Contemporary Literar Review: India Issue 1

Feathers & Other Poems

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By Khurshid Alam

Feather & Other Poems

To

my granny Sakina Khatoon

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Khurshid Alam

Feather & Other Poems

Forward Khurshid Alam, MA in English Literature, is a writer by profession. He began his career as a correspondent to an English Tabloid The Guiding Star based in Guwahti, Assam, India (now nonexistent). He contributed columns on various topics on current political affairs for over eight months.

Presently he's working as a Technical Writer with an IT company based in Gandhinagar, Gujarat (India). He writes web contents, technical documentations, and business writings since over past 4 years.

Besides technical writing he writes poems, stories, flash fiction and on literature and culture. Many of his poems have been published in various journals and magazines in India and abroad such as Meantime (Kerala, India) – a magazine on current political affairs, Muse India – a reputed literary ejournal that stands for Indian Writing in English, ken* again – a literary journal that puts you apart from the masses, and The Blue Fog Journal – Fiji's International Literary Journal etc.

Two of his poems have been included in a book titled An Anthology of Contemporary Love Poems published by The Blue Fog Journal. Many other writings are in the queue to be published in various journals.

His is dedicatedly working on the genres such as Investigative Poetry and Searchlight Poems – a campaign against incorrect grammatical usage and carelessness in writings post Internet era.

Currently he is writing a chapbook and a novel.

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Contents

1. Election Scenery .................................................................................... 5 2. The National Library .............................................................................. 6 3. Foliage .................................................................................................. 8 4. Harmony ............................................................................................... 9 5. In Search of Peace ............................................................................... 10 6. The Golden Birds ................................................................................ 12 7. A Poet Laments ................................................................................... 13 8. A Drop of Dew ..................................................................................... 14 9. The Mysterious Man ............................................................................ 17 10. Inclusive India ..................................................................................... 19 11. In Disguise .......................................................................................... 20 12. The Grass is Shaking .......................................................................... 21 13. Bargain ............................................................................................... 22 14. Paths Are Obstructed .......................................................................... 24 15. The Doll .............................................................................................. 25 16. At the Crossings .................................................................................. 26 17. Perspective .......................................................................................... 27 18. Shez Mingled in Me ............................................................................. 28 19. You Turned My Faith........................................................................... 29

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Feather & Other Poems

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Feather & Other Poems

1. Election Scenery

Psephologists competing with their opinion polls A prophecy they draw to the final hustings Bouleversement for one wing; anti-incumbency for the other They profess for the polls to be polled at the booths.

James W Lain’s Shivaji: the Hindu King in Islamic India Or the burning Gujarat; or the Lucknow saree-stampede Are the pawns of the Nationalists’ games in the fray.

The Rightists are not the less nationalist though Men of foreign origin are to be kept at bay For they aren’t ours, they advocate.

Xenophobic or panophobic they’re, it is hard to say For strange to the imagination or the play They granted the Diaspora a double privilege.

Of which the Constitution does not have precedence.

And many of the migrants are of yore, settled abroad And well progressed in a more tolerant politique And their acquired privilege is far above the parochialism Back at home. They pride to associate with their neo-nationalities Even many have expressed despotism and many are cynic For the favour awarded, but all’s fair in the worlds’ largest democracy.

Note: This poem was published in Meantime, Volume VI, Issue 02, Kerala (June 03, 2004) a magazine on current political affairs.

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2. The National Library

Many couples couple to the serene campus But they don’t love; never marry each other Yet they’re apace for a feeling unrealised They often take bits of paper and make equations They do, they don’t; till they get a predominant zero.

Some scholars come in boots and tie With shirt-in on fine pants and the glasses On their nose which tell how much ordeal They’ve suffered and they work daylong For their purpose and gather all papers And they make a good name and win fame.

Many regulars hunt the library, in the Main Building In the Magazine section, and other Departments They chose; and browse through the documents And come back with signatures in the register In a faint hope: they would find an alcove Some day later and the readers would study Them through their signatures – how they fritted Their time, many for decades and created Noise and bustle in the Depart Mental canteen And their mind is departed indeed from the deeds Yet they don’t get tired of their indolence!

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Some silent readers never agitate but study In the corner and they pack up their papers In the Xerox and in the notes they jot down and go With their purpose finished and complete Their degrees and diplomas of their institutes And they go away with time. They never oppose The arsenic water or the nicotinic tea Or the intolerable noise created by the stand-fans.

Those who’d roamed in the luxurious library once Come off and on though years might pass As if they’re addicted to take a look at the building Bibliophile or nostalgic they might have gown!

But they pride to associate with it in short!

Note: This poem was published in Readers’ Mind, Vol.1, No.1, Oct-Dec, 2004. A journal published by the National Library Readers’ Forum, Calcutta, India.

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3. Foliage

Leaves foliage, the green turbans, on The silky branches to clutch on unsuccessful Efforts.

What thought the farmers have?

To prevent the sun pass across?

The sisters are sisters without brothers The brothers are brothers without sisters No relation the farmers harvest The sandy fields cannot be watered By the oasis.

The girls should not share the little water They should not stand on their feet.

They must foliage, clumber; the parasites Should hope for no resort.

The sands hold no centrifuge The buccaneers should roll over The world and no grass should be grown No sleep for them and no sleep for Any one else.

Note: This poem was written in reaction to the radical cleric of Taliban Maulana Fazlullah who announced banning of the schools for females in the Swat district of Pakistan’s North Western Frontier Province on December 24, 2008. This poem appeared with The Blue Fog Journal, on April 1, 2009.

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4. Harmony

Tiger, tiger burning bright He’ll leap up above the sky When the Moon would shine And the Sun would define The Commandments shall spread far and wide The Fire shall flame in the air high The Buddha shall be born again To teach the world how to weave The Turban of pride.

Note: This poem celebrates World Religion Day that falls on the third Sunday of January each year. This poem appeared with The Blue Fog Journal, April 1, 2009.

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5. In Search of Peace

I’m in search of a home Where lights twinkle And burn the house warm People share their haves.

And hug each other in love.

They have no complaints in heart.

Gods are sleeping Houses are burning Each home claims there prevails Peace at its door.

Claims turn to arguments To disagreements To wars.

Argument cannot house peace Religion can teach you peace but Which one to choose from a dozen?

Each claims it preaches peace Yes, it does it claims Claims turn to arguments To disagreements, to wars!

How a fight for peace Can bring peace?

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Religion has taught us a lot Should it teach us to narrow arguments To tolerate disagreements To co-exist with other claims?

Should it be a path of soul searching Embodying peace, loving humans?

Should it bring people together Make them love and turn Arguments to find an answer?

Will then I embrace Religion.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 25, MayJun 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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6. The Golden Birds

The golden birds flock To the fields Fluttering and dropping beads Weaving them into garlands.

At the day break They count their valuables One, two, three‌and more and more Yet they lament at their yields They’ve gathered little; yearn for more.

Yet fluttering and yet dropping Yet counting, yet lamenting.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 25, MayJun 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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7. A Poet Laments

Stars are shining bright and the moon is up Clouds are making homes for them They lead to their destinations in peace.

I find no reason to write on disharmony.

No reason to lament.

Grasses are green and plants are laden With fruits. Flowers bloom and swing The aroma rents the air with a hope.

I find no reason to write on despair.

No reason to lament.

Courts deliver justice to the people They deserve. Police help them bury Atrocities. And the government swears.

I find no reason to write on pessimism.

No reason to lament.

People celebrate festivals and share joys In glee. They all congregate in the temples They have no reservation, no aversion.

I find no reason to write on their follies.

No reason to lament.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 25, MayJun 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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8. A Drop of Dew

A drop of dew can enliven the thirsty buds can cause a new life can create a reason.

A drop of dew can drown a village, flood a country can cause tears can push a people.

A drop of dew can dry up the sky, can make clouds can thicken fogs can blind the people can end the reason.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 25, MayJun 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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Investigative Poetry – An Analysis

Investigative writing is about delving deep into the truth behind a thing. Many a times, we come across an event that we doubt having been caused because of some ulterior reason. This doubt causes us to search into the event. Many writers and poets too have often hinted at the truth behind a thing and have disclosed the secrets. Investigative poetry is such a genre in which a poet investigates an event in a role of an investigative writer. One of the great names in this genre is of Charles Olson, a great bard of America with whom Edward Sanders finds investigative poetry to have born. In investigative writing the writers investigate into the explicit and laugh at the implicit. This is a serious task though, but the responsibility is great. Often the truth is too terrible, though it sometimes turns out to be extremely beautiful.

Being certain that they and I But lived where motley is worn: All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

--W. B. Yeats, "Easter 1916" Investigative poetry has some unique features, which define the genre. It investigates the thing that stands before us in disguise. The on-the-screen happening is different but the fact is somewhat else. Investigation, however, involves high risk of being false at times. For when you doubt a thing you begin your investigation. The doubt may not be validated as well.

But if the doubts lead to a truth and the truth is proved only then the job is achieved.

Here I present a collection of investigative poems, which investigate the secret and finally disclose the explicit.

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In ―The Mysterious Man‖ a mischief is created and all are in trouble but no one knows who creates it. Sometimes, some things are missing; the other times a trouble is caused but none finds the creator of the mischief.

In the census of 2001 India recorded a unique trend. Many people have been found to have registered as belonging to more than one religion. This is well exposed in the poem ―An Inclusive India.‖ ―In Disguise‖ removes the curtain from the reality of a fact of the city Ahmedabad. It depicts how prostitutes carry on their business and how easily they are available in Ahmedabad. Gujarat is among some of the very few states where prostitution and alcohol are legally banned and the people here often take pride in this claim but the truth is very different. ―The Grass is Shaking‖ highlights the grave concern of economic meltdown and loss of jobs at present all over the world.

Companies are implementing many cost-effective measures including job lay off. But some companies are laying off employees insensibly. The writer suspects that such companies are taking advantage of the condition and are making money by laying off those employees whom they paid handsome salaries some time ago, and are now replacing them with low paying staff. ―In Bargain‖ we come across an acute truth yet again. Some people, though they do not possess good quality, grow in position while others with good quality do not because they do not make their seniors happy by other means. And a poor man compromises with his economic condition he is fated to live in. The last stanza depicts how politicians found parties and win election, and then bargain a big deal with the government they support. They gain in their demands but the common people who cast their vote with a hope that their daily issues would be solved find themselves cheated.

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9. The Mysterious Man

My mother scoffed at us for ours no fault She had put sweets from offerings in a box To distribute the sacred eating equally among us all: ―All should have equal favour‖, she taught.

Free from her daily routines she opened the box ―And four sweets were missing, she found Who stole the parshad?‖ she shouted And threw the rest to us without a choice.

We’re surprised who stole the sweat We enquired each who committed the mischief None was brought to the book Every one swore none knew anything!

My sceptic father kept an aid-box ready at hand If there’s a mishap and we’d be treated at the instance And then my sister broke her toe She screamed in pain and created a hue My father searched the box every nook and corner But no trace of it could he find. He abused us all She cried at the highest and raised the sensation To enrage my father who loved her more than us We searched it everywhere without a trace But we found neither the box nor the mischief We’re surprised. Every one swore none knew anything!

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Posters and banners they put every Friday For the movies that would play at the theatre By the next day many posters were torn Some beyond their sign, some half-bitten.

Many invigilators were left to look into the secret And they searched high and low with no avail ―Who did it?‖ they always thought chewing Tobacco, or with cigarettes between their lips For they said the pills added some more intelligence But they always came back with empty hands.

There’s always a Mysterious Man who does the mischief And hides himself somewhere in silence to laugh at us In troubles and confusion with no trace of him.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 27, Sep-Oct 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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10. Inclusive India

Ajnabi is registered a Christian at school And bargains exemption of fee by half And all miscellanies full; and sings hymns To Jesus and celebrates Christmas.

He enjoys mirth unbound and has no vices.

He reverences Palestine, Ichthus and the Cross.

He stops cars and buses and collects Donation to organise the puja pandal On Dashehra and throws colors of joy On others on Holi and dances To the tune of cymbal and dhak And joins the crowd to the sacred river And immerses the idols and returns home With much faith and peace in heart.

Manu’s adventure, Om and Swastika Are the ideals of his Hindu faith.

At home he observes fast in Ramadan And goes to the mosque every Friday And celebrates Eid and prides in listening To the sacrifices the prophets made for mankind Abraham’s black stone, Crescent, and calligraphy are his driving forces.

India is an inclusive nation— Profane and sacred; traditional and revolutionary Godly and samkhya; political and social— And now a new micro-India will arise From somewhere in the crowd To move the wheel of life!

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 27, Sep-Oct 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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11. In Disguise

They take shelter in the auto rickshaws in the daylight and sit in much calm in much commune with the police on patrol and invite the passers-by at Laldarwaza.

They smile, lure and gesture and wear red coloured garments with tattoos on the arms and vermilion on the head that spell an erotic design if the marks can veil them?

Have much powder on the face, dark lipstick and well combed hair the shampoo can be smelt.

People have a look at them read the invitation and choose and smile back with reserved lips and hypocrite brows— they pride there is no red-light area in Ahmedabad.

From somewhere a man approaches Maya and whispers some thing; and sets the deal she keeps smiling and talking all the while Her sharp nails and the polish bright the vulgar curves, ebony skin and black eyes lure the man; and he takes a rickshaw off the sight, beating the heat of the summer.

Profession’s battering superimposed on her body the oil on the head had caught the heat of the sun the stench of the powder under her armpits, and the sweat soaked panty spoiled his taste. He cried his wife’s name while struggling between her legs and pushed her away He quickly put on his clothes and ran away in madness, as if he swore never to come again.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 27, Sep-Oct 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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12. The Grass is Shaking

The grass is shaking a mouse may be nibbling at the root The grains will soon turn into heaps under the anthills.

Outside millions will bend on their knees Or sulk in the alleys or peep into the dark well or crumble, scream and die.

Or will I see some from the folk Shooting at the American Civic Association tearing stomach of innocent people Why should they die of starvation?

They should die from the bullets instead, instantly?

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 27, Sep-Oct 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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13. Bargain

I’ve seen many men of lesser quality rise upwards and have immense influence on the people around and many others of best quality fall down under the excuse of recession when job is badly appraised and responsibility blindly assessed and salary adversely reduced.

A nude man barely in skin shies from people tries to hide everything so many secrets fears to share with others the poor chap letting no chance to disclose what he has, what not but poor in the effort he wears all that he has the skin covers him all over.

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The politicians first woo the people then the parties, leaders and independents to make a government at the Center they refresh the old promises of road, clothes and house and add to give power, control economy and guarantee security And bucks to the fellow politicians and creamy posts to some, ministries to the others but people always find themselves on the margin once the vote is over they are again in the queue waiting for the next hustings when they would get the chance to teach them once more what pain it is to go back from the words while the parties enjoy the deal they gain.

Should each of us not flung a party and bargain road, clothes, house, power, economy and security?

An India with one billion parties will be a fine idea.

Note: This poem was published in Muse India, Issue 27, Sep-Oct 2009, ISSN 0975-1815.

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14. Paths Are Obstructed

Paths are obstructed at the no-man’s land where they die gasping at the boundary against the barbs grounded at either side.

Let me move without a stop I want to excavate the old stories the customs, the norms and the mores to make a tribe of a people who have no schisms, no forms and dance only to the tune of Nature.

Note: This poem was published in ken* again, the literary magazine, Vol. 10, No. 3, Fall 2009.

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15. The Doll

The doll imitates the forms Of a woman But it lacks the content— The dark patches gone The hirsute cleansed The black heads removed.

Untimely blinks, sneering face Under unkempt hair Big laughs and irregular teeth.

Note: This poem was published in ken* again, the literary magazine, Vol. 10, No. 3, Fall 2009.

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16. At the Crossings

We’ll meet at the crossings Or see each other in the crowd Or match eyes from a distance Then we’ll realize What we lost and what we gained.

Note: This poem was published in ken* again, the literary magazine, Vol. 10, No. 3, Fall 2009.

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17. Perspective

I took just a few steps And the road ended I took a stride And the path finished I measured the fields And the land locked The world is so small!

And then I began on the journey The roads lasted without an end I took strides But the paths never crossed I came across the fields To touch the horizon It seemed bowing at a distance Above always I tried and tried It has no ending!

The world is so vast!

Note: This poem was published in ken* again, the literary magazine, Vol. 10, No. 3, Fall 2009.

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18. Shez Mingled in Me

I worship the prophetess of love beauty, majesty, glory, and desire she is the sublime of all arts.

Smitten by her beauty I kissed on her forehead: she taught me to read her as I do the Bible.

Opiated by her aroma I touched her skin pink soft and so affectionate: she sedated me and I bowed my head low.

She was the epitome of glory I fumbled on her body with crave: she admired my humbleness.

I sought solace in her lap and went in a trance: she was out of breath and could teach me no ahead.

Finally she surrendered. She deigned.

She could spell no word except she gave me a blink or two.

She crept into me and vanished Now I smell she, I wine she I’ve made an idol of her and sing a hymn to her daily.

Note: Published in the book titled An Anthology of Contemporary Love Poems edited by Rohitash Chandra & Ed Coet, October 2009.

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19. You Turned My Faith

Till a few minutes past, my eyes were blank Then you painted yourself in them beautiful Now I plant flowers and leaves of different hues In my garden where once stood the store room For a litter of garbage and dumps And offer water to the birds at my window And sing along their chirping again and again.

Till a few minutes past, my heart was blank Then you entered into it and dwell there Now I feel the world such a worthy place to live Should I die I wish to be reposed in some corner Of the earth than go to the heaven above And lie with you some day for ever.

Note: Published in the book titled An Anthology of Contemporary Love Poems edited by Rohitash Chandra & Ed Coet, October 2009.

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Contact Khurshid Alam at +91 989 8819864 khurshids.poetry@yahoo.com

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Khurshid Alam