Sharif

bloated, eyes glassy stare
to the sky: an ocean like the one
in which floats this body
washed away
to a destination, ushered by the waves
and the winds, on which ride the sea-birds.

a cry echoes somewhere, faint
from amidst the wet trees bent,
the debris of stone and glass.
someone calls for the body,
standing alone upon the beach,
wind against the face, ripped clothes flapping.
glass shards have cut the flesh,
stone, dust and blood have blinded the eyes
crying and screaming have suppressed the voice.

the widow sits in contemplation, silent
she sees arms dangle amid the stones and glass
blood drips, coagulated.
a man digs the stones, sharp against his flesh
crying the name of his infant.

fish lie flapping upon the wet earth
kicking up clods, in their death-throes.
children stray nigh, cautious amid
the fallen palms, wet leaves flapping
in the silent sea-wind

the cryer on the beach cries
the body on the sea lies
sea-birds peck out its eyes
the widow sits, wiping her eyes
the man looks down at his bloody hands
and the children stray, unknowing,
unhappy, because their adults are sad.

Description of the Trees Beside an Unseen Reservoir

misty due hangs amongst the trees
the stand outside, by the reservoir
a little ocean in the middle of the ground,
the sun is hot, and bathed in its heat
and light of the waning afternoon
is the silence of mankind's civilisation
by the trees amongst the reservoir
that i could not see.
in the silence, there is wonder;
for was there silence five score ago,
when these old trees may have stood
like wise old scholars now, who have
seen, who have heard, and who know.
but they do not see, hear, or know.
for they are trees, despite age.

the jungles where the malays may have dwelled,
through which a tar road runs down
to the reservoir, the old water from where
the mist comes, where the snakes drink.
I saw a monkey scamper across the road,
to its nest in a tree, that looked upon a man
who is now in the ground, food for the worms.

the fog floats translucent in the sunlight,
the clouds float still in the sky, as the earth moves
down, turning away from the sun, to see the moon;
whence mankind sleeps. mankind sleeps, under the moon.
mankind lives then, under the sun. mankind sleeps.
mankind dreams... waking to life under the sun.
they do not see the reservoir, but they see the trees,
in the afternoon sun, the old tar road is abandoned,
and the air is silent.

In the vast valleys green; the pastures watered, flowers
bloomed undone,
Where the wind bore the scent of floral nectar and morning
dew,
Above which the birds rose, and homeward they flew,
'T'was day, when shined beauty and serenity like the
morning sun

Yet, 'twas as if dark clouds coming yonder of rain cover
the sky,
With the winds that blew in relentless shrieks as would one
in madness;
No more of floral nectar but of screams of horror and utter
sadness,
As if destruction ravaged the valley; as if I saw the
flower happiness die.

She came, weeping like the winds of winters
Her ashen face was stained with the streaks of tears;
And she sang her song of mournful sorrow, singing of despair and forgotten fears,
Her arms and feet: pricked to bleed by splinters
Her raven hair fell upon her ashen face, in strings soaked
in rain,
In each stride she took, she stopped her song for cries in
pain,
She dragged with her, her flowing gown: tatter’d and ripp’d
and stain’d.
Walked on in this valley, the maiden, singing her song of
mournful sorrow,
She may dwell here, for days to come; but she may leave in
the morrow.
Of this maiden she who walks in sorrow in the valley wide;
Her name was Misery; raven-haired, ashen-faced and
emerald-eyed.

I walk forth, with myself
Staring down to my feet
Down the crowded street
Not to gaze into the glass
That are the eyes of the dead
That surround me.
The cold pinpricks of rain
Kissed my face as the grey sky
Above me, thundering, does fly,
Then I see the glitter
Of the clear sepia eyes
Amid the glass of the dead
Like the glimpse of the sun
Through the clouds of lead
That floated forth, in the sky
Sepia eyes that stared
Into mine
And they're gone
Like the sun, amid the leaves
Of the trees
Lost into the crowd
Of the glasses of the dead

trees break out in a white floral bloom
i expect to shed away my skin soon
cold winds from the clouds caress my skin
i sit still, as if righetous, pure of sin.

i was a child, naïve in wonderland
pretty flowers: violet lily amid hibisci
cool winds from a warm blue sky
she was a myth; a dream of wonderland.

i had seen distorted reality
through a floral lens of naivety
roses and weeds, tangles in Leeds,
that bore no blood from their thorns,
when i was a child, i saw no thorns.

dreams that make sweet memories
of days that hang like tapestries
put together by my mind's hand:
a mural of blue wool and fragrant oils
a picture of my life in wonderland.

i see malice walk upon the sands of wonderland
of shattered mirrors and muddy ballerinas
misery walks forth, singing a song of sorrow
i look to the moon, and wait for a tomorrow.

malice, she came, and sit by the lily
and picked and smelt it gently
and bore it in her stringy hair
where it withered, withered there

i lay upon the sand in wonderland
from where she took me away by the hand
and where i glimpsed, where she told me
of her days, of what she had seen
before we came back to wonderland.

i had seen distorted reality
through a floral lens of naivety
roses and weeds, tangles in Leeds,
that bore no blood from their thorns,
when i was a child, i saw no thorns.

she grew up to echoes and shadows
and the glimpses of sun, through tangles
of roseweed, pricked she throbbed
she screamed, she sobbed
to bleed, to cry, to succumb to the shadows

i kept on waking from my wonderland
i could no longer feel the fineness of the sand
but it was there, a dream that kept asleep
a lotus-eater, upon the water-washed sand.

hands lead me away from wonderland
like a child, who has been in the sand
for too long; they lead me away
to the necropolis, for many a day.

to the necropolis i had to go,
for a while, for just a little time,
say goodbye to sweet wonderland
for a time, yes, for a time
from the sands of wonderland.

dead faces walked silently past,
eyes glassy, a dark cloud before the sun,
the winds grew colder, as i was alone,
and the sky was darker, and i was alone.

and i came, i came to sweet wonderland,
where she stood standing, upon the sand,
and to me she said, in the way of the dead:
"goodbye, but this may not be the end
for you are still my friend
goodbye, i'll love you till the end
but now you're just my friend."

trees break out in a white floral bloom
i expect to shed away my skin soon
cold winds from the clouds run against my skin
i sit still, as if righetous, pure of sin.

my lily of the valley, had lain bleeing
on her own; upon dark misery feeding:
she shrank in the shadows, and throbbed in the wind,
the cold winds from the clouds,
she lay bleeding, underneath her shrouds.

black malice, she came, to sit by the bleeding lily
and picked and smelt it gently,
and bore it in her long and stringy hair
where it withered, withered there.

i am forgotten, and i have forgotten
the days and sweet memories of wonderland,
of the lilies and her and the fragrant sand
of the empty words that we said
and the now-broken promises that we had made,
i am forgotten, and i have forgotten.

the skin, smooth and unlined
of faces, featureless.
mechanoids walking, walking
forward to somewhere
elsewhere
or nowhere
in particular
the legion of the faceless
their mouths are shut
so they don't really speak
they don't think
so, they walk on
with the buzzing in their
ears
of celluloid nightmares
the tapping of homogeneous
shoes
of an automatic market
the trees are the pipes
the chimneys
of industry spewing
into the widening skies
of black smoke, fog, smog
eau d'photochemical
eau d' chlorofluorocarbone.
yet there's one
walking down in
the rows of the dead
his eyes are wide and open
and he blinks in the dull
glow of the sun through the
smoke, fog, and smog.

Artwork	Farah's Maldivian Poetry	Maldivian Short Stories	Maldivian Poets	Visiting Poets
		HOME	Submissions