red killer virus
unseen contagious, small
stay clean, far, or fall.
Social distancing
washing hands fast becoming
new law of all lands.
Corona dharna
houses safe, don’t wire us,no
lathi-charge*, just soap.
who locked me in first
now corona virus has
taken my revenge.
value the window
all the world is in it now
zoom in side, zoom out.
*lathi-charge: (India) The police tactic of charging a crowd with lathis or batons in order to disperse it.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
The World Came to A Stop
Another day, another death,
another night, another sin
committed not regretted, nor repented,
routine pulled in pain, in beating
the grain for hours, sweat poured,
didn’t wash the hurt,
the baby cried, hungry, on the back
exhausted by jerky rhythmic jolts
then, the world came to a halt-
no cries sounded as bodies fell
listless without breath, awe and fear?
blood sacrifice, so near?
Take cover, take cover, unseen
strafing , women children men, free
of shades, cash or kind, Flee! Flee!
Death defies borders, barbed wires
make no sense, bullets batons guns
lose power.
Emptiness prevails on land, animals
watch caged humans, no honks for way
on roads. Yesterday what we loved to
touch, that very thing we fear, but will
life be the same again? Will there be
honest care?
The sun still shines, the moon in silver
smiles, rivers run for miles, ranges guard
birds twitter, trees remain calm and green,
fruit is plenty, clouds float in the sky, I—
alone, sigh, and cry—I hear my heart say
Now you know, why?
‘Because You would not stop for the World
It kindly stopped for you.’
The Skean
Boomeranged, the skean slashed, unseen like phosgene on
the terrene, unforeseen unseen, it ripped smothered innocent
breathers, hundreds at once, to thousands in seconds.
Ominous signs forewarned, scary ghostly widespread happening
suspended in the blue expanses a cloudy white sinister skull trailing
horrifically, manifested across boundless, beyond measure,
unknown, space disturbed, restless undines sensed strange miracles in
ocean fathoms-staggering, half-clad, barefooted, marginalized living
bodies, swayed in dizzy drunken states,
dozing, drowning in Shebeen, for uncounted times, now fully wayward,
drifting, stepping, sinking in dunes, sliding aimlessly, what hopes
for humanity when denes destroyed by humanity itself?
Habitats erased mercilessly and clear silver streams
filled with propylene. No Hippochrine in soul and spirit awakens here,
silence the tambourines, smoke not the dudeen,
Sunk to Lethe lust and greed, oblivious of love kindness and good deeds
why to animal level have humans fallen? Believing not The One Unseen?
Now fearing this—though invisible?
The world in speed, metamorphosed by tiny Covid-19—enforcing equity—
knows not rank nor caste, nor color nor creed, nor walls nor wires of any
country, nor age nor gender nor family.
Humanity now on a single plane, no one to lose or gain, death is ordained
for rich or poor, dark or fair, all belong here, shrouds no pockets have, just
fabric layers—
Covid-19—with fear you conquer but one strong weapon will win over you,
Humans have faith and prayer, good deeds and Hope—
Hope is their strength—with Hope the pandemic will surely end.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
While I wait for time to be
the sun is high in the sky
heating every nook and sea
patience, patience is the key,
for I am fasting. A promise to
Thee, Master of the Day of Decree
when all of a sudden I see the news—
now its Italy…Oh Master, Mercy!
World under attack, not only one country!
Pandemic East to West, unseen virus—so many,
sincerity of peace, but what went wrong
on this side of the Earth—why did hatred increase?
This side was more free and wide and green,
a land of freedom, equality, and opportunity?
So much killing is insane, what will all that blood
gain, for whom the bell tolls now, again?
Why one dying is saved, and doctors applauded
ebola, dengue, acid victims, disabled, amputated…?
These are the same as war soldiers, injured,
no land is gained, no territory conquered.
Why then is humanity fearfully infected?
Life and Death is for the Master to set.
He is Most Gracious Merciful and Kind.
Then we, the humans have wandered blind—
from the straight path and the natural way,
a sign of end time when man with man will lay
and woman with woman will be one to stay—
while I wait for the sun to go down and rest—
disturbed, perturbed, painful. and hurt I am.
Weapons were not found on this planet but
berries, food, water. Fruit and peace was best.
Let us throw all weapons aside and rest,
abide by law, and meet as a world community
all together. Coming—a Holy Month of Peace Master
declared—not one but four when no killing be dared.
We ourselves are to blame for all this shame—
we are wrong—we need to sit, be humble, and think—
not stand or be proud and count the armored tanks.
Hurry People! Sit down, kneel, pray, forgive—we all are
dangerously at the end, at the edge, at the brink…
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
Clouds gather in the sky
some are dark some light up high
here they come rumbling
wonder why they are grumbling?
raising a storm, hue and cry!
Clouds gather in the sky;
are they showing us a fire?
frowning on a sinful desire?
warning of The Heaven’s Ire?
or to cool the bonfire?
Clouds gather in the sky
I wonder if their thunder
is a song of celestial choir?
praising Divine Moist Sapphire,
Dust we see and dust we are
yet the particles conspire
Clouds gather in the sky
to relieve us from our misery
cooling comfort we do require,
I know they come to admire
and blessing us , will soon retire
away to their ocean home entire,
Clouds gather in the sky!
they leave a message , a purifier!
be at peace and mercy
be not a crier or a liar
be like us without any fuss
a bold graceful high flyer-
Clouds gather in the sky!
in rain we sing ‘n’ shout ‘n’ play
but break the law, then face the bolt.
If stormy weather be Gods’ Wrath?
Stormy weather was foretold—then
pray for mercy, and a cleansing bath
OH Clouds Gather in the sky!
And I don’t wonder why…
It was in the year 1993 when newspapers and I mean news in paper, or to be more precise printed on paper, the Editor opened a debate “Should cars be banned from cities?. It was quite appealing and set me wondering.
The title and the invitation to write both brought nostalgic memories. My own Rawalpindi was a peaceful sunlit city, moderately warm during summers and lovably cold during Winters,many years ago. Looking down the memory lane I remembered the hand-in-hand pairs walking from our school, the Presentation Convent, to the Plaza Cinema to see some of the great classic Motion Pictures; the tonga ride to school and back was a wonderful experience, the shining leather bridle and reins, colorful ribbons by the horses ears,clean and freshly painted carriage and the loud clanging of the bell inspired a lot. The clippety cloppety speed of the horse was so balanced, one could view the whole world at a glance and also gather details of the wayside panorama as one went along. The air felt fresh and clear and one enjoyed learning. School was wonderful too, bags were light but minds and spirits were full. Roads were walkable and they were roads!
Over the years one finds a tremendous change of scene,there are more cars than roads,roads to learning have vanished as learning centers have increased, things seem to be moving in the opposite direction.
I found myself reversing my small car in front of my daughter’s school daily, to make space for my daughter as well as for other cars, of course; my daughter had to dash across the road or squeeze herself between two bumpers, the front bumper of our car and the back of someone else’s.
Well, it’s dangerous! No wonder Michael Jackson had realized the dangers a child faces in the world of today. I watched closely, peering over the tops of other cars disregarding the beeps and horns of other vehicles, refusing to budge an inch, till I see my little one safely enter the school gate. I had strictly advised her to keep as close to the wall as possible if she values her…school… her …life. The ‘corn walla, roasted corn seller Pathan was least disturbed and I must say that he was a brave Pathan.
Cars and cars all around, red, blue, black green, er… dark green.These were mostly coasters and jeeps, and now yellow, the fever was rising…Invasion !
Would banishment be the answer.? It was decided to ask the cars themselves.
‘Here’s a red car, sad looking Alto’. ‘Well, excuse me dear, how do you find the yellow brick road these days?.”
‘Oh the yellow is all right. I have a new friend but our feet wear out so soon and lately I have developed an asthmatic problem, no oil has any effect and I am trying to get a new vacuum cleaner from my cousin abroad. But you see the tele, I mean the phone is important too.It’s so lonely without it but it does give a back ache. I guess cars should stay, it’s only that they should stay clean ! And I mean clean, CLEAN’ No monkey business, that’s it’.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
Oceans are one of the many miracles of the Creator as the Earth itself is. The water holds itself yet moves, full of life, rebirth and deaths and fathoms of fluid space, stable for all ships and boats, salty roadways, for travelers transport and sport. / Anjum Wasim Dar
O’ Poseidon bestowed with the power unique
tell us the secret of the two seas that do not meet
yet flow with different colors, wave by wave, move
by move, side by side, a perfect acceptance of diversity,
Poseidon speaks, ‘Man is nothing without the Gods’
oceans or skies the sole power is with the Creator
who loves clear open hearts, He blocks nothing nor
builds walls, see my home has no doors nor windows’
All are free to enter, float, sail, swim dive or dig
I am full of food, fish, color, charms and treasures
but many living beings are careless, inconsiderate
they throw harmful waste trash plastic on and in me.
Water will not become less but will be a source of
trouble for human beings themselves, the dead will
float the dying will cry and curse, the thought makes
me shudder, storms surge, waves rise to great heights,
Water is hurt, it is red now with blood and scales
breathing is difficult, inhale a struggle, exhale an
ordeal, oil blocks unmarked uncharted paths
Ocean ides, no longer accept offerings from fans.
Home state worries Oceanus, growing more old
countless pennies coins of gold, are useless down
on the sea bed, worthless is such a treasure which
sinks and loses its values, shine and becomes cold.
A revenge rises a tsunami results, as the grand
bowl shakes jolts jumps and throws up-
beware O People …I envision a huge surge…
sing not any songs nor lie naked on the beach
Pray pray pray peace, repentance, forgiveness, seek
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
Dear Writers and Readers,
Some thoughts from the lighter side of life, from my world of pencils.
Have you ever thought … No, you must have: “That how valuable pencils are?” The pencil point these days has become a flat surfaced button. Well for me the long slim sleek colorful object is a golden piece of eight, a priceless possession.
Ever since awareness of being alive touched my mind soul and spirit I found out that my closest friends and companions were materials for writing, coloring and drawing. Pencils of all kinds, not often new, but reduced in size, chewed a bit at the end. They would be small color pencils mostly because the larger ones were expensive. Another awareness!! Pencils made in USA which somehow always reflected yellow color and had a deep red eraser at the other end. Faber Castell HB 2 Drawing pencil … and then came Deer….Oh Dear , Oh Dear, Korean multi-colored, transparent! AH! What a thrill to see the lead inside. What is it that writes? What is it that creates those lovely patterns? What is it that traces the mystic mazes on the empty spaces?
And then….
Pencils in front of me
Pencils beside me
Pencils to the left of me
Pencils to the right of me
A pencil in my hand, all the time a diary within reach
I think I dream I talk I speak I write and I love to Teach;
Once illness made me still, I could not move my body I was so weak, but I could hold a pencil, and I had strength enough to slide it across the page while I was glued to the bed. I found out that a pencil would take less energy to write and what was written could be changed.
When there was no one near me, there was my pencil. It gave me security. It gave me courage. It kept my mind alive. I thought with it. I spoke to it and it spoke to me. It gave me ideas. It made me move on in time. As the days passed, my illness slowly faded away. The pencil under my pillow said, “I will be well,” and see now how I am? A little bit is used at a time and then refreshed, turned, twisted, forced and sharpened and shaped, ready to begin work again.
Slowly I play my part and fade away. As I grow little I am then put away in a box I am now small and thin. I look around and I see at least four pencil containers. They are two each on my two writing tables. Yes! Two! The third table is for the computer. They all housing my pencils, which are braving the world with me.
So keep . . .
My stories are many, as many as my pencils, I have a Teacher pencil and a Dreamworks LLC Aardman pencil. Have you ever heard of that one?
I am well now and have begun my travels from the USA to UK. That reminds me of the precious pencil from the UK, from the land of Robin Hood of Nottingham. I can see the green cap with the feather on it. Lovely! The other from England is shaped like a STOP sign at the end and is red and white in color, a reminder of Conservative Traditions, Rules and Regulations. It is a good sign. It keeps us disciplined.
So the journey continues, and I sing as I write, ‘My heart will go on, My pencil will go on…….on … more on pencils and pens to come.’
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
Oh what shall I say about this fever of mine
in the morning it’s normal, in the evening 99
The body shudders and shivers and quivers
sweat pours out like a rushing gushing river,
the liver and spleen get painful and enlarged
with bitter quinine mixtures one is charged,
you may forget that the mosquito net will
block the tiny insect, day or night, it flies
from cool nooks, to suck human blood in pure
delight as it swings, sings and dances in to bite,
weak and restless drained of strength and ease
the body is pale, enlarged are the liver and spleen,
what gender mosquito may be the cause, culprit
is the female Anopheles, that brings this disease
even if tons and tons of DDT we spray, the insects
don’t die, they breed and grow and stay and stay,
we may say, strange is the law of nature creator, but
insects, birds, animals wild and tame, have rights-
there is a strong purpose of the tiny insect, in history though
It killed the cruel one, flying in his nose, biting the great Pharoah-
to live breathe eat kill or die, face all troubles and strife
they are inhabitants of planet Earth, and have a right to life.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
He came into this world with an innocent spirit but with a physical condition, recognized as ‘Development Disability’. At that time it was commonly called ‘Mental Retardation’, which meant anyone suffering from it would be having difficulties in certain areas of life, especially in “language, mobility, learning, self-help, and independent living”.
A helpless human being born in this world with an innocent soul, oblivious to life’s reality, unaware of its purpose, totally unconscious of self but for the fulfillment of the basic need for food and strangely, of extreme sensitivity to music. The tunes that caught his fancy would excite him to the point of screaming that gradually melted into crying and, after long hours, would end by fatigue and sleep.
Everyone at home loved music. Father had quite a collection of 75 rpm records and a stylish Grundig record player which would be attached to the radio. Almost every evening there would be a half-hour music session before dinner was served.
My earliest memories are of joyful moments when he was born. Good looking, with dark eyes, long eyelashes, adorable face specially when it broke into a smile, but something was very odd about him. I could not understand just what at that time. Two years old but hardly able to sit: “when will he play with us? Why doesn’t he speak ?” The only answers were “with time dear” and “in due time, he will.” We would run off and get busy with our own games and books, accepting the quietly given explanation.
When he was five, he began to sit, but still no speech, nor play, nor self awareness. He would sit on the tricycle but could not pedal or ride. With time he learned to stand and one day took a few steps. Soon with the support of the wall he began to walk. Still no speech. Fits of laughter began to occur and would end up in screams. Lying on the floor nothing would stop the screaming untill time brought an end to them.
He never knew he had a name. He was not conscious of t parents, siblings, or anyone else. He had no idea of day or night. When he started walking he was not aware of the way to go. Once unnoticed he walked out of the gate and onto the road, he was almost run over by a passing vehicle. He was hit and the fall broke two of his ribs. It was a painful time for him. From then on he had to be strictly monitored and often in a bolted room.
With passing years the truth of his never getting well and normal was accepted. He would never be able to converse or take care of himself. He needed constant vigilant care for falls or injuries, for safety against electric wires and shocks, for all sorts of dangers. There was no end to care as he was alive in a world of his own. Parents did all they could. No medicine would work.
Hunger is a strong instinct. He would reach out and hold the arm tightly of anyone close to him at that moment and would push that person towards the door of the room.I t was a clear indication that he was asking for food, but he had to be fed. He could not hold a spoon or a cup, nor a biscuit nor a piece of bread. Sometimes the morsel would get stuck in the throat because it was not properly chewed. Panic would result. Fortunately the first aid of patting on the back would work.
He was not aware of the dangers of injury. Once, in a fit of laughter he clutched the electric extension wire on the floor and let out a loud scream, by the time the connection was cut his hand was burned, the flesh cut and bleeding. The wound healed but the hand could not be normal again. The need for constant vigilance kept the whole family alert. The risk of leaving him alone even for a few seconds was profound and life threatening. One aspect in his personality was that he was a docile human being. Nonviolent.
A newly established state had very little health care or disability support centers for special-needs children or adults. Tariq ,as he was named would live in his own home, which for the family became a guarded place. Fear concern and worry prevailed, only prayer would bring some solace and strength to the heart. One can never fully understand nor find any answers. The truth is with the One Power Almighty.
Disability of all sorts needs constant care comfort patience respect and love. May Allah the Most Gracious and Most Merciful save and protect his people on this beautiful Earth and May all be blessed with the best of health and happiness.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
Illness is a worldly test of faith strength and trust. It comes any time and face
it, we must—from childhood to old age. Some are lucky, some not so fortunate.
Some are born without health, physical and mental; they need care respect and
love. Illness strikes from time to time,sometimes mild sometimes serious. It reminds
us of a power, greatest of all, a power who gives us the cure. Illness taught me
to surrender, accept the changes, and be patient.
And so I faced pain fever and bleeding until the body lay in a red pool on a flat table.
The doctor knew better to let me bleed. I lost a child. Three days and three nights, I just lay.
Life was kind to let me stay, engulfed in cold silence. I could not even pray. I knew that In God’s hands was the way.
Bleeding body and pain again. ‘This is normal’, they all said, and stared. I was a child, my mother cared, now I am a mother.
Would my child care? My child helped, but I myself, too, had to be brave. It all has to be a personal affair in the end.
To nature we all must bend.
Lying cross like on the operation table
I could not move. I was only able to
see the eyes, calm quiet concerned,
the face behind the mask.
I try to remember, but I forget—
my body half lifeless, numb and stiff.
I could not speak. I was only able to
breathe. Frightened, I heard my
heart beat and someone’s faint
talking, some
words audible, some mumbled.
I tried to understand but failed.
Eyes met the eyes as I felt a quick cut,
a part of me slit, incised, painless,
speechless. I remained, while some
talking I heard; my arms now stiff,
I prayed for strength, dropping into
sleepy numbness. I surrendered.
Two unknown human beings—are
they angels from above, hidden behind
gowns and masks? I know not what they
do or how, but they are briskly active.
I shake, I hear a voice, ’15 more minutes’.
I meet the eyes, calm and serene, confident.
I feel secure. ‘It’s done’. I hear talking,
‘twenty minutes’, ‘ suction’, ,stitch’, ‘suction, stitch’.
Then I do not see the eyes anymore, nor
the angel figure. Legs, heavy, start tingling.
Shivering takes over, I tremble with cold.
More talking I hear,
‘blankets’ please; another one,
”I am feeling cold’; an electric heater
throws welcome heat on my face.
I cross my arms as if in embrace.
The shivering stops—I feel empty.
More eyes, I see, more talking I hear—
why is this room so warm?
Hustle bustle around,
my bed pushed, rolled, turned.
I feel nausea—I see personnel in green.
Am I smiling? Yes, for others, for I am brave.
Inside, my heart cries. I wish to keep looking
in those eyes so calm, so serene, so loving,
giving hope of life and saying, ‘all will be Ok’.
Time
Time,
It is a matter of time
All will be Ok.
Two months later:
As I was leaving the doctor’s room after showing her the test and physical examination reports, she looked at me directly in my eye and said, ‘you won’t be able to sit on the floor anymore’.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar
Netted turtles suffocating whales,
fettered fish, life in the seas, no more
some fishermen’s tales, or of pirate ships
with towering sails, is now filled with
plastic tin can waste –
Smoky dust hangs everywhere, frightened
birds restlessly seek air, all clean, one large
falcon fell, and brought a 737 down to land,
real flier of the skies, is the bird or machine?
sunlight blocked, nothing pure nothing fresh
to taste, land weeps for flora and fauna, forests
denuded are falling to death, dinosaurs long gone
to rest hope new ones don’t surface, as water is
scarce and plants depressed- no more does the
nightingale sing, so loud is the clang and hi-fi din,
flowers are captives of terracotta pots, rubbish dumps
growing are up to the chin,
Colors all smudged –reflect the Earth’s distortion
my heart pains at the planet’s destruction-
have we left a place, free of pollution?
I wonder if ever we shall find a solution.
May the Lord so merciful and gracious
forgive us, for the dishonor and desecration.
Come forward, look around, let us take action,
It’s time we cleaned the land and cleared the ocean.
© 2020 Anjum Wasim Dar
ANJUM WASIM DAR (Poetic Oceans), one of the three newest members of the Zine team, was born in Srinagar (Indian occupied Kashmir) in 1949. Her family opted for and migrated to Pakistan after the Partition of India and she was educated in St Anne’s Presentation Convent Rawalpindi where she passed the Matriculation Examination in 1964. Anjum ji was a Graduate with Distinction in English in 1968 from the Punjab University, which ended the four years of College with many academic prizes and the All Round Best Student Cup, but she found she had to make extra efforts for the Masters Degree in English Literature/American Studies from the Punjab University of Pakistan since she was at the time also a back-to-college mom with three school-age children.
Her work required further studies, hence a Post Graduate Diploma in Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) from Allama Iqbal Open University Islamabad and a CPE, a proficiency certificate, from Cambridge University UK (LSE – Local Syndicate Examination – British Council) were added to her professional qualifications.
The BeZine 