poemsbyninotaziz: 2015

River dreams

step into my dream

it meanders like a never-ending river

***

the river of my youth is a rock

it anchors me to my childhood

***

there is a place

where the clouds are mirrored

in flowing water

crocodiles lurk

but do not attack

floating islands invite play

riverbanks merely

a gateway to secrets below the water

there is a place

where bamboo reeds are growing

reaching to the sky

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for poetsunited

Childhood

train rides south

mum missing dad

oblivious, we only enjoy

our moving playground

measured independence

childhood moments

murder on the orient express
mysteries of grey blue eyes
courtesy of Agatha Christie
hours of escape

childhood read

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for dversepoets

Bill's post takes me to the time at least 40 years ago. Dad was a manager at a timber company. We had to venture hinterland to see him.

The train ride was at least 12 hours. North. South.

At least I thought so.

the philosophy of abstaining

fast, to appreciate hunger

compassion for your fellow mankind

food plays with the senses

delectable

abstain from your deepest desires

and your existence will

be pure pleasure

delicious

take a vow of silence

you will find words

too precious

distinctive

disappear from the online world

for awhile, you will see clearly

the best of the best

dverse

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for dversepoets

today I celebrate Eid, after a month of fasting. And our dear Brian, is back within our fold after many months of staying away. hence, the above poem.

Words

lover of the night

folding poems

in a blanket of stars

daughters of the sun

drinking legends

for breakfast and tea

mother earth

milking passion

dreams on the milky way

passion legends poems

daughters mother lover

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for dversepoets

words by ninotaziz

In this heat, a balm for chaos

daughters put on wings,

garden turns to paradise

birds take flight -

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For A Prompt A Day

The north-eastern winds were becoming stronger and stronger until it developed into a full gale. They arrived like a roaring tiger in the middle of the night. At times, the sound of it was deafening, you forgot time and place, it felt as if the storm that brought hail and fury would never end.

I had forgotten the waves

crashing, hitting, arriving

against the wide beach

sandy white

at the edge of our little world

how tiny we are, this space

compared to the vastness

they travess

powerful winds

like a tiger, roar ferociously

the forces of the universe

supreme creation

to be so close

to the edge of time and matter

where it does not matter

Every sunrise. Awakened.

Enlightened.

When the weather permitted it, I would see how the men looked out to sea, lounging with their backs against the wall on the verandah, smoking a roll of tobacco filled nipah leaf - longing to be back in their boats riding the waves. They did not speak, sometimes for hours.

But their gaze spoke volumes. They were content, for it was a time for rest.

The sea was like a drug that called out to the very soul. It whispered of adventure and played images of the vast open. But beware! The sea severely punished those who forgot her or her mighty powers. Even the lofty coconut trees shook this way and that in the wind, but they were hardy and did not give way to the master of the moment.

***

I marveled at this life of bliss.

Life on land was unhurried, languid - full of grace. Life at sea was wrought with danger - a race against the tides, the winds, against time itself.

When the monsoon rains and storms finally ceased, Pak Nakhoda readied his ship. Soon, we were southbound.

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For dversepoets

This is an excerpt from my novel, NAGA - A Legend of Tasik Chini. I should not say more, but at least I am happy I have the chance to share a little bit about our monsoon. It is strange and magical, devastating and powerful.

The picture was taken in Terengganu, where this portion of the story is set, and the poem was inspired by the actual waves I heard on this beach the night we arrived.

The narrator however, is at a dangerous crossroad. To sin, or not to sin.

There was a Woman

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
Perhaps she wanted to do what she felt was right...

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
She wrote all night to capture thoughts
We wonder why she captured thoughts
Perhaps to remind those who forgot
Perhaps to stop the rot...

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
She wrote all night to capture thoughts
She captured thoughts to shape her actions
Perhaps she wanted to share the notion
Of all that was good and beautiful and ancient

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
She wrote all night to capture thoughts
She captured thoughts to shape her actions
She wanted to share the notion
Of all that was good and beautiful and ancient
Perhaps she truly believed
In the wisdom of the old manuscripts
Lie buried under fathomless seas
Unless we seek to unravel mysteries
Legends long past hold the key
To our coded history

It was never mere fiction
Fuelled by imagination

Copyright 2015 © ninotaziz
All Rights Reserved

The Hikayat belongs to all of us
To love. To share. And to cherish.

Season of Reflection

I

haiku

a thousand days

without face or reflection

sense of self diminished

II

haibun

We walk the hours that make up our lives. Talk to the minutes - the hand, the dial, the markers of time. Capture the seconds, stored for days, labeled eternity.

Time, past summer

is measured in the flight

of the butterfly, so free

We take the path that leads us home. Talk to the trees - the leaves, the flowers, the gifts of the seasons. Capture the fruits, ripened and sweet, labeled health.

seasons, past chapters

measured by flight of stairs,

increasingly painful

We face the reflection that shows us truth. Talk to the man in the mirror - the eyes, the lies, the carefully painted image. Capture the truth, staring back accusingly, labeled proper.

III

quote

to live is to be thrust into the sunlight, crying -

and to leave in the glow of moonlight, sleeping.

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for magpietales and dversepoets

Dune dreamers

Painting by Daria Petrilli

if only you could see

the world I fear hidden

we would sail away down

the duncan idaho

march with fish speakers

who keep peace for

love of humanity

Leto II

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It's World Book Day soon and so, this month I pay tribute to my favorite dreamers and thinkers.

For magpietales

Carved in repose

He :

I will stay by your side

She :

Until ?

He :

Until the world forgets

the trees and forest

the stars forget to shine

the wind forgets to sigh

She :

What kind of world would that be?

He :

Ours.

She :

Not mine.

I need beauty to exist.

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For magpietales

THE MANY ROADS

Dedicated to my daughter, Inas, who just turned twenty

the many roads that you choose to take

will lead you to the unknown

and what such excitement awaits

discovering little treasures of your own

do not stop to talk to strangers

yet do remember to make new friends

do not pick the wild red roses

but linger over delicate white's scent

dreams pass us by like clouds that drift

while you build your treehouse on sturdiest boughs

and in this way, your life will be lived

hopes and hard work and love... for now

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For magpietales

Ever since Inas was ten, she decided she wanted to become an architect to 'build a treehouse hotel'. She is in second year university doing architecture and I miss her.

A HAIBUN | WIND

© 2014 ninotaziz

I

to understand the world and the how the wind lifts us up high,

simply remove the elements and then - perceive a moment

a day, a month, a year

still endless summer

no breeze to sooth tired limbs

out on empty fields

II

to grasp the importance of the wind at sea, climbing mountains

laden with rain to nourish the earth - perceive a time

a decade, a century, a millennia

no ships to sail across

the wide open seas

no more oceans to conquer

and

crystal like droplets

remain heavily floating upon

raging waves

never to miraculously ride the wind to the highlands,
or turn to dew upon the grass in the morning sun

III

to imagine legends long forgotten, the absent wind

fails to carry tales around the world - perceive that tradition

a story told at bedtime

who would take

the princess seeking her love

to the West of the Moon -

don quixote would no longer have -
his imaginary foes

and

when the sun climbs the sky

to play with clouds

flying horses ride no more

flying horses ride no more

IV

to grasp the importance of the wind, snaking through the forest

no longer rustling in between trees - perceive eternity denied

birds grounded

with nest on forest floors

easy prey to all

imagine

our world without the caressing breeze, is not our world at all -

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for dversepoets

I imagine this is better as four poems. It seems a tad too clumsy being strung together like this. But the idea behind this poem was to show how the wind influenced so many aspects of our lives.
Our psyche. Our history. Our traditions.

***

I have made some changes. I hope it reads better.

Remember to play kites this weekend, everyone!