Poems

A Pang of Painful Joy

I’m petrified in my room
The light is off,
Tenebrous as the inside of a coffin.
I see darkness stretched a million miles;
Beyond and beneath,
No horizon.

A grave so wide, each horizon dark,
Wide as a black sky–
Starless.

There is a rabbit,
A lizard,
A moth,
The fly, the fly.
I cry a pang of painful joy–

I’m alone.
Yet a world
In a shambles;
A creation of my own being,
A revelation of my own desire.
A crocodile in the labyrinth.
A spark of light I see in a crack in the door.

I crawl heavily,
At a snail’s pace;
Ohh!…how I long for it.

____Muhammad Shahab.

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Poems

A Nightmare

On the highway across the bridge
I saw you
A shepherd I was
Standing in a nearby field
Plunged I in front of your car
You saved me
And died yourself.
Still I’m empty as a hollow bamboo.
Often I think of the accident
When I wake up.
A nightmare
Horrible it was.

_____Muhammad Shahab.

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Poems

A Troth

Plucking stars.
Taking ventures to deep oceans
When we were mariners.
Dreams dreamt;
Waking promises kept;
Holidays in heavens
When we were astronauts.
Flights in imagination when we were writers.

Dying together
Living upon the tip of an iceberg
Seeing our faces across newts
Winking
Bathing in a white foam,
Fingers running in hair,
Massaging palms delicately,
Spiny sleep on a fairy bed,
Borrowing the wings of fancy,
Exploring peaches in a Turkish fog,
Red envelope in white wine,
White daisies on the navels
Slumber in our waking dream.

I plight my troth,
Not in a dying sunset,
But the morning star;
Is the herald of my promise.
My asking lips would not hesitate.
I see the memories we keep,
In each breath we’ve inhaled together.
Only your smile would break
The claws, the claws
Of death. When we’re together
For a life and the life after life.

_____Muhammad Shahab.

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Poems

My Head and His Head

I’m a sales rep;
Beside the Cafe Square
Lies my head
In a penthouse.
I wait for my head
To rise, to rise.

He is a shithead.
Office hours have gone.
He lies and lies too,
To me and to his own head.
Such heads are not fit for heads.

I see a head of my friend’s
He is the real head;
And his head is real-real head.
What a head my friend has;
I often get jealous
With him and his head.
Do I wait for my head,
Or change my head
For a better shithead?

_____Muhammad Shahab.

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Uncategorized

I Ken it, Do You?

Volcano erupts
With high frequency.
Little wax
That leaves no trace
Upon the steeple.
Mushroom cooking
Without fire.
Fire in the heart,
Heart beating faster.

Peeled cucumbers
Mushroom! mushroom!
Elixir floats upon the mushroom.
Wasted life gives pro tem pleasure
Life begets life
Haste makes more waste
Slower
Slower
Or, to put an end?
End?
End is itself a psychedelic pleasure,
Even more than that;

Wasted, wasted,
Plastic thought,
Dreams of salt,
Wine of beauty,
What is the beginning?
What is the end?
What is this?
I ken it, do you?

_____Muhammad Shahab.

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Poems

The Gaol of Time

The blue ocean beneath,
And above in the air,
The creatures;
The one that walks,
The one that soars,
The one that dives,
All and sundry in a toil
Incessant,
To outlive the other.

Tell me…
Who will remain?
Who will triumph
The battle against time?
Our white hope like daisies
Exudes from a vacant arena
Full of the all-and-sundry.
Only in a gaol
Of time and its tricks.

____Muhammad Shahab.

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Poems

Because I Have

Have you studied astronomy?
Because I have.

You are so rare
To find
Where from, you are
Not of this world;
Its shine and shimmer.
Hardly is anything like you.

There’s the spirit of an angel
Imbued in a worldly creature
Like you, breathing stars,
Even galaxies.

Don’t you wonder?
Your riveting and rapt
Shape shines more
Than the sparkling rays
Of the northern lights.

You–
like a black hole
Absorb the light
From the eyes that behold you.
Not everyone would be
An astronomer
Like me, for you.

____Muhammad Shahab.

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Poems

I Am

The sun is dark
Here in the shadows
As dark as the midnight
I like them–
No heat
Only me
I see in
I see.

No more shadows–
The phoney shadows.
The clumsy silhouette;
Black and blue
Following till they disappear.

Am I a psychopath or the sun?
To think I am
I am
There is only me
I am
Not a sick philosopher–
The energy;
Strenuous vitality
I am.

_____Muhammad Shahab.

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