just want to realize what I'm doing when I'm eating meat, the consequence of taking a life, and doing it this time in God's name only.
Eid Mubarak

Friday, October 28, 2011


enough of this, do you know what is beautiful, that me and you, thousands of miles away, from one corner of the other, can touch each others heart out of love
There is a beautiful miracle in the morning sun, knowing that the night blankets you out of love, and then when I close my eyes, you will wake up and rise.
Love the scenic air, amidst the smog and dirt, love humanity, amidst the anger and hurt

the tenderest branches

Aye the tenderest branches within the heart

Love veins

pumping adrenaline rain

from the start

So I can breathe a little more

What was then, has festered and tore

The tree within me stands shaken

It's fruitless leaves far forsaken

For what once grew anew

dissipated along with the faded morning dew

What is left when the sun has dried me up?

Left the soul rotten and forgotten until the mind begins to corrupt?

The answer is the aching sighs of seashells made...

from where emptiness lies

Do you hear them whispering?


gentle hello


The volume of echoes low and paper thin

Sensitive cold long old and tapering

Monday, October 24, 2011


It seems being on this rock has been my way of recovery, like leeching myself of everything before, all the excess water, tears that never left and sweat that continues to stain, until I'm back to my basic minerals again.
Is it running away again? There's always something that is left behind when I do this.
Literally, I have been ill for a little more than a week; Typhoid, seriously. I even had the vaccination for it, but I guess that only did so much. Luckily, I haven't thrown up, which is one of three things I hate about being sick.
Mother left and arrived at America yesterday, so now I'm on my own. My family is here, but I still don't feel right about things.
I need to stop whining, it's putting me down a downward spiral. I've been having terrible nightmares of people who I don't want to think about, and sleeping has been very difficult, my mind just keeps on wandering off.
Just stop whining, stop thinking, just appreciate things. Why is that hard, blah that was whining too.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011


Today, the sun kissed us at the Bay of Bengal. As sure as the sea salt wove its foamy fingers upon my goose prickled skin, it tasted like Bangladesh.

I rode the waves towards Bangladesh's oldest temple by speed boat.

Child labor is a normal thing here, not to be put socially to the same standards as Western views. Here, there is child labor because if there wasn't, children would have less ways to feed themselves, and still less likely to go to a non existent school.

The reason I speak of this was because that seemed to be my focus today, starting at the speed boat. The speed boat driver's assistant was a young boy, not more than eleven or twelve. His job was to sit at the tip of the boat to steer. By steer, it seems that steering meant to use his body weight to tip the boat along.

His face had so much fortitude in hardship, his blood full of the salt of sweat that long converted any tears he might of had. Hardened with dirt and caked in grim "do what I need to do" cement, he was a stone armored product of why children have been around longer than the word "fun" existed.

I looked at him and felt so much awe at his strength. I never got his name, just a picture...

Landing at the other side of the dock, past the dividing line of "fresh"water brown and sea water green (how fresh is debatable, though their term is "meashtie pani" which means sweet water, I'd say that is a more debatable term). I saw what seemed to be a fourteen year old rickshaw driver, he was so young, and he working in that type of life already.

What is the line between pure child and blamed upon adult? Innocent and guilty?

At the temple I took several pictures of little ones, they were more interesting to me than the sights. I fell in love with the Burmese women, selling their clothing, with shawls of beautiful patterns that D.C. girls seem to love. I thought of Sai and Tarika while looking at the designs. The women were so young and had peach colored designs painted on their cheeks and forehead. Selling in Bangla and making a living, getting married, and then having children who move on to do something similar.

I met a child named Ayatullah, asking if we wanted a picture taken on my camera. I took a picture of him instead. So many of them, not sure how they make ends meet, if they have parents nearby.

My longest encounter with the child labor force was with Rafique, the assistant to our driver. The back end of the ancient open roof truck did not lock, so he simply stood behind it, keeping it locked with his body weight. No seat, no barrier, just keeping on the end ledge in the Cox Bazaar traffic.

What makes these children smile? Running at each other with empty one liter soda bottles in epic sword duels, games of futbol if they can find a ball suitable...but not us. We are work, we don't make them smile, just help them on their living. Handing Rafique a 10 taka note, or the boatman's assistant, the Ayatullah...did not dent their faces (though Rafique had adorable dimples when he bashfully refused some sprite I offered him), it was just a part of life, not a reprieve in the sunlight, just another bit to the end of the say sum total of the cost of rice and lentils, maybe fish or some other meat if possible.

These children, they make up the future cogs of the human machine, one that is being stream lined in Bangladesh's digitization. Where will they be in a future of high rise building and natural disasters predicted by the onset of Global Warming? I want them to have a place here, well it doesn't matter what I think, look at the speedboat's assistant, he has hardened himself to handle anything, regardless of where his joy is placed.


If you came back and saw that I was no longer a stream to cool your face with, but covered in hardened rock and ash, would we still be friends?

If you came a bit later and found out that lightning struck and I've become the rushing waterfall, could we still be friends?

Today I was kissed at the Bay of Bengal by the Sun, it tasted like the salt of Bangladesh.

Every second I danced upon each stone step, waiting to be set free, I felt the shock of His grasp and felt the roar of His praise tear me asunder

For before I was the fish of your sustenance when you dallied by, used up by the sweltering heat, the volcano burnt me till there was nothing left for anyone, including myself.

In the dark I craved the Light, and now my anger has been tempered to swallow everything until I melt into the Ocean

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Short story for the action junkie

He grasped the cold hard grip of the rifle close to his chest, hugging the automatic's iron stock tight against his shoulder.


There was his mark, two, three, no four troopers clad in red fatigues laced with dark gray body armor.

He relaxed his finger on the trigger and unhooked a grenade from his belt pouch. About thirty meters above in the cover of a shadowy air duct, he had about five seconds till they walked past his vantage spot unaware of a cross hair on their six.

He threw the bomb lightly, letting gravity drop the device neatly between the first two troopers.

Ping, ping

Solder 2 looked down...

Shrapnel propelled by the blinding light of the explosion tore his upper body messily off from the rest of his torso, scattering his left arm in one direction and the remains of his head in another.

Soldier 1's leg tore off and the rest of his body was flung off ahead of assumed course.

Soldier 3 was blasted off slightly back, his corpse laid neatly on his back in final slumber.

And four...was nowhere to be seen.

Moving his gun towards the darkness of where his last target should have been, the Corporal began firing in sprays, recoil driving his shoulder ajar after every round of burst fire...

Hitting nothing

Fight or flight, this was the way of things. Mark Four could have done the latter, but if he was laying in wait...then what next?

I'm a sitting duck-thought the Corporal-the Corporal the spook could call for back up too and I'd be finished.

Sweat sliding of his cheek, he watched the transparent drop fall down to the floor. He took of his backpack and threw it down to the floor, listening to the distinct thud.

No movement

He then took a clip from his pouch and slammed it as hard he could down the drop near the backpack.

Laced with extra gun powder, the cartridge exploded with the burn of the fuse, expelling bullets left and right in makeshift cover.

No movement...yet

The Corporal then proceeded to work his rope downward towards the exit, creeping silently down towards the gray floor.

Ping, ping

The blast flung the Corporal upwards in sway, his body swaying in a the air in a dance of suspended death as shrapnel much more effective than his last trick cut through the cover of dark.

Soldier 4 crept forward to inspect the damage of his grenade. Solemnly acknowledging the remains of his brethren, now re ripped by the second explosion, he found a tattered backpack cold on the floor. He kicked the pack to reveal the corpse underneath.

Hand on the trigger, suspended in the air with the rope still swinging him back and forth, the Corporal aimed his iron sight in line with his last Mark, 15 meters away below him, and squeezed, feeling the recoil of the cold hard stock jerk against his shoulder.

The red clad Trooper's helmet jerked downwards as if hit by a sledgehammer, ejecting a spray of wet gore as his goggle's wept blood. His body crumpled into a limp slump, resting upon the pack.

Corporal Lin relaxed his arms and with one hand touched his burnt face, fresh from the heat...even at the distance from his rope trick, the blast was still tremendous. He took a knife and cut down his rope, dropping down the the floor, legs sprung underneath in a deep thud. He inspected the carnage around him, moving the last trooper away to pick up his pack.

He coughed, "I need a cigarette"

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

9/28: Word Vomit

Today I felt really hurt and angry, not at this country at all, but just at myself.
I went to an interview and like a fool went on a whim because of a connection. The foolish part wasn't the help given to me to find this internship, but the fact I didn't do any research. It was for a financial firm, and the interviewer himself had no idea why I would want to do it. I didn't either...though I am interested in learning about Bangladesh's financial market. Ugh. And my Bangla, I made the mistake of say "tumi" rather than "apne", which to non Bangla speakers, the former is intimate and the latter is formal. The boss man took one look at me and I just felt like a prisoner. It wasn't him, it was me.
I graduated, and felt useless, I went home, and felt more useless, and I'm here and not am I useless, but illiterate and physically frail here.
Ah, I'm not disheartened, I want to be here, I want to suffer and get through it. I want to say I was able to go through it, but dear, I just don't know my direction right now, or where or what I want to do with my life, it's confusing. Every non brown person tells me this is normal, every Bangali basically looks at me and wonders why I'm not working. It's no one's fault, it's mine. Please if you're reading this and thinking I bear ill will, it's not that. I'm just confused I guess.
I came home so angry, embracing the anger like an old friend. Bitterness has been a daily ritual in my cup it seems since the summer and it's only been brewing more and more. It takes me a while to get angry, not because I'm not sensitive (the opposite), it just doesn't kick in until afterwards.
I got accused of calling someone something yesterday publicly and it stung, because I've given that person no ill will. I thought I did everything pleasant, did everything genuine, but somehow struck the wrong chord. What I wrote that was interpreted differently...what was the truth on my end was unread to another's vision. For that I am sorry, but upset too. Just like my anger today, it just creeps and creeps that much later, a day in this end, or a two in that end, just makes me bitter and upset.
Again, this isn't blaming anyone, it's just be word vomiting. In the end, this, like my other anxiety laden posts, are just canon fodder to better thoughts. Misconstrue it to what you will, I think I'm just sensitive to things.
Everyone my age seems to be thinking no one pays attention to them, then they end up paying attention to themselves, then their friends start from the beginning of that cycle. No matter how much their friends try to give those people attention it doesn't work, they need something on for themselves, to really enjoy it, or get some passion out of something, you're not a bad friend, nor are they, but transitions are tough, and if you realize you are learning to love yourself, it's a beautiful natural thing. Please continue to do so, and eventually we'll learn to love again other things that show a better world view as adults hopefully.
Much love and peace be upon you.

Seeing and Looking

I'm really good at seeing and thinking
It makes me blend into a different world colored by imagination, but it ends up making me forget my direction
Here in Bangladesh, I've been trying desperately in trying to see and look. Rather than looking at the myriad of people and thinking about her, I've been trying to see the rickshaw drivers and the people around me, trying to remember something of the sights around me. Hopefully that way nostalgic memory won't drive me to recognize places (which would take me forever, if you know me, it takes a while for me to get somewhere without being lost) and it will be because I've seen and looked at these sights before.
Today I walked from a potential internship office back to my Grandma's place alone for the first time. It was what I was looking forward to...sadly, my cousin actually waited for me and I apparently passed and left without him.

Monday, September 26, 2011


I'm at choto kala's house (my mother's younger sister), hence why I have internet access.
Blah all I've been doing is reading and writing, playing guitar, and trying to read the Quran in English. Ah, the Quran is just so dense! It takes so much more reading one page than it does of several of Rumi's long ended poems. I'm on Surah Al-Hud right now I believe. I should read it now after I get off shouldn't I...

I read a lot of Rumi, thank you Devin for lending it to me...though now it seems like I have no way of giving it back being so far away...I'll try if I can. Rumi's poems are so fascinating, the feeling you get my reading them is more palpable then perhaps the lyrical content themselves. Like his poem "I have five things to say", it feels like he delivers each line with punch drunk love. Though I'd say he sounds drunkenly clear in most of his poetry. Ironic considering how much he uses religious symbolism. I wish I understood the culture at the time a bit more to understand the significance of some of his phrases. Either way, it's good inspiration for the sober minded though, at least we can feel his emotions and use it up at every cup (he loves to drink in feelings in his word use).

Ah, time to figure out this whole volunteer thing, it seems like I need to find the number of someone and call him, ah using a phone in Bangladesh for some reason seems scary! It shouldn't be, just like when I'm sick, I need to just say, "GO DO IT", and get through these tiny things.


I woke up at 6 am, so early...
I did 25 finger push ups, I then just read and hung out with mom, then did 25 clap push ups and I don't know how many more I did by the end of the night...out of boredom.
I saw Anika and Audwit today, and had a good walk with Dhrubo at night. It was nice, I'm looking forward to emailing my pen pal or pals depending on how many emailed. Still have to text dad's contacts (update I have since then)
I apparently didn't delete all my pics on my camera before BD. I have a photo of a certain person stuck in my mind when I was on my way to Bender Arena for graduate. She was so very kind then...people change I guess, or at least towards each other... I'm done with this God, I'm sure there's a reason that this hurts, it needs to. Everything should always hurt to feel it.
La Illaha Illalahu, Muhammardur Rassoolilah


10 58 pm, Dhaka, Bangladesh: more specifically; Kathalbagan at Grandma's
5 hours and half naps later, I'm here. This time, being here in Bangladesh doesn't feel like a dream, just a happening, like as if I walked out of my house in NJ and walked into the neighborhood of Kathalbagan, thousands of miles away.
When I think slightly about how long I'll be staying here, I get a little homesick. But this is my own voilition. I want to get used to doing what I want, for my own betterment .
It's cleaner here than before, less mosquitos certainly, but it's more empty as well. My grandma seems alone, and often is stuck in nostalgia. My mother and aunt thinks she's suffering from memory loss, but it only feels natural. My grandma has done so much in a third world patriarchal society; bought her own land, her own job, was the center of the family. Now she seems like all she has done is meaningless in the sight of her material end, and seems resigned to it, I don't think in a depressing way, but not in a certain way either.


I'm leaving today at JFK. My mother is with me. When you're blind, everything blends with colors, and you're imagination blends with reality. I think that's a bad thing in this case, because reality has it's own beauty in the strength of its current accuracy and of our ability to comprehend it. Though here I am, writing, without my glasses on, writing what I'm thinking about, but not what I see.
I see blindly stewardesses with red caps with white gashes on,laced to the side, but, they are all look the same without glasses, just images of dolls


Love! You have cut me down with your locks of tresses
In pieces you chew upon my heart until the juices run down upon each of your summer dresses
I have resided now to becoming the sweet to your tea, you cast me in boiling fire to just disappear into your simplest desire
Darling, you drink me down completely. Down! Down! I go down so meekly
Never tell me again that I wasn't prepared for the end!
To the very molecule, I gave you my everything to rend

Feel the Tremor: The Spoils of War

Feel the Tremor of your aching heart
It is God telling you he is inside
In deeds of righteousness does He reside
Simply embrace His Grace and Start

Pretend that I am not here

Pretend that I am not here
And that it is the wind that places a cold hand upon your face, brushing against your lips
Pretend that I am not here
And that is the crackling fire amidst the biting frost that warms you in soft, feverish embrace
Let the rains of April give you an excuse to shiver in sheer bliss, quaking at every reverberation of gentle reveration
Let June's grace and chilled honeyed milk mask the sweet, sweet taste of my...
Shh, pretend that I am not here

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Where is the self towards soulful emotion?
Is it striving so diligently towards absolute devotion?
Or simply to love, to life, to lustful erosion?
Forgetting to look beyond, feeling consistent corporeal corrosion

My life, Thy faith, Why God?
We compare and contrast and we rob
Ourselves of all spiritual beauty, for it is the meaningless things for which we sob
They are for so little, so small, yet it is misery we spare and mercy we give the rod

In Surah Yusuf, the Prophet peace be upon him was so pure,
Even beyond that which he pined for in a sensual lure
He remembered the Divine in things, for that his Faith was truer
And embraced it, in a life that can be compared to much fewer

Where am I towards my own pollution?
I strive, oh I strive for celestial Absolution!
How do I love beyond life, beyond physical temptation
Oh Lord, Oh Lord! Save me from Hell Fire Damnation!

Oh Lord, oh Lord, make me not deaf, dumb and blind
I want to, on Judgement Day, I want my face to shine

If pre sleep ruminations

If pre sleep ruminations had the power to make memories into real life illuminations,
Old love would never be forgotten, to die away and be left for rotten
If the candlelight left melted not wax, if gentle kisses did Time not Tax
I would always, always, feel your gaze
Here's to you dearest dark
Saved deep, in my previous ark
Through the shadows of the night
By the spark of Dawn's First sight
Verily is man lost without the light
To remember patience, not Pilgrim's plight

Perhaps to where the bells doth toll

Perhaps to where the bells doth toll
I will struggle to arrive by my evening stroll
Perhaps to where the moon does rise
Will I forget in the midsts where my heart doth lie

A sling shot of pale light in the evening air
Subtle, subtle, like my maiden fair
Pierce through the barrier of my chest
Like adrenaline poison, warms feverish my breast

Perhaps if I button my coat
Perhaps if I walk where it rains
Winter will come and I will find better His Rope
to take me away from the shame, to take me away from the pain

Club sphere

There is perception in the deception that here in this room we are in sheer unreality
That this surreal feeling is serenity due to our lack of sobriety
I am a fly on the wall that seems not to understand the others in the way they are buzzed
But here I will die if I refuse to fly into the den of dark discreet aromatic beat blowing night transcending air to soar with no care and do what I do not dare.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Either way

Delicious strings
Delicate ice cream
Break upon my nervous touch

Subtle romance
Secret chocolate
Sweet upon your smiling lips

Tethered hearts
Tolling rain drops
Calmed by each and every boiling cup

Tonight let's get married
Ten weeks later let's fall in love
Happiness of course either way

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Bye, bye

Where does your mind go, farther and farther to where memories tow?
Perhaps it is only certain that stones are only set where the wind doth blow
To weigh down flowers so that they may grow
Here is the weather, rain set down low, peper news boats set down slow
Did the water take your heart, so that together as one you flow?
Did the rain clean the part that felt besotted with woe?
Feel free, see me, feel free, leave me
No matter how you'll spend the night
Dear, you will never, ever miss the Light
Feel ease, touch the breeze, kiss the seas, take the keys
and sail far, far, away

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Freedom, a haiku

Love the erratic
Fleeting stiffness nomadic
Summer ecstatic

What makes a human

Beyond every dream there lies in my mind
Things way past the time, dwelt in sweet subtle supine
Something joyous, something dear, often boisterous, often fear
That fills my pool with a waterfall made of sullen salty tear

Past the darkest of my face lies a fickle bitter taste
Of blood spilled in haste, dripping droplets of gorgeous waste
Losing every bitter, losing every shake, through the very wither, through the very innate
There it flows down its channeled path, Dead Sea Red that never inflates

Farther than the whimsical notion that floats before my eyes
Of mercurial bliss, of sweet family ties
Just a bit pleasant, just a bit meaningful, maybe a little present, maybe a little teeming full
Of tiny pebbles that seem to rebel to let the waves of life take there coarse in the humming ocean's lull

Thoughts 9/13

What are thoughts on my mind,
They are thoughts of the Divine
Something pleasant, something present
That lifts me up, river deep in every cup

Monday, September 12, 2011

Learning to forget

Fruit platter breakfast in bed
As poisonous as the after effects of lead
As lonesome as driving in New Jersey summer nights
Begone my phantoms, to forgotten roads set right

It's so hard isn't it, forgetting someone you have loved for what seemed to be the zenith of your life. My own relationship lasted about 6 months, and as short as that is in retrospect to many of you who have had relationships for over a year, for me it was more than I have had in the past. I come from a way of having the most difficulty of transitions. Simply moving from one spot of my life, as easy as moving from a cafe to home, just takes me a while. I think it's the comfort. I've never held onto relationships for long because I never felt comfortable with the change.

This time I didn't want to do that. Wonder (I'll name her that because I don't want to name her nor give her affectionate names I actually had) was different because it was actually a risk dating her. She was my resident, which had always been a resounding NO for me, I wasn't a Resident Assistant for the free housing, I really enjoyed my job and bringing out a community, so when I realized I liked her I was very, very hesitant. It didn't help that one of my residents, who I cared for a lot, had a huge crush on her. I didn't want to lose him and the respect of my floor. So I didn't do anything for a bit.

So why did I date her? I realized that I'm attracted to women for their kindness. I enjoyed watching her help her friends and floor mates out selflessly, I enjoyed that she actually cared about things. She went to my events and actually enjoyed them. Next, she was one of the few comforting aspects of my life. I ran around as Muslim Student Association President (which at the time just finished catering for 40_ people a day for 16 days straight and was on to the next thing, fundraising with the Iraqi Ambassador), Resident Assistant (baked for them for a majority of the weeks in the beginning of year and planned other events such as boating or Embassy Trick or Treating) and an SIS Mentor (which meant I was meaning with about 12 kids, providing advice, and working with my other roles to make sandwiches for the Homeless), and graduating a year early (which ironically was the least of my stresses, perhaps that's a bad thing). Coming home every night to my floor was my relaxation, and she was at the center of it all. I don't know, when you have someone like that, it's sorta hard to not realize it, although denying it initially was easy enough.

How did it happen, haha I notice that I'm writing this for myself so at least that's therapeutic, doubting that anyone will read this.

We used to go to sleep at the same time, which was whenever it the break of dawn to see who would sleep first. Eventually I would say I had to do hw and ask her if she wanted to do hw with me in my room. She said yes, but then she would promptly fall asleep. Haha, I wonder if she realized how confusing that was for me. I never touched her, I couldn't, still an RA, though I did stroke her hair once. She probably didn't think of it as any different, I am affectionate at least in hugs with other residents, though probably not like that.

So there I was in a pickle, not sure what to do at all and I don't remember the order but I called my best friend Andrew. He goes to school in upstate New York, and he gave me the best advice, "Tanim, just do what you want, not want others expect of you" or something of that sort. So I went with her to Capitol South, the first time I've really been, to see...well the Capitol, yes I never went before my Senior year. And then the night before she left, I kissed her.

The first kiss, when you're a guy who isn't a stud, towards a girl who you know might like you but you're not sure...that was the hardest part..

Anyway that was the beginning, the hardest part realizing 6 months later is that you have had good days and then remembering the current.

Fruit platter...she got me breakfast in bed on my birthday at a damn hotel next to my work. I don't think anyone's been that kind. But here I am now...finally realizing that she pulled off actual bitchiness (I had nothing but pleasant thoughts about her till recently), it feels like that food has been scratching at my throat. So here I am, driving in Jersey, and now I need to find the right road.

Thursday, September 8, 2011


What Are thoughts in my mind
Perhaps they are thoughts that grace thine?
Lovely meadows, golden pine
Just kidding, we're both thinking about time

The clockwork striking of every given moment
The empty rests between smiles and words sent
My dear, my dear, your ruminations are well spent
Enjoy the direction affection has for you bent

Consonant Dissonance

What is fine cheese? Hell if I know, I grew eating South Asian Cuisine, good cheese fortunately in ways eludes me.
But ideally, it just looks like corpulent decay. It's full of delicious mold that's going...somewhere, in our body or just to mold a bit further.

I grew up and have been living white collar, corpulent cheese, and graduated from American a few months ago.
It seems weird to think about seasons in terms of seasons and not semesters, to live by a proper day light hour rather than ration myself in blocks.
So here I am, in NJ, well designed by my parents, and if I don't find a purpose, I'll be molding as well. Or that's the notion isn't it?
I don't know.