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Volume 12

Dog Eat Dog - December 2013


Nadir Feroze Khan

Written by
Nadir Feroze Khan

From: '...and my smile deceives you yet again you still can't see me writhe in pain hidden are the scars, hidden each stain my life's story; all in vain' to: 'I; a creature of thought, thus no existence without' and finally to: 'and the cool evening breeze lifts my thoughts from right under my fingers and pushes them back into the infinite layers of awareness in my mind, perhaps to be lost, perhaps to be refined and perhaps to be immortalized' The journey of flirtation with words that started at age 5 (nearly 3 decades ago), when I would distort known celebrated Urdu verses and add a pun to them, has led me through phases over the years where I have seen myself writing, albeit sporadically, more poetry than prose and my writings have predominantly been paronomasias and ciphers at heart. I write on, knowing that by time I'm done, I will have defined my own genre. Until then...


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On this wet winter evening,
I sit by the Nile,
soaking in the last few rays
as erstwhile sounds fill the air— oud and tambour
notes plucked and cast onto the waves.

I notice the many faces of man spread out before me—
tall to the verge of elongated,
somber to the threshold of shadowy,

expectant faces, uncertain if the second coming will mark an end
to this majestic flow, still lapping the same course
that delivered Moses in his basket to the Pharaoh’s castle.

These men perhaps know that they can be but silent spectators
as one by one the music and the magic may cease.

My soul is starved, as much for release as my body is from hunger.
There is thought for food,
but I seek emptiness, to simplify and single out

anticipation, passion, satisfaction; none sustains
the intensity to lock horns with the harbingers of another day
the way light continues where it left off –

the notion of eternity is euphoric much as it is daunting:

an evidence of the beauty in what laid around me
and a rude reminder of what lay beyond.



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