All posts by imransaleh

End

Poetry

End
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written:  May 14, 2004

I writing an end
But I want to stay right here

I want to continue to deny
Everything

I want say something to someone
So that I can stay

I fell in love
And fell again

I feel numbed by emotion

I feel numb
Bolted, chain
And without expression

I cannot sleep
I cannot see properly

A Letter To The Premier Of Ontario

Poetry

A Letter To The Premier Of Ontario
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: February 11, 2004

Surely, sir, you are a fair and reasonable man
And being such
You cannot comprehend such things
Of which I am about to speak

I propose – no – demand!
An enactment
Of firm and immediate legislation
Mandating the connection between
My love and I

A parliamentarian like yourself
A man who strives for justice
Must know that there is nothing
More justified
Than love

Love is the justification

And consider the benefit to the state
Citizens merrily paying their taxes
Made ignorant by some indefinable, abstract concept
Of which Leonard Cohen is incapable
That has flustered the greatest minds

Besides,
Plato made no room for lovers
In this ideal state
But your state, dear sir,
Is far – quite far – from ideal
Hence there should be no difficulty

Sincerely
Jehangir Saleh

My Dearest Friends

Poetry

By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: March 8, 2004

My dearest Friends,

I use to bloody well hate love. Not only was I convinced it didn’t exist (and yes, I could prove it), I believed it was a disease, a severe mental disorder, to take from Plato.

And consider this: Britney Spears (in all her whore-like glory) pretended to get married last month, and her fake/temporary dick of a husband stuck his hands down her pants so the tabloids could get a good cover shot. Fast forward to George Bush (is all HIS whore-like glory) during his state of the union address. Good old I’m-A-Pit-Bull-On-The-Pant-Leg-Of-Opportunity said in his speech that he has a responsibility to protect the “sanctity of marriage”. Ironically, after her husband finished whacking her off and she threw him away, Ms. Spears apologised and said she believed in the “sanctity of marriage”.

Lovely, isn’t it?

And I promise not to extend my diatribe to include The Bachelor and the Bachelorette, where marriage is a commodity, one big black Monday in waiting. Although I must be honest – in the work I do, when I study spousal abuse and feminism, there is no theory that says “they stopped loving each other”. Instead, it’s about the money, the cars, the children (or lack there of), it’s because marriage is a completely pragmatic institution and “love” is a word used only by teenagers and the mentally retarded.

If you’ve gotten this far, and thank you for doing so, you’re probably wondering where I’m going with all this. I guess I’m saying two things: love is industrialized, it’s become a commodity and void of that special stuff that makes it special. It’s heavily stereotyped, as per all my examples. I can’t even think of one poet who writes about love and isn’t dead (ok, one, but that’s it).

And second, it doesn’t have to be this way. Love is a silent understanding that sits between two people. Love is NOT sex. Loving someone isn’t saying those 3 fearful words, it’s something that happens outside of you. You can’t control it. But I urge you all to walk around, blind, seeking it out. Making yourself open.

Valentines day (whether you think is a sexist product of the Roman’s or the birth-child of greedy Hallmark executives, or even the Chicago massacre) is coming up and if you’re with someone, don’t forget to be romantic. And more importantly, be sure to hug someone who’s still waiting.

Thanks to Elisha for the theory, Lindsey for the application, a bald guy who writes for the New York Times (I took his Bush example) and snobby couple with too much money at the opera this evening who triggered all of this.

Ode To Chininski

Poetry

Ode To Chininski
By Jehangir Saleh
Written: February 21, 2004

not feeling very well
as a ride home on the subway
listening to that cry baby Peter Tchaikovsky
and trying my damn
hardest to write something that didn’t smell

it’s a wonderfully fucked up feeling
having something – everything – playing
the drum kit inside of you
and no means
to release the sound

and i wanted to murderously engaged
in sexual intercourse
or break things of beauty
like roses
(which are bloody red over rated anyway)

i have decided to write this to you
while drumming madly on my desk
so i might remind myself
that the noose in the corner is not
so empty
and that tomorrow
might be a
brighter day

Tonight

Poetry

By: Jehangir Saleh
Written:  February 17, 2004

 

Tonight
I thought about the chat thing again. I am lonely

I was sad tonight because I felt that we couldn’t be together. Because I have been spending more time with you, and tonight I realized all over again why we can’t be together forever right now. There is so much stuff you still need to work out. And you can’t fully support what I need, I have to do that myself. I need to find others. And I haven’t been doing a very good job of that have i?
But I thought about and wrote a poem about it, and I feel better a bit

Tomorrow
The world will end.
But I will die as a poet and a lover.
Few can say as much.

 I Would Like You To Know

Poetry

I Would Like You To Know
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: February 11, 2004

I would like you to know
That you are a beautiful
Tomorrow, I will be gone
And you, a decaying woman
Left with wisdom and wrinkles in her brow
May begin to doubt
Everything
I have whispered in your ear

I know you are beautiful
When my hands, blind, hold you body
When my eyes meet your infinity
I know you are beautiful
When I see you sitting alone
As if just after sex
Away in thought
Holding yourself in your arms

I do not expect you
To understand this
Now
But please, try and remember
That you are beautiful
When I am gone

Your Ankles

Poetry

Your Ankles
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: February 11, 2004

Your Ankles
Are the swollen bellies
Of blind baby birds
Finding there way
Into my hands

Nesting, peacefully
They are not separated or alone
They are apart of some other
Greater whole

We may never fly again
Stumbling instead
Through uncertain darkness

If I am damaged in your hands
Let my belly be swollen
As my wings twitch
With seizures

Tomorrow we will be eaten
But until then, be happy
That we are blind
Together

He Said, She Said

Poetry

He Said, She Said
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: February 11, 2004

You want to person who isn’t the poet to do the first line, she said.
Yes, he said, nothing would make me happier.
Oh dear, *giggles* she said.
I don’t know what love is, he said.
Well, that’s good, because I do, she said.
Can describe it to me, he said.
Of course, it is when you admit you don’t know what love is, she said.
Sometimes I think I love you, he said.
Often I wonder if I love you, she said.
Do you think we will ever know, he said.
Yes, I don’t know when, but possibly a time when we realised we have loved each other, possibly coming up, she said.
Gee, your quite the hopeless romantic, he said.
Compliments perfectly with a hopeless romantic sap, she said.
What do you want to tell to someone reading this when we don’t exist anymore, he said.
I admire your beautiful existential question, she said, what was your question again?
It doesn’t matter, he said.
What matters I guess is keeping out senses open to the time, to the moment that we feel we love each other, she said.
You are beautiful, he said.
You are more beautiful than I, she said.

And with that, I silence sat between them.