Fragment XXVIII

She lives in color,
wears roses and a Rilke poem
to keep the heaviness
of life at bay.


Zaina Anwar, October 2011

Poem- Fragment XXVII

Egon Schiele

Stripped of all rationality
are these words
that hang about in the air for me.

It's like peeling
a lemon to the core,
struggling with one's own thoughts
to put them to sleep.

Zaina Anwar 2011

Fragment XXVI: Let's Not Forget..

Scaling the magnificent Nanga Parbat in Pakistan.
Photograph by: Tommy Heinrich, National Geographic Magazine, January 2008

Every time I travel to the North, to the magnificent cradle of earth giants, I am overwhelmed by a feeling of utter powerlessness. Living in cities, and having built skyscrapers and manipulated genes, man deceives himself with delusions of grandeur. And the city nurtures these delusions. It takes away the immediacy of nature, and by extension existence, replacing it with a fabricated sense of being. But up there in the mountains, we are engaged in a direct confrontation with the awesome power of nature. She needs to be respected and left alone, for she has the capacity of annihilating mankind, and whatever we hold dear, within seconds. This fact should never be forgotten, and for this reason alone, it is important to get away from cities- which are after all, artificial human constructions- to get a sense of perspective on what is ultimately, real.

Zaina Anwar, September 2011

Fragment XXV

Subversion
Miriam Sweeney

It is impossible for a poet not to think. The very nature of his craft implies a profound, conscientious exploration of the innumerable strata of life's encounters and experiences. The poet is a lifter of veils; he dissects at the very core of being to reveal that which is hidden.

The poet is ultimately, an instrument of the unknown.


Zaina Anwar, September 2011

Fragment XXIV

The forest has always been a hiding place, a place where no rules apply. Where no conventions exist to mar the possibilities of silence.

Zaina Anwar (September 2011)

Poem- End of a Chapter

Silence.
Night's glory's stretched
Across a star speckled sky.

Remember how we heard
Tender sounds of a waterfall
Somewhere in the wild?
You cupped a bird
With wounded wings in your hands.

That day you read my conscience.
That day we dug
A solitary grave for our love.

Zaina Anwar (September 2011)

Poem- Fragment XXIII

In these reckless times, each one us
is trying to map a speculative chart
of precarious possibilities.

Zaina Anwar (September 2011)

Poem- In the Moon's Absence

For many nights now, the moon
has been searching for an opening
through the thick, black curtain
of monsoon clouds.

Resenting the moon's absence,
the sea lies listless
while in her sorrow the wind
is hollow and mute.

The nightingale too,
in a state of confusion
has almost forgotten
her primeval song.

And I, who have bowed
to the solemn beauty of the orb,
find myself flinching
in the shadow of perpetual gloom.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- The Wreck

Odd Nerdrum. Love Divided, 2005

Once you spoke to me of love.
Those were passionate days.
Not a moment to lose,
so we sped through time,

orbiting the earth.
But then, imperceptibly,
a little gap, followed by
minor disasters, strange misapprehensions.

Until a veritable chasm
has opened itself between us.
My limbs can't stretch themselves enough.
And worst of all, I don't even have

the requisite will to move.
So, let us suffer in silence.
I won't even raise a finger.
Not anymore, I won't.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- The Tunnel

Sleeping Beauties by artist Terri Windling

Sneak me in, why don't you?
Then we can travel
through the long, dark tunnel
of endless night and myriad
guilt-encrusted dreams.

Besides, who can say?
We may emerge at the other end
shaken but cleansed
of the horrors in a lifetime's
hoarding of grief.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011