Poetic Masterpiece

Poetic Masterpiece: A Childbirth Of Profundity.
Like delivery of Divine Revelations 
which favours calmness of wilderness;  
It's brought forth in Creative-Glory-Of-Solitude:  
an abode of Enlightenment in whose mirror of grace,  
purest passions reflect out from shady reality —
to gratify inflamed curiosity of Inward-Eye,  
as it wanders around source of enchantment,  
seeking in expanded awareness to capture
the essence of a phenomenon shrouded in mystery.

An Ocean Within (A Poem For My Father, Poet Naseer Ahmed Nasir)

Flourishing on
Natural contours of land,
Variegating with rainbows,
A continuous river
Flows into his own depths,
An ocean within.
This wordsmith, creator
Of enduring friendship
Throughout the seasons
With insects and birds,

~ Epitapoetry ~


Ms. Nivedita
February 6,2009.



##### I Love To Love Her Not To Love

I read her to see her
And see her to perceive her.
Perceive that her mind touch
I love more, she thinks of ‘much’.

O prisoner of time
Love has a rhythm love has a rhyme!
I love to love her not to love
In the space there no down no above!

Poetic Sense -1 (Translation)

Although the human mind has been divided into conscious, subconscious and unconscious today, yet the man had already been existing and his mind, too. Freud was of the view that he did not exactly invent the idea of unconscious mind because poets and philosophers were already familiar with it. He said that he had only presented its theory in psychological terms. According to Freud, the poetry comes into existence on account of regression and sublimation of unsatisfied longings. On regression of these conscious desires, the subcoscious and uncoscious minds apparently become symbols of sabotage but on sublimation they transform into creative subconscious and creative uncoscious respectively. It is either as the peaceful use of neuclear energy or as to irrigate the far flung barren lands from a large dam. When Plato said that even an expert of Poetic Technique could not create great poetry without intuitive insanity, he wanted to say that the poet could not depend on his conscious mind only because the source of superior creations is afterall the unconscious, the backyard of mind. Since then people have been considering the poets to be abnormal. You may call it insanity or licentiousness or poetic spell or revelation or intuition or poetic inspiration. On the other hand, a genius who is also seen at the last footstep of conscious, mostly depends upon his intuition. Therefore he is also considered to be abnormal. A litrary genius seldom turns to be normal but as a human being his best creative faculties operate during the most normal moments of his life. These are intellectual moments indeed. The analysis of revelation or intuition shows that it operates in two modes. In first mode, a totally untouched thought steps into conscious all of a sudden. It is usually considered similar to electric lightning. Therefore poets, mistics, even scientists, all are aware of it. While the second mode is more common which is also understood by people having non creative mind. This is called productive thinking and it is placed second to intuition. For example, a forgotten name or face or event comes into conscious suddenly during half-asleep. The first mode is related to unconscious while the second mode is related to subconscious. The subconscious is more important in both. In first mode, the unconscious is raised upto the level of subconscious. While in the second mode subconscious is itself a source of information. First mode is usually named as Poetic Inspiration while second as Poetic Imagination. A stream of thoughts begins to flow from subconscious towards conscious in both modes. Where in a trance-like state, the creator and his creation become two peas in a pod. At the end of the process when he observes his creation for the first time, it is no more a part of his subjective process but now he studies it objectively and makes modifications and additions in it. Thus he observes his creation as its first listener and critic, and tries to analyse what he has listened during intuition. In the first mode creative unconscious is responsible for the subjective process and creative conscious is resposible for the objective one. Likewise in the second mode creative subcoscious is responsible for the subjective process and creative conscious is responsible for the objective one. The creative conscious comes into existence by mastering the Poetic Technique. In fact, the functions of creative unconscious, creative subconscious, and creative conscious are so intercombined that they can not be isolated from one another. They are collectively known as Poetic Sense. In general terms Poetic Technique, Poetic Imagination and Poetic Inspiration are collectively called Poetic Sense.

The Artist's Duty

So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame
To extend all boundaries
To fog them in right over the plate
To kill only what is ridiculous
To establish problem
To ignore solutions
To listen to no one
To omit nothing
To contradict everything
To generate the free brain


My heart is open.

Spend time with my subconscious.

You are safe here.

Walk with me along the endless sands of time.

Our world is ours to shape.

Why Read Poetry?

Poetry is something
that dances rhythm of your heart,
sings song of your soul,
dreams dream of your subconscious.

Anything that gives you joy,
brings tears to your eyes,
speaks hidden story of your heart,
is poetry.

My Emerald Dreams

At dawn, the rain falls down
while whispering about your oval silence,
that silence breaking my emerald dreams.
My dreams are like those
Clearview shields with rising bubbles
and flutes of the Renaissance.
Our breathing stones keep our kisses
coming down onto the petals,
those petals of the sweet, wet flowers of lemon
being more yellow than the sun.

The Subways Of Your Mind

It's midnight here in Utah
And the world outside is still
As I sit down at my keyboard to compose -

My mind begins to wander
Down the sidewalks of New York
And I wonder if your sweet subconscious knows -

Assuming that you're sleeping,
But that never was your style -

' The Velvet Strand

Along this cosmic filament
Flows wisdom, subconscious awareness -
From one corner of the world to another,
Differences dissolve into realization
That souls within are remarkably similar;

Not just the soul, but inner physical matter
Also similar in content, color, and function -
Redness of lifeblood coursing along networks
Sustaining similar organs, similar mechanisms

! Thinking Outloud

Not so young and vibrant anymore
Wonder what the future holds in store
What contract did I sign on coming in?
When does the living end and death begin?

I watch as others teeter on the brink
What designates the change in how we think?
An inkling from subconscious level mind
That tells us we're beginning to unwind?

Fear Is A Brutal Foe

Fear is a battalion of mercenary chemicals
Capable of incapacitating even the most hardened of individuals
In the absence of faith, hope, Love and sometimes courage
Fear is stealthily deployed to incinerate the mind, body and spirit
To totally destroy the pedestal of reason and common sense
Fear arises deep in the subconscious mind
Dressed in the most vicious of costumes
Fear destroys the spirit first
Then the mind and finally the body
Fear is a manipulative force

*who Invented Guilt

Guilt is not to be doubted Franz Kafka wrote
The human has been tied to the guilt of not having done
What said the God or his prophets what the society ordained
What the preachers say the first man was killed
In Freudian school which lead to the guilt
Of the son and worship began of the dead father
Woman the temptress gave consciousness to the man
Of his existence and from Eden his fall to the earth eternal
A victim of guilt woman lives with covered face and bleeds
Tears from her eyes as creator of man from her womb

! ...I Realize You

I believe I realize you,

When every tangled emotion
Deprived of freedom
In me, begins to undo
With a consoling legitimacy

When involuntary words
During a creative black-out
Appear out of my pen and

My Beloved Brother-(A Dirge)

My Beloved Brother
(A Dirge)

Years ago you realised the truth,
The truth of futility,
Utter futility of life,
Between life and death without complex vision,
Putting life against death,
Taking life as hard food to digest.

“paysage D’ame”

Every so often ^ v ^ v ^
despite the disinclination \ \ \
to do so and the friction /\*/\
which it causes, but not everyday, , , , , ,
I feel the compunction
to scrutinize my intentions, ? ? ?
or, =
for a better word, my inclinations / / /
and thus embark on - - -
a trek into the arid sands, ., ., ., ., .,


In the rhyme of iambic rains
I'm wetting; sweet scent of
Cake in my writings nostrils

Nostrils of the poetic sense in
Off mood; barren field the whole
Day is seeking the crops of words

Words is the lost substance of
The subconscious pen; meditating

A Woman's Surrender

Down down there
Deep deep in the hidden recesses
There lies a little space
Vacant and welcoming…

That’s where she resides!

And when she submits herself
To him, who fills that vacant space
Willingly does she forgo

Exile In Majestic Silence


# Exile in silence,
Majestic silence
Silence, but not to:
blunt senses.
To sharpen…
be more eloquent…
be greater creative…