God And Me Prose and Poetry

God And Me Prose and Poetry
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You guys must be wondering why I have silenced myself.

Well I had a meeting with God at Moghul Masjid and it was really quiet about early evening and the waters in the pool with pebbles being thrown to scare the fishes by little fat faced cherubic angels as God was away and the mice were at play..
God was sitting pondering on the bench and feeding flour balls to the fishes that were at the shallow end of the pool.. it is the deep end in life that gets hit badly, the big fishes at the mercy of the angels…

God beckoned me, all of me, my bare feet, bald pate and my camera bag and my shawl. and..my humility… my dwarfish simplicity.( I remembered she asked me why do I call my self dwarf in the first place I am not as heavenly endowed as him.. her dream man in the second place in the presence of God only children come to his shoulders.)

God looked pained as he normally does during Moharam..
And God was far too fond of Hussain. this is not about a particular sect or religion it is about sacrifice to save Honor , Man And Mankind .
The Heritage of the Messenger of God.

God asked me how things were with me..
He could see the wounds that grew like creeper on the banyan tree of my heart..
I told him life was not what used to be when I was 21 years old.. I had aged and life had remained young.
Love was not the same.
Marriages were just not the same.
I thought of a dear friend.
She is seriously funny.
I thought of another friend..
Her 4 year eyelashed of a daughter.
A single mother is playing it by ear..

God was reading my mind…
I thought of my wife my love for her, my cravings ,my failings, her tears , her 30 years of poetic pleasures.
Unread poetry like the Endymion..
John could not cheat life out of death…

I also wanted to know having mansions in my fathers house .. I still sought the freedom of a wind, the cloudiness of a carefree sky..the sad mournful cawing of the Crow as he sat on the erect tombstone of a poets grave ..
Droppings of rhythmic resonance of ..Death,, the Crow away from the purview of stolen land .. Stolen and cheaply sold artifacts of a native glory transfused alcohol instead of pride and blood.

All foolish thoughts.. I had so much to say but it was as though someone had throttled my voice box…I love her as destiny demands.. Pay the price of silence.
I try to keep away but she hits me like teasing pellet from a sling shot… this is not the Dichotomy of love.. Dichotomy failed me..
Wife did not want to give her satin stained coverlet of my come for laundering to Alaska.

And she is aware of … knows as all far reaching thinking women…that she is the sinewy, streaming rivulets of blood, the ore of my poesy the kernel of my thoughts..
Also Love beguiled by love.
Love routed love, as suicidal as love, love kills love…

And I heard the call of the Muezzin…
God had disappeared..
Yes Namaaz is the heart of our religion..
Sacrifice is the soul of our Hearts..


And terrorism a blunt dagger in the heart of Karbala.

And the chant of the Mother of Sacrifice.. Ambushed Honor.

Ya Hussain Ya Hussain.