Abdul Wahab

>≫≫My Pleasure - Poem by Abdul Wahab

I am a Bengali, an Indian
A Muslim and an Asian
Friend, I am truly broken
In keeping and fighting out
Those identities and aspirations
It looks like, I am a bird trapped in ideologies
And my roots have gone deep in the ground
Static and motionless
I stand like a tree
A statue made up of dry wood
Engaged in arguing pretty politics
In selfish and little gains
Down play others in tea stalls
In essays and in poems
day in and in day out
Spread bias against others
Friend, I am really tuckered out
In churning venom
And become a psychiatric salesman
Promoting the unworthy
And feel the pressure of the burden
Of defending the misdeeds of those unholy
In the name of caste, creed
Sex and color
Come, cut my roots
With the swords of dispassion
And put up those to the sky
Let it float and grow in the cosmos
Up side down,
My pleasure is not in false pride
In fake notions
In infatuations of divisiveness
Or in dishonest honor of being loyal
But in the truth
In the real creation for mankind.

Comments about >≫≫My Pleasure by Abdul Wahab

  • Mehta Hasmukh AmathalalMehta Hasmukh Amathalal (1/16/2014 12:03:00 AM)

    But in the truth
    In the real creation for mankind. NICE LIN ES...10


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  • Md AsadullahMd Asadullah (1/1/2014 2:15:00 PM)

    Last line of your poem is so true as if entire poem was meant for the last line,10/10 (Report)Reply

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  • Wahab AbdulWahab Abdul (12/29/2013 9:26:00 AM)

    Comments on your poem ''my pleasure''
    Commented on 12/29/2013 7: 44: 00 AM by Anne Lise Andresen

    - Nice to read, wahab! - well written - HAPPY NEW YEAR! - oxox // Anne-Lise :)

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  • Wahab AbdulWahab Abdul (12/29/2013 3:31:00 AM)

    Jeff Cannon - - potent and stirring journey into claiming one's self, finding one's humanness underneath so many labels, clarifications, declensions of being. Then as if that is not enough, claim the consequence of that information, knowledge, body wisdom so as live in the expanding and ever widening landscapes of so many socially worlds likewise calibrated to accept or reject one by its volume of definitions. An ongoing pilgrimage inward and outward until we die not from exhaustion but merely from the last tick of our clock time here as earth creature co-inhabitor of unconditionally gifted wonder - thanks for this poem Abdul Wahab (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, December 29, 2013

Poem Edited: Sunday, December 29, 2013

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