A moment on Sad Heights

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THE CHINESE GENERAL

Kay Hassan

Characters. 
 Mao -Zi - Ziyang: The general. 
Lien:     General's Daughter- Biyu's  Mother 
Biyu: General's Granddaughter, and  Chen Chung wife
Bai Jangwei : Biyu's Husband. 
Chen Chung (Dead):  Biyu's Father- Lien's Husband.
Crystal: Biyu's Daughter.
Place : -Somewhere in Arlington.

                                                                  -1-
Biyu, a beautiful Chinese lady invites me to a private party ; a rare event at her -Arlington house. Although, I am aware how bad -I am in putting up with strangers -I murmur to myself, and swear to God. “ I will be among-st the first attendees .” I don’t refuse Biyu’s request, in fact no one does, at work.

And when the time comes Biyu - introduces me to her mother Lien M. Ziyang . (Spiritually, she feels for a moment I am Chen ’s ghost- that is why she tries later to teach me some tricks of her gambling skills.) I know - Lien is in my age-Buyi says . “She is a strong woman, but is obsessed and stubborn .” Biyu works with me - in the same place.

“My husband will be leaving the house, when the party starts,” Buyi says, and leads  me to meet her husband. And I say. “How do you do, sir .” Gasping almost simultaneously ."Why is that, Biyu ?” She is hesitant. “It is a family issue,” says Biyu. Bai Jangwei is her husband, Bai is leaving soon- Hard to understand that- I think confusedly . Bai tells me.” I don’t understand women's mood. Now,they want me out-I am sorry, guys.” He sighs and gasps again strangely. haha- “ Man, you neither need to understand them, nor to be sorry.” I say.

He respects me. “Look, how quickly, men can understand each other,” says he upon our  easy start-without any need to ice breaking-struggle. “If I were a woman, wouldn’t envy such a quickness,” I say, but thing about the future conflicts. He laughs--“ Biyu is beautiful” I say. “I Know, everyone says that,” says he grudgingly, and cast a restless glimpse at me, and roves  his gaze over the guests' faces.“I am sorry to leave, you -hope catch up later,” says he and leaves me alone for a moment.

The guests say during the gossip time - Bai Jangwei - is leaving , because his grandfather Jangwei was a traitor-and betrayed the revolution -Bai’s presence may bother the guest of honor - Biyu think that way. I can’t speak Chinese, but I agree, if there is a guest of honor is Chinese.

More realistic than Aristotle ,they say, females are the fundamental material of the nature's harmony- besides  the oriental women come in all incarnations; their chemistry is indescribable without their four ingredients : fragile charm, allure, poise and femininity.( And the secret fire!) I think- additionally, Biyu is magnificently glowing with every steps she takes -to please the guests. Biyu efficiently pays attention to everyone -she is brilliantly growing her name in the area. “ My father- I mean my grandfather will be here soon,” says she to me, anxiously . I think she prepares me for something crucial. “What is wrong with that,” I say to her hesitantly, I think I might be wronged by her culture …I mean the general’s visit.
“Right, but he is - General Mao -Zi Ziyang,” says she. “ “General Mao -Zi Ziyang!” I muter.
I think about  General Mao -Zi Ziyang- inside their heads . and tell  myself. "Stop.  You try to understand your peers but you can't enter  their veins."

The name is suggestive though I seem to her reluctant to proceed. “You don’t know him, do you?” Biyu says. “Not, really, but the name is becoming a great man,” I say- (I am a bad liar; for certain the worst one.) My son always suggests -“Don’t be smart-ass, with due respect . People hate that, you can't be smart, it is offensive word.” I feel I am safe-  Bai, the prominent male-(And supposedly the potential host- in the place.) Leaves-all the same,but among-st women I feel I am safe

I would say. "Mao-"  in remembrance of the great magician of his time- Mao Zedong! But my mouth is shut, by Biyu’s filtering-looks . She has to be honest and specific. “ In fact the general visits my mother Lien- his only daughter ,” says Biyu
 “Have you seen him recently ?” I say .
"Oh, no -never ,” she says.
 “ What would you expect us to do, Biuy? ” I say.
“ You know, how Mothers bear the burden ,” says Biyu.                                                                 “Right, but what should I do with that high honor , ” I say. I mean, I have never been  anywhere close to be removed from the caste system ." 
 “I believe, Lien had involved in all kinds of the traditional experiences needed for such occasions .In particular, how to receive a Retired General,” says Biyu. I would not miss such an opportunity as a big mouth “With all due respect - I thought , they kill them, ” I say cynically. “ Don’t be silly,” says she plainly. “It is just a stupid thought,” I say. “Whatsoever,” she says." You are involved."

Emptied or extinguished though, we are eager to achieve a massive stimulation-inside our souls. I feel Biyu. won’t resents such kinds of comments all the same ,but she readies to leave gently. “General would not visit Lien, if was not for a personal interest, “ says Biyu. “What do you mean?” I said. “Aaa . It is a family issue,” says Biyu “ I am sorry.” … “You can ask, I don’t mind, but won’t tell you- much details,” says Biyu.    “ Actually I am wondering, what a Chinese retired general might be doing here ,” I say. “In United States. Oh, America?” says she. “Definitely Yes,” I say. “Looking for a giant hunt in New Work city- it is worth it- (the journey.) ,” says she and grins broadly. ”I see,” I say. “ The detail is none of your concern,” says Biyu. “Fair enough,” I say. She leaves, however, naively I risk later to find the truth, and to satisfy my ego, I tell myself.  "He HAS A PLAN."
                                                               
                                                                -2-
Prior to the party’s start , Lien announces the arrival of her father. “ General is her,” Lien says… ” Oh, my God, General Ziyang- in my house!” screams Biyu. Biyu is shaking. Lien doubtless, had planted in her head an image of a gross general

Lien leads the old general in- with his two valets. General watches her daughters guests’ response -and the humble panorama of the living room- which is in fact opened to the backyard . The backyard is lit up by strings of hued lights and traditional Chinese kindles-the space looks like a fancy wing added to her place-bordered by the shadows of two old juniper trees. (The two women receive the general passionately.)

I can see now how his memory bursting out through his eyes and speculate the effect of prosperity -on his flabby face. I think, probably- his frowning face used to be oval or-flat- with a longer articulated nose ,and full cheeks- of a large head which believes in the famous statement -‘Face is superior to truth and justice.’ Obviously had never Eaten Bitter- , or experienced the cycle of frenzy and fatigue, or tasted the Chinese way of living.
"He was articulate," says Lien.

The celebrants are too many for such a little party- but in my point of view , is to fulfil the desires- (Which have never been satisfied.) of our General, here-- in- Arlington- the unique sample of the suburban community- in the country. But,sadly, the suburb is being now forced to retreat to the fringe of its border by the rising of the high buildings.

I think , cynically, such kind of diversity might make me envy anthropologist and ethnologist for having such accessible- mobile laboratories . “I would like to introduce General Ziyang ,” Lien says insistently---she looks at me-she feels I am a random ghost, not Biyu’s father’s-- wondering where her daughter had collected me, even -sooner- she says. “ General is not everyone’s concern.” Anyway Biyu can’t keep her mouth shut. “He is my friend and I am honoured to share with him secrets,” Biyu says.

Quicker than ever, I make my point. “This assembly is either to please the general or to show him how successful they are here-in exile.” I mumble to myself.” Why they don’t take things simply?” The general anyway deserves a round of applause, and in response -he smiles broadly, and grudgingly says. “Xièxiè.” My ear receives the voice as such.

The party is going on ,and we are mainly enjoying the Chinese food, about which The more we speak, the more the intimacy prevails , especially when in detail the history of Chinese cuisine- becomes a hot topic ; it is stretched back for a thousand years, mixing over time techniques, and ingredients -through its long journey-which ended up in the crucible of the expanding empire.

The party’s material for the night has been incredibly organized earlier by Lien -and the-activities included : Traditional dances, and two songs are sung in hurry, and an opera song., was written for Biyu’s six years old daughter- Crystal and her friend - Biyu says- “General , and his assistants can read the song’s translation on the screen-is set on his table .We sing in English.”

The two songs- which are ignored- come to the end- and a Little boy -Jamie- and- Crystal- bloom on a portable plastic stage where three kids pop up to play on some .miniature- like-instrument - Lien and Biyu prepared to introduce the little performers. “ Our young artists : Chan - piano , Julie - flute, and Caroline - violin. “ says Biyu- and smiles in response to the applause. “ The Opera song is performed by Crystal -the general’s grand granddaughter, and Jamie the grandson of the Mr. Bingween who died in the general’s prison for having said -one word-you know what I mean,” Biyu says, without any visible response to the applause. “The song is written by an anonymous poet. It is a pure story of love ,” says Lien, before she remember- Biyu is the director. They are ready for the director’s signal.
                                               ***
The Signal is Launched .

Steppe’s Butterflies.

                - Liang -
 Let me be your soul mate
Not your comrade
You sob like a child -
Lost his mother in the storm
[In the crowd ,]
Let me contain your sorrow
And rub the grieve of your eyes.
Speak up your mind, You won’t need to walk in disguise

               - Zhu-
Shall you love me in all seasons ,
Filling my heart with our breezes,
Love stories -and sages’ wisdom
And love me with all those emotions-
Mother’s planted in your heart
Promise me - you are a true man
For a virgin full of genuine souls-

            - Liang -
Let me be your home
A home of- iron walls,
Where you stay forever
As a baby: In the heart of the motherland
As safe as the ruby with poets
Where none of those villains,
Dare to bruise your skin
Tell the generals- our story-

        - Zhu -
I want freedom, in
A world -architecture-d
for noble feelings-

                          - Liang-
You never stay alone, in this crowded country.
I promise , I promise .

                           - Zhu -
Well, we shall become as simple as the truth.
Have no comrades, has no big brothers, has no almost, and no fear
-
                       -Together --
 Share me this brave world --
 Share me this brave light.
Share me this brave truth
(They kiss, and spring into each other’s arms.)

                      -Phantom-
I shall give you the soul of love.
And bless you as much as music got tongues.

                     -Together-
We are always her for love

                    [Phantom]
And I am always here for you.

Cheering…a huge cheering rocks the place.
-I am certain, linguistically the General has no concern about the translation into Mandarin, but on contrary- I mean emotionally the old man is cracked down, and in response is bitterly tasting the defeat and triteness. And probably is now silently shedding tears. “I am not supposed to be treated that way, Lien,” the general says. I know tears can talk. “Is there any inappropriate behaviour, Ba…” said Lien. “You just showed yourself- my girl-. Where is our discipline, traditions. You deny seventy years of honour , bravery , and triumph,” says the general.

Fortunately my neighbour voluntarily is interpreting the brawl .Hence, I enjoy the luxury of being Listening to Lien’s rage- upon the growling of the general who once banned her ascending the opera’s stages . “We should have told the world what actually went on, earlier - very earlier,” says she “What went on, was a matter of honour , regardless of everything,” says he. “That is your point of view, sir,” says she. “And if you bear the truth, listen to my song,” says she. ” I would risked it.” Says the General. “I hope the facts bear it out,” says she. “Mother, you wreck the party,” says biyu. “Not yet baby. It’d better show him- what he had banned me from,” says Lien in the moment of her glowing - probably to rock up herself and her general .

And, then, magically as much as her long lasting pain had been crying -she is now triggered - to sing, but so profoundly that the general who always bragged not having shed tears even on his foremost adorable leader’s coffin , sooner for the first time reduces to tears.

“-Lein- is the name of my song,” says she.

Listen to the stories of China’s women
From the time of Bound Feet,
To the glory of Red Buds,
when books were ,just-
a cursed Bourgeoisie phenomenon ,
and girls like me were imperialist’s dogs
when she let her plait and curl
falling free on her shoulder,
Even doctors were sworn
 “-ye must not treat the bitches,”
"She got a traitor ancestor."
And when she found a book,
in an underground library,
 Followed by the red guards, screaming--
 “ you are a bitch of Imperialists”
And the teacher woke her up-
after the mid night, and screamed
“Go to the refectory and memorise Mao’s quotes.” -
She reads his first quote- saying-stoically
"Reading too many books is no good. “
And when a mother failed
to abort her pregnant girl
were forced together to walk,
 on the streets in a convoy - screaming -
“How an Imperialist bitch and a torn shoe you are.”
 But it’s fine for the generals ,
 to have the nationalist -Moguls’ presents .
 Registered - in the name of that orphan girl -
 Even if it was a paramount apartment in New York.
To let them run their wealth easier in Beijing .
 This is my song :The story of Chinese Women.

Regardless of the fierce brawl fallout, the party is about to come to the end. “The party is wrecked ,” Biyu says desperately.   “No. It is the right time to go home,” I say for a courtesy reason..                      “Guys, let’s go home. The party is over,” I say
 “Right. You are right.”
 “Right. You are right.”
“GOOD NIGHT .”
 “GOOD NIGHT EVERYONE.”
 “HAVE A GOOD NIGHT.”
“GOOD NIGHT.”
"HAVE A GOOD TIME GENERAL."
                                                         
                                                                ***

Lien fails to teach me her gambling skills. " I have no such a gen, Biyu," I say.                                         " My grandfather's got one," Biyu says and laughs.                                                              
  In the launch time- I sit with Biyu talking occasionally about our families.                                                 “The general is still living in the shock of the Crystal’s song.He visits us to shed tears on his lost paradise, worried about the military discipline, ”  Biyu- says  “It is hard for anyone to forget a half century of his life- he lived the longest party ever,” I say. "Party!" says she, confusedly. .
 "I mean his life," I say.
"He, mostly, quotes from the diary of an English general when he talks about; Obedience; cleanliness; sobriety and honesty,”   Biyu- says                                                                                                      
“Probably, he is kind of a person who magnifies his reason and idols,"I say.
   ‘He is, deliberately shedding tears to defuses the stress on his head,’”  Biyu- says                                      “What else, Biyu.”I say.
 “After he restores himself- he says. ‘Lien, look what is going on in Europe-You can’t let things unleashed,” Biyu- says.
  "Lien says- why?...by the way they restore their relation," says Biyu.
"It is harder than his wars," I say.
“Have you a spiritual definition of WAR?” Biyu says unexpectedly -(For she is very plain and clean.)

“ There are many- but let’s say-It is the meanest -human- tragic farce- and try to elaborate the statement , ” I say.
 "Man, I am serious,” Biyu says.
“ I am serious too," I say.
“ The fact is-Listen, listen and tell me your judgement immediately - Lien is obsessed with gambling- she is addicted  , and usually attends a local veterans club- she is always wining a satisfactory amount of backs," says Biyu.
"I won't blame her," I say.
 "But ,in his recent  visits General accompanied her to the club- and the worse thing is -He spends his time there with some American veterans-" says Biyu.
"Great, absolutely great. They will compromise- the fatal disputes of past," I say.
"I mean justify them...then things will become different," I say.
" They show him their permanent- contra-plans- But he keeps tell them how strategically was helping the Vietnamese against them,"says she.
"Probably in the same way they play now," I say cynically.
 "But , worse than that, the veteran are now  convincing  him to write their memoirs in a book revealing what -went on- during the last century.” Biyu says.
“ Woman- you don’t need to worry, any more, he is safe- they just recall their past in peace-on the gambling machine- " I say.
  “I hope so,”Biyu says
 “By the way- Bi-", I say.
She says." WHAT?" Excitedly.
 "I told your husband how beautiful you are,” I says.
Biyu screams loudly . “Really?”
And kisses me, for the first time.                                                                                                              "Oh,  my lost Ba," yells she, and leaves the place..


The End

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The Journey of Kurd

-Angry at wind-

Kay.Hassan

 I  saw, with my own eyes 
 The unsung hero ,Astyages,  (The wise king whom,we  hated- unfairly.)

 Standing - upon  the ruined walls of  Ecbatan.

Under the fog of the cruelest time,

Shedding  silver  tears and

 Bleeding memories , in rhyme with

the  whining winds-  crept down the mountains-

Staring at the wreckage of  his court 

Where he delivered once

 The most disgraceful  schooling of all time .

And as I nodded, in sorrow- to the silver tears,

The wise king looked back with a brittle gasp.

 “ I did not fear any of her curses,

But -rather, I  cry,

 For my talented  disciple  -Cyrus.   (Cyrus The Great, who -dis-crowned- him...Cyropaedia-  Xenophon)

Shed the holiest  piece  of my soul:
The wisdom of my court, and
 Chivalry code-
 In the school of Medes' sobriety. 

Nevertheless, I learnt, Medes,

 Must have reached their destiny ;

  The due date of split -and- depletion,

 Where - there were no roots

And books to clutch.

(They gave away them ,willingly- Soon. )

 On the course of the cruel-time- decay

Hence, stranded in-the exact time of,

 The snowy mountains of North and West  ;

 the resorts of ancestors’ holy sage,

Where season came and season gone,

Upon the churning topography- 

Of the  anguished motherland,
Prior to the start of this chronic chaos,
 Or being readied for the journey,

 through the veins of tribes,

Of their siblings -  Gordyae- and others-

  A thousand  habitants of the Sad Heights.

To ignite-in- the blend -

 Life and Trait of a new breed ,

To set off on the trails to nowhere -

The never-land , where-henceforth

-Were, in their home, ruled over by strangers:

 Conquerors  and patriarchs ,

who were delighted soon by

their consent of surrender,

By the act of a deadly vow :

“There , for thou, I shall  grow,

Trees  of Life in the golden fields,  

(Like the virgins of the temples-) SOON-

Blessed with ridge and furrow,

Shall water them in the dead of the season

With the streams of sorrow.

And for the eastern borders

 Of Thy Empire we shall,
Build a giant  fence of men,
Eclipsed themselves

In your shadow

And for the southern-- border ,

we are on the head of mercenaries;

My brothers, my cousins,

 And the noblest  of our men

  The descendants of the best of the best.

They are-As many as God’s Words are -

Enormous as the waves of ocean

To storm into thy enemies’ strongholds

Whilst Thy name stays on our lips

In songs and  in prayers -

Becoming -the Jewel  -of

 Our holiest stories-

(Oh, Magnificent King of the sky,  

in thy heavenly  golden garment

I am all yours.)

There are only few, if any,

 May ask about the good tidings, or news --“

(Unaware : platitude shall  corrupt

Their- blessing in disguise,

 Beggars- in all kinds  of weather.)*

Their native lands were mountains

  with the sharpest perches  though,

famous for being  the paradise road

of the adventurers’ arks, and

 Forever chevaliers’ standing   carcasses  

 paved with good intentions - albeit

With all  kinds of complains -

 Lead to  nowhither -soon or later

Though they are always traveling,

Their Mules  stranded, trudging ;

 sunk  to Flanks in the  snow,

Like untrained knights in the field

Remembering in sorrow, with tears,

There were times they were free

And had their own hanging gardens,

  groves, and  heavenly orchards

And owned an absolute sublime patch of paradise     

(Which, Naively,  they called  them

The-Shrine -resorts of Al-Sahaba- )

Oh. Blessed withering - terra firma  

Land of all  fauna and wild flora,

 Zagros’  terraced slope paradise,

Were guarded by- a thousand-
Angel like- immortal juveniles

Regardless of their gender,

forever  alerted like  holy dogs, 

To keep away the unfriendly,

 And hostile intruders

-Their  story-  then on, was,

A prosaic travel from the valleys

Up to the breast of the mounts

Resided - and crowded in black  tents 

The Lest protective-environment-

 Of the genital parts, and skins.

Perpetual fugitives- terrified  of,

 The  inner cities  dysfunction,  

  kept  as such, for a thousand years   

Delightfully  following their livestock;  

Herds of sheep, cows and goats   

Listening to the jingling bills,

nightingales  tweets,

And the purling of the flowing  water

Into his lyric whisper of un-orchestrated passion  -

Unaware: They won’t survive all those 

Frosts on the back of mules and horses

Galloped away in their best time.

In their  destructed meadows.

Remembered, how they chose

 the worse days for their journey.

Screaming and singing,

 Until their exiled  sage throw his first arrow

 loaded  With a new year dispatch -

warning  them of the lands quake  

“ Oh travelers to nowhither .”

What doeth thy Kashkool* - took in ?”

And then on his golden arrow-

He composed-his first Gatha -to launch

(THE TRUTH IS THE HIDDEN LIGHT OF THE SOUL.)

 “These days, you must be shrewd,

(For - Every gesture might hide a disaster.)  

 Or you shall lose your paradise soon, 

And shall , scavenge  the kills of kings 

 where  rocks, or cliffs  are sheer

Or where rivals are hostile and wild

-Fighting over the  poisonous vegetation and insects

And carrying perpetually -in your face-

 a thousand holy messages to prevail:

Lest Storms of  Revolts no more erupt .

(Impairing  your-egos and breed as such.)

They divide  your tribes -
 into a thousand wings-  

And wreck the lines of thy memory. 
Then they drive  you south ,

And  command you in rage

  ‘Come down to the temperate valley-‘

‘And spray you with all kinds of poison.”

Thus, I saw by my own eyes

how, they crashed your revolts.

 Your topography, springs ,trees

Your culture and souls.

 Buried you in deserts

Dissolved you in  Aqua Regia

And sandwiched you in  humble concrete cottages,

O, brethren,“Thy horses, no more,  gallop away in the meadows.”

……………….

Then they  came down to the cities,

Arriving in- the outer- skirts-

Where were found-  shut off-  in ghettos  

empty handed-  in the hottest noon,

Feeling unaccomplished to feed

 a dozen of little offspring

Waiting for food on the unfriendly floor

All this was recently,

 And  a long time ago

And  in future (- Will Be…)

Have hard and bitter agony ;

 Like the resurrection of the magic- again-

They repeat themselves, but,

 NOW, there is no time left ,

For the chess- game- And-

They say. “You  ain’t no -any gamer , bruv )

And I say:

-  Dare to bewail aloud-

“Oh my other egos -

My siblings ,

My friends,

Look, from your niche , unto the sky, 

the space, the old things.

Thy journey has not come to the end- yet-

It is the bluest season of history

You must have had a dream,

Divulge it NOT for simplicity,

(What matters, what does matter? .)

 O’ travellers

By all considerable odds- Is to be

 (More Hamletian than ever  .)* When

Aliens-and marauding tribes of the steppes ,
Are marching  in rhyme with God’s lyrics,   

Digging into your ego- and compiling  the scores, 

You ought to be beholden to Him , bruv .

For,they are screaming.
“Here we're taking what belongs to Him."  
And you are silent like the rock of hell.”

2016

  * Kashkool - Persian Wiki- Brooklyn Museum- 
It was a bag-used by- mystics-  

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Koh-i-Noor

Depletion of  Koh-i-Noor

Kay Hassan

The beauty  growing- in my frame:

Kings had  of it, in East, and West,  

Since  the eruption  of the desires,
In the hollow core of the genesis-   

Back in the depth of history-

The machine of  our  miseries ,   (Miserable  Journey.)

That never has stopped collecting

 The flesh of pains in the  Lean centuries

As the horrible living revenants
On behalf of a thousand gods
 ran  always the farce of  Paradisal Brewery

On this planet's fatigued gaze . (Always Late)
                             ***

Nevertheless,

 April is  coming over the barren land

And the fertile females bred males
To dig up in the mountains for dear stones,

Or dig up for roots of AGARWOODS  and,

 Scrap off them up to their  trunks

In the dead of night-or in the light of the day

Chiseling the divinity in the virgin waste,    

 And  digging- always- for God’s  dust,

 Hidden ,  in His forbidden  properties:

-The restricted  park

For  Kings, Rajas and His whelps

-OR, were  lying down under the snow,

Until there were times to grow  

 Blossoming, up to the summit of desire

 to becoming the justified height  

Of the femininity  gracefulness  of  tiaras

And the virility  talisman of  crowns  might   

                           ***

Inextricably

 Behind the altar, lies

 On My  blessed patch; My Little TAQ;

 A polished ember like  glowing niche

In an eye ball of serpentine  inlaid with gold

Surrounded by a rich toned  velvet ,

In rhyme with  the walls of the hued  palaces…

As such -I  Lived in the trust  of the kings

Queens,   princes, and knights,

Then  at the Dreary  time  of MY  nights .

When  My lords’ desires  depleted,

Was Contained-  all the  sooner

By the suavity of  their  concubines

Where outside their   havens  giant walls

  Silk merchants were  on fire,

For having  parked  their caravans

For a long  , cold  winter  night- -

Growling upon the slacking  time

 though having Camels and Mules -

Laden with jewels  ,Perfumes ,

 liquor,

Ambergris

 Incense cedar, Agarwoods

And Chinese astonishing merchandise.

 Howdahs , set  on elephant  backs,

 Filled with the finest  damsels  of East

Trafficking , for their  - solace-

  The  gossips of My holiness

-( The child of God) 

Amongst  the royals ,all over the world

 And fuelling the  fire of  envy

In the cruel mind of  conquerors,

 Who would  set fire in the  fairy city

Of pilgrims and treasure seekers :

 Poets, bards, rhapsodists, and thieves.

And turn over upside down.

The God’s grace in the town .

Otherwise,   the prevailing price ,

at which if they had been  traded

Would have  dried  the trail of His graces   :

 The main supply - route  of  life.

(That was how they  described the eve of the designed  war.)                  

                                   ***

Gemstones Snatched from Kollur Mine,

Were guarded by Soldiers and mercenaries

Who - for their lords

  fought, over them hand to hand.

As the elation  in their hearts, magic like

Bloomed  in the material of the  stones,
which in their trust  were tightly  held-

Though , they  ritually had to die

Prior to the  festive delivery of them- (The Gems)

Which had to live under the new lords

In the  core fortified patch of the city   

Where the royal bottom patches

Were  brewing the talent of hypocrisy

And the fatal tools for conspiracy

  In  the castles'  darkest  light ,

To lay  hands on the -Talisman

Of  the  sacramental true body ,

Of the divine scepter of sovereignty

                          ***

   A hard time  I had of it,  (As A Holy Gem.)

 Prior to My  absence  over many years

When stayed on  run-as much as I could.

Without having snatched any  sleep

During the   war cry of a thousand  Oriental  kings,

Who were  Chasing the Talisman,

The clue to  my intimate holy  gate :

The  cleft of Venus  in their - tongue.

The -slang word- of the gate of the sky.

                            ***

When I knew, once,  who I might be

My  physical being (A handful of Dirt-)…  .(Eliot and others.)

And  My exiled  Meta physic   (- the fear of dirt)

Lived as the eye  of the DEVI-                  ( The goddess  of the Hindus  temple.)

Until  was snatched, to be

Watching the heaven and universe ,

 justice, and fairness of sovereigns ,

Kings had no sense of humour  

Though I was  a curse on their heads;

 Had learnt to be the watching  eyes of Devi ,

wherever,  I’ been then , and later,

Even  upon Kakatya dynasty ‘s demise ,

When India lost her to Turkic raid for loot,

Or when was passed on to Dehli  Sultanates

Who could not keep Me against

 Mughals’ sharpest  eyes of plunder

” I was never a diamond of Babur

Nor a Humayun’s  daily  court- news.”

And though had tears of light

Never, had cast a glimpse on  Jahan’s  Taj- night -(Taj Makal.)  

“Nor  enjoyed  His  peacock throne.”

I spoke upon the falling of

The -Heaven-depleting grandeur------ (Thus Poet M. Qudsi. described- Peacock Throne )

And  the  lies of the timeworn books  

As the chandler  lustre reflection

Rebounded  during  the old king’s wake

Revealing  the greedy eyes of the frozen  beauty

Around  Diamond and Oriental Topaz

The heavenly  fallen  Grandeur.

                                            

                                    ***

“Nor was placed in a spot to reflect the  Taj  for  fools.”

“Nor was  brought up with  heavenly  features 

To become concubine of Muslim Sultans  “

I  gasped upon the depression of beauty.

And cried for  the Lady -Begum--           (Mumtaz Mahal)

Mother of twelve, yet jealous of,

Sharing- the material of a soft  man

With a horde of  female spouses   

(Though -biologically wasn’t a pure breed- she-)

The bastardized  descendant of Genghis Khan-    

Who from  him  inherited the fire of  Eros ,

Mixed with - Tamerlane’s cruel blood-and zeal-  

But, only to contain love  in the  scale of his rage

Readied  for her metamorphosis  -

Even  on one side of  an asteroid -

Strayed  in the space after Eros    . ( Crater on Eros-  433 )

                                      ***

“It is true,  Jahan’s ungrateful son,

 Raped My body by a Venetian  boy ,

And  became slimmer  then and later ,

for the touches of  a thousand fingers ”

 I  gave My last tribute to India

When was taken by the act of

 The greatest loot’s principia  

 “ In  exchanging -our- curses-

  He called me : Kuh I Nur-

And  I cast  My curse and-AL-  LAANAT-               (Laana-- Arabic- Islamic word - roughly means -curse)

 On his Non  Shahanic - head, -          (Shahanic-from Shahana- Royal-   Refers to Nadir Shah -the king of Persia-)

And his propitious Astrological dates , 

 Which were far superior  to

 The halo of his  immortal  lifeguards.”

                            ***

I waited , and stuck to turban ,bracelet,  and mantels

Until forced  the descendent of his best  general,

 To make  My way back to Motherland.

“To where I sat close to the  goddess-of the temple-

 But still far from the  eyes of justice .”

                             ***

Having no choice- I-.
 prostituted myself in their castles

Until  West mingled with East .

And all those storms

Became the  memories  of past,

Before  the mother of the cities- (Mumbai .) 

And  the woman who,

 Did  beat the dullness  of the world.

Together, Gave birth to a bard,

Who  made out of -The  wobbly

 Trust between them,

The ballad of World’s  Lullaby-

Of doubt

EAST AND WEST

 EAST AND WEST
EAST AND WEST

EAST AND WEST

WEST_

                                       ***

 “ I sat my eyes  on the greatest empire.”

And blow  a spell to reach the Dire

 Spot of the Tiara of  Victoria  the great

 “’Those eyes and those teeth are diamonds ,

 Said Her Majesty  to my Raja .

“And  in return  to the grace of  his godmother,

“  the  Black Prince,

“Presented  Me in Queen’s palace…”

“Then at dawn we came down to the court

where I  was again slimmed down

And readied to  ascend  the  crown

The place where on  I started My mission- of curse,
 Disturbing  the everlasting dawn

In the  lands of  the greatest empire throne.”

Having then involved the world

 in the  greatest   wars of all time.”

Hence, after the time of foolishness ,

Was Held in trust, by a  younger lady of power

As a prisoner in Her Jewel’ Tower

 With the trivial works  of her  jeweller

They raped the trinity of My glow.

Where the river Thames, still, flow,

***

“After it was too late,

“They came  down to My cellar.

”And said in My mother’s  tongue- Naastik -“   (Godless in Hindi-)

And-Institute of Chemistry  studied  Me,

My Covalent bonding  and brilliant lattice.

And My   contaminated  status .

While Institute of History 

Memorizing the names of  the horses  

Which galloped away with Me- Far Away.

crushing  the meadow for the knights

Who on their backs fought  .

On the snow between mountains, and valleys,

On the cities road ,streets - alleyways

Kings killed their brothers and invaded kingdoms

Or lost their kingdoms  in dirty   plots:

 assassinations, battles and conflicts.(Were involved)

 They were triggered by envy and greed,

 To fight over  My magnificent  body,

Not over  My soul and charm , which

Millions are  now anxious to see

Or  cast a glimpse on My inner grace

 for- big or a little joy- on face

“Whiteout  having a clue

Of what I had been through,

And why  my  spell worked on ,

  Those who  forbade my glow.”

Despite, the dangers  of My whims    

Under the tower of  the  desire

I  never planned to hang fire.

(Nevertheless)

I: The perplexed giant  diamond

Poured  My anger, that -For onlookers , seemed-

 Like the limped water  of a little spring

With a thousand brilliant IRISES  

“That’s Me the BUTTERFLY’  SPEAKING,

My fame-  my Grandeur --You say.

I am looking into the sea of your emotion

Son of man- you have no spot of  solace

C'etait mon enfant, mon bijou, mon ame.-“ -(Wallace Stevens )-

                              ***

 “Though the new rise is hard,                                                                                                                     and a cruelest agony ,by far,

  Harsher than maintaining

 the  universe  splendid   harmony. 

 When  the  beauty gives up

 challenging  for its architectural  grace    

However, someday if were set free,

 By an immortal hand of  (From William Blake.)

a-supreme potency beyond the cloud,  

For the truth , the absolute truth,

Which might make a little triumph

Would not- fear  expose My  magnificent   name ,

From the  highest tower of the city.

 To the rage of  His nasty  believers,

“-Celestial?”     (The Corus sung under the tower. )

“-Oh God’s sheep… I am a baby- planet                                                                                                               The  most  inferior dust of the universe,” I                                                                                                growled, and closed my  thousand  eyes.

The End

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THE MULBERRY TREE

Kay Hassan

-From the Old HOUSE.

(De quel Age es-tu)*
 Oh, Grandfather’s mulberry,
Your giant trunk’ s hollowing  ,
Yet shooting sprigs ,and sprouting
To shade the ancient hand-mills,
And the fence of the holy stone
 On which your lord’s body
Was bathed for the last time
 De quel Age es-tu,

I know how many years
You listened to our howl,
 and to
 Mother’s Lullaby for
Her Sick new born in Hammocks

You endured  our unkindness
Our piercing squeaks-when
Plucked your unripe fruits
And did many bad things;
Un-rhymed, and dis-harmonized
the sparrows’ chirps.

Then we hung saw like, swing of ropes .
 Around  your neck.
And  for so many years
Wound around your wrist
Rough halters for
Calves’ tanned skins
. (our butter maker.)
And slaughtered  under your shade
For Abraham’s son
A thousand heads of  life-stock
And ripped their fleshes
With the heaviest choppers,
And most often barbecued
Their kidneys and testicles,
With ceremonial moods,
 Screaming.
 ‘De quel Age es-tu.’
But,
Despite all our crimes
You said. ‘Whatsoever.’
Again and again,
Until The thunder
Hit thy trunk
And split it
Into equal halves,
Sprawled on the ground
Thighs open to the sky
Having the  Ditch of  Earth
Between thy loins,
 Henceforth;we understood,
 How the motherland’s  vagina exposed
 To swords and lances.
And daggers of tongues,
Where my brother shed tears,
On your corpse,
 ‘De quel Age es-tu.’

You know it is your time
The leaves are wilting, and
They won’t match your Cambium
You know it is your time, and-
 the worst of times are coming,
 Dear father.

“Though we were not good species in the ecosystem, DEAR, we had loved thou as much as Man can love God.”
* Arthur Rimbaud.

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The King's Rock

Our  nethermost region.

Kay Hassan

 Stately, with all his passions  under a mighty  rock,

Likewise, oft in all his wars had shed his blood
It was the to miracle of his seven labours
That has never been sung with:
 Daf, drum, flute and dulcimer

Nevertheless, he was a man of  his trade
Had never played with  the shadows of  Word

 Rebounded   or bragged like the heights’ lord 

But , like the  sibling-of the mighty rock  

Stuck bravely to the heart of the faith

But, the  emperor’s  guards has  reached him-

 in his blood soaked sanctum

 

Riding- with long rifles and swords

"Ready ?" They shouted nearby,

And  galloped through the tearing winds,   

 Composing songs for their uncrowned King

A thousand hearts cracked, or shredded 

on the oak covered giant rocks

 the tears fell upon the nethermost garden

Where the.enchanted  souls were

floating   across the sacred  red valleys- 

 with perpetual uproar , and climbing  the rocks-  

Departing through the meandering roads to exile.  

Years, are messing  up day by night 
His shelter, lionized, like the Dome of the rock.

Exposed to dust and rain, 
 acquired the  fame in the waste,
 Like a giant brain of West    

The empire times, turmoil-ed  over years
And  awakened  him for another round.

'Alas,' we screamed, after a ninety years 
When for  the taste  of Mongols'  Paper* ,

The prides of the heights' lords scattered 
Upon the dwindling of -king's rock's-chemistry  

Chieftains sat on their eggs,*

 Loosely, dangled  their legs

From the thousand  sides of the rock,

 Smoking-in a chattering mood.
"Hey,”  unto the their clapping folks

say the chieftains of many

“May I ask the historian one question?

 How many chieftains and men of glory

have dangled their legs down- 

From the  to of the king's rock

Brothers, there is no a stranger  among us

in this  valley.

 I say 'History  is tongueless, 

but certainly,. I am not'
To all who set eyes on the treasures, and land ,

The sermon  is done 

we are done. 

The last chieftain has died in January 
Cursed  in his frosted  bed. 
His  face was frozen                                             

 like the eyes of shark
Failing  to  catch  the din of the crowd
and Vicar's sermon on the king's coffin

A voice whispered 
"Beware of the dogs' bark.

Beware of your brothers'  bark."
------------------------------------------------
*Paper: Cash; Mongols introduced the world to the Chinese Note.
* Testicle.

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