Too Close To The Edge
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: August 30, 2004

she almost fell
but held her insteadd

her edge like every edge
breaking love, liver cancer
burnt cookies
pick one, it doesn’t matter

we are too close
to every edge
everywhere
but
somehow
decide to hang on

—-

at night
i see colours
deeper in the darkness
toward black
and then the colours emerge
from underneath

too close to falling
into the deep dark silence
a twisted freedom
but we all know
it isn’t really
free

Different Variations Of The Same Note
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: August 20, 2004

As I sit here inside my mind is fuzzy and fractured
I think of Charles Bukowski, and how he too sat at night
With a bottle of wine and napkins
And wrote away his life before wiping his mouth
Many people think he was a genius
But really
He was just a man who wrote things down
I suppose that takes courage
To face things as they really are
But sometimes I wonder
As he did too
Whether it’s easier to live
Inside ignorance
Whether it’s easier to read this poem

By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: June 7, 2004

I do not believe in rampant sunsets
Those moments where you think you are safe
And really
You are just blind

There is no feeling when I wear my shoes
There is no feeling
There are dreams, but even the smallest are built
So tiny
That they too fall

This house is barren and cold
You sleep in the corner
And tell me hope is something I haven’t made up
But you are in the poem
I have made it up
And the floor continues to be
Barren and cold

Empty hope

Happiness
By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: May 24, 2004

To be proud of your own eulogy
It all that we must strive for
All else is futile

Consider us
As characters in a story
I said
What would the reader say?
Would they think we are meant to fall in love?

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
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

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.