Thursday 30 June 2011

Interactive

So, sometimes turn to the music

Maybe, it will help the chill

In dousing, in saving, in dealing


So, sometimes turn to editing

Setting those old films to score

As if you could recast it all


So, sometimes turn to writing

Listing, cutting and pasting

But words you spilt ran long ago


So, sometimes you just look

Gazing into corners for ghosts

But you haunt only yourself


So, sometimes you flick through albums

And each turn sets you away

From the familiarity of your present


So, sometimes it matters little

For you, the in-completion,

Stuttering and starting onwards.


By

Ali.A.Naqvi

Monday 13 June 2011

Sallow

One day voices will be sallow

Less of the cut and the thrust

Too many streams to follow

Too much rancour and shale

Sit quietly in a storm of signal

Wait for it to settle somewhat

Figure out the essential

And hope it will be accepted

So I know now there's no notion

Of where to base myself

If everything is high definition

Chasms are as clear as colours.


By Ali A. Naqvi

Friday 10 June 2011

Drift

Simply put, I don’t do drift well.
Innocent enough to say,
Like adjusting your lapel
Before they call reveilles .
It’s the cloying, the waxiness
That makes me burrow in
Mindworming narrowness
Of this semblance of stasis

Maybe I consigned it so
Let the moorings fray
Better not to know
What I could have been
If I had been more than,
And to find you have to lose
So let the moments slide on
And hold nothing, just drift.

By Ali.A.Naqvi

Search String

Algorithms make this easy
A flick with a hand and find
Somewhere, super-cooled,
Snorkelling microseconds

There was this time, where
Myth building was what you did
You penned quavers and rests
You thought you would play again

But those aren’t the things you see
Just like the computation, things,
Meanings rolled forward by rote.
You could have been, but weren’t.

By Ali A. Naqvi

Fourteenth Day in February

So slopes confetti, kissing the floor

Sighing in time with the “assistant”

Who also slopes at the door

Stasis in the midst of a fluster

Of husbands in at quarter-to- four

While girls trill in, shrill with glee

At clutter and tack marked “amour

Stitched by shadows in south sea shacks

The same place was dank that day

While he scuffed open boxes of riot

For the inevitable sales display

He paused, then popped upstairs

Parked her wheelchair in its bay

Cleaned her plates, brushed her hair,

Leaned forward to hear her say

“Time t’open up Love, be on your way.”

By

Ali A. Naqvi

Wednesday 1 June 2011

On Arctic Light

See Scuttle sun,

On mirrored runs.

Sculpted stones,

Bleached bones,

Form fortresses,

Or green terraces

Soaked in blue,

Steeped in dew.

See now Saqi

In artic light free

Sift me tomorrows.

To find me Firdos.

By

Ali A. Naqvi




P.S This poem is inspired by this sequence found on Vimeo which was filmed by TSO Photography and music by Marika Takeuchi.

Here is the video


The Arctic Light from TSO Photography on Vimeo.