hannaabideen

MY IGNITED PEN IS MY LOADED GUN

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  • hannaabideen 6w

    സ്വേഛാതിപത്യത്തിൽ നിന്നും സ്വതന്ത്രതയിലേക്കുള്ള ചുവടുവെപ്പ് തീർത്തും ഏകാധിപത്യത്തിലേക്കുള്ള മാനവരാശിയുടെ കടന്നുകയറ്റമല്ല മറിച്ച് സ്വാതന്ത്ര്യമെന്നത് സ്വേഛാതിപത്യത്തിൽ നിന്നും ഏകാധിപത്യത്തിലേക്കുള്ള ഒരു പ്രക്രിയ ആവാതിരിക്കുന്നുമില്ല. പ്രത്യേയശാസ്ത്രത്തിലെ എണ്ണപ്പെട്ട താളുകൾ മറച്ച് നോക്കേണ്ടത് പോലുമില്ല ഈ പ്രസ്ഥാവനയെ ശരി വെക്കാൻ.

    ഞാനും നിങ്ങളും അങ്ങനെ മറ്റു പലരും അധിനിവേശം നിഷേധിച്ച നമ്മുടെ ഓരോരുത്തരുടെയും പരമാധികാരത്തിൽ മാത്രം നാം നമ്മെ തന്നെ ഭരിക്കപ്പെടുന്ന ജന്മാവകാശമായി നാം കരുതപ്പെടുന്ന അഥവാ തിരിച്ചറിഞ്ഞ ഒരു അവസ്ഥയാണ് സ്വാതന്ത്യം. അവിടെ ഞാനും നിങ്ങളും ഒരു കലാപകാരിയാണ്, ജീവിതം തന്നെ ഒരു പോരാട്ടമാണല്ലോ! ഞാൻ മുകളിൽ സൂചിപ്പിച്ചത് പോലെ ചിന്തിക്കുകയാണെങ്കിൽ മുഖംമൂടികളണയാത്ത മേൽക്കൊയ്മകളിൽ നിന്നും അടിമത്വത്തിൽ നിന്നും വിദൂരത്താക്കപ്പെട്ട അധർമ്മങ്ങൾ മായ്ക്കപ്പെട്ട ഒരു കൂട്ടം ജനത.
    അതെ ആറടി മണ്ണ് അവകാശപ്പെടാവുന്ന അത് മാത്രം അവകാശപ്പെടാവുന്ന മനുഷ്യർ, പാദത്തിനടിയിൽ പറ്റിപ്പിടിച്ചിരിക്കുന്ന മൺ തരികളെയും സ്വന്തമാക്കാൻ ശ്രമിക്കുന്നു.
    ആറടി മണ്ണവകാശപ്പെട്ടിട്ടും മണ്ണിനകാശപ്പെട്ടവർ നമ്മൾ.

    എങ്കിലും ഹൃദയത്തിലുറച്ച ഏകാധിപത്യത്തിനേക്കാൾ വലിയ സ്വാതന്ത്ര്യം ജനാധിപത്യത്തിന് നൽകാൻ കഴിയില്ലല്ലോ...!!


    - Hanna abideen

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    What's freedom ?

  • hannaabideen 17w

    PLIGHT OF MIGRATORY BIRDS



    Once I heard from dadiji
    The tragic tale of Indo-pak
    Which I define a deep dive communal rage
    During her childhood days, made it bitter.
    Slowly began the rise of British empire
    In the seventeenth century.
    Ample wealth of Hindustan
    Silks, spices and so on and so forth.
    Higher taxes and larger trades moving to England.

    We indians could be different yet got united.
    Hindus and muslims,
    Brahmins and dalits,
    Whites and blacks,
    Nationalists and liberals,
    Men and women
    We weighed trust on each other
    In the battle against the British,
    Against chivalry and slavery they are known for.

    Blood smeared battlefields
    Hours of martyrs in the pool of blood
    Sheer cry of revolts and rebellions alarmed
    Like pulling the strings of an instrument
    India was in the hands of the great Britain.
    At last left the Bharat,
    Marred with extreme poverty and famine.
    Seeing the soil eroding under their feet
    Sowed a seed of hatred between us.

    That was a monsoon, grey dark broken clouds
    Poured rain upon them
    Perhaps another attempt
    To amalgamate streams of tears.
    Divided hindus and muslims to tore us apart
    Like a barrier the border was born
    And the hatred had grown
    Finally did she truly celebrate the freedom
    From the British crown at the stroke of midnight ?

    Verily millions moving towards the border
    Like the lament of fallen feathers.
    They looked like homeless dead bodies
    Collapsed into a distant dawn
    With frozen fingers and measureless sorrow.
    Came the next shocking news
    Baba lost his job in a factory in Delhi
    Identifying him a muslim,
    Was told to get the next train from India to Pakistan.

    That was when birds seek shelter,
    A poor woman with a rich heart
    Carrying a child left at birth
    Hummed in a low tune
    To steer clear of purple crying.
    That was when a boy seemed to be five
    Sipping the last drop in a bottle.
    Neither radiance of the big orange sun sinking
    Nor monsoon flowers were embraced on that day.

    Indian by birth
    Widow of my Pakistani dadaji said
    Desires have no borders
    She sings urdu and writes hindi
    Yet voice injured by the inhaled past
    Of divided soil of forefathers
    Parted love, abandoned houses, empty pockets
    Tears welled up and lungs choked.
    Whom to blame the fate ? freedom either.

    Even broken glass bangles of raped girls
    And the telephone box resided
    In a corner of the post office in
    Witnessed the grieving mothers over dead bodies.
    The curse of evil enveloped us,
    And yet, not healed
    Unseen wounds and unspoken tales,
    Concealed beneath the duppatta
    From the disturbed peace to the shattered dreams.

    The migratory birds in the darkest of all hours
    Unquestionably strange in our own land.
    To the mothers of missing children in mining
    To the brothers who were separated during partition
    To the beloveds of freedom fighters died in prisons
    To the daughters suffered abduction and mutilation
    Still memories bleeding in the twenty first century.
    The bond formed decades back can't be that weak
    Though here is a moment to poetic justice!

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    PLIGHT OF MIGRATORY BIRDS

  • hannaabideen 17w

    HOLDING A HEART LOSING ITS BEATS


    O dearest heart !
    Lonely I and dark red you alone here
    You inside me,
    May feel I'm dying inside
    To hold you before you break without love.

    I am not the sixth glass of red wine
    You drink in the middle of chaos.
    I am not the second carton of virginia slims
    You urges to smoke and leave behind.

    I am a poetess breathing in between stars
    The rising and falling stars
    The brightening and dimming stars
    Like I was already written in the damn sky.

    Beyond the rage of poetry
    Walking along the schmaltzy ballads of our tale
    Holding a heart losing its beats,
    Battling between lost him and losing myself.

    O dearest heart !
    We are together from nowhere,
    Without waiting anyone to chase
    Before the sunset hang on clouds
    Under the clashing words of love.


    #writersnetwork

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    HOLDING A HEART LOSING ITS BEATS

  • hannaabideen 17w

    SILENT PRAYER



    Know, O Baha!
    I have had a long summer
    In my younger days
    I was put in a cage
    By my father and mother
    Where I had to fly back
    Whenever I go outside before dusk
    Before outsiders make rumours

    Know, O Baha!
    I, Ruskan have had a tearful fall
    Before it's too late for them
    Samir tied the knot with me
    That made me leave my parents
    I was shifted from a cage to another
    I was under the roof of male chauvinism
    And still creeps on me silently
    Even after the death of your beloved father

    Know, O Baha!
    I have passed a little spring too
    That I embrace wholeheartedly
    And that's what you are!
    Now you are about to bring a girl
    Remember my dear son
    She's the one to walk with you
    And not behind
    She is not only to serve her husband
    She is not a toy when it's desired
    She is needless not to suffer in silence
    She needs time for herself to bloom and rise!

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    SILENT PRAYER

  • hannaabideen 19w

    What autumn left ?


    Autumn leaves are refugees
    Like my depressed grandfather
    And diabetic grandmother
    Who fled to turn fresh green hue
    Into painterly tinctures
    Without a compass or map
    When the autumnal sunshine
    Grows shorter and
    Fall embraces withered leaves.

    Suffocating somewhere,
    Where I could not escape from
    Dwelling there for many a time
    Gazing at the thatched
    Roofs of mud hut.
    My four year Baha
    Asked tears in eyes,
    What is the color of hunger ?
    Perhaps darker than black
    Or brighter than blue!

    When hues left art
    Sugar maples, aspen and
    Russet leaves in heap
    Listening to the tales of
    Starving humans and empty pockets
    Awaiting companions to fall off
    Swore the art to turn into dust!




    Inspired from @my_cup_of_poetry

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    What
    Autumn
    Left ?

  • hannaabideen 30w

    PRICE OF SMILE

    Someone came knocking
    At the small front door
    Of my little cottage 'HOPE'.
    Coming down the stairway
    Autumn keep running on my mind
    Perhaps the early arrival of autumn.

    Opening the door made from oak,
    A poor child standing outside
    Proffered a cake with figs and berries.
    I asked for his name.
    With a bright smile with chapped lips
    Plunging hands into pocket, he said 'Bruno'.

    His dark, rich in brown hair matches the season
    Smell of dampness filled our nostrils
    Seemingly nine years of age looking around
    High blue hue clouds suffuse the skies
    Isolated maple leaves away from sight
    Left no scars on the surface soil.

    'Where is your companion ?' I asked searching of.
    'I am lonely, an orphan!
    I have a right to be upset.' he whispered.
    Autumn foliage covered the lanes of Lithuania
    I bought all the cakes and gave him one
    Now better ask him the price of smile!

    @writersnetwork

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    .

  • hannaabideen 34w

    WORLD OF SILENCE


    Azadi, I am!
    Dying in the hearts of millions
    Hiding beneath the darkest of all skies

    The days full of white lies
    And a cup of phrases
    Bought nothing other than oppression

    Injured verses of wounded poem
    Lost in the darkest of all hours
    Need no time to bury you all

    Silence is the normal pandemic.
    Loaded guns and sharpened weapons
    Chained the world to keep in fear.

    I wanna paint free birds on my canvas.
    Flying in search of truth
    Will I live tomorrow ?

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  • hannaabideen 35w

    BEYOND THE DOWNFALL

    Many a time young Romeo Montague,
    Petrarchan lover in the heart of audience
    Chose poetry over Fighting words

    O Romeo! Orchard garden might have said
    'You are going to steal the jewel I used to stare'.
    And he would not have listened.

    Verona whispered verses of love
    But turned out the downfall of Juliet Capulet
    That hath hidden in the playlist of time

    Petals of red roses fascinated the lover
    Love, love and love..
    Not roses but thorns gifted by the death!

    That was hard to part the young beloved lady
    He longed for her warm lips and swallowed poison
    Wasn't worse poison to reach heaven with her.

    Leaves of evergreen frantoio olive trees
    Witnessed she plunging the dagger to her breast
    Loyalty rose closely to the prince of love!


    @writersnetwork

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  • hannaabideen 42w

    "When has he left you ?" psychiatrist asked.

    The poetess said : "During autumn.."







    @hannaabideen

  • hannaabideen 42w

    MELANIN QUEEN

    She is a poetess,
    A landscape of letters
    With zillions of thoughts.

    She is a poetess,
    A vessel of melancholy
    Pouring a cup of words.

    She is a poetess,
    An unequivocal love
    Carrying definition of beauty.

    She is a poetess,
    A rebellious lady
    Sinking into the depth of purity.

    She is a poetess,
    Treats like a psychiatrist herself
    With extended rollercoaster of emotions.

    When day and night merge,
    She lifts her heavier quill up and
    Spell the broken tales of silent nights.

    She herself is a poetry,
    Like stars fall deep down into oceans
    And swim whole lives as starfishes.

    She herself is a poetry,
    Like a tree stops holding the empty leaves
    But the falling leaves fall for a new phase.

    Neither she is a tiny black sack of sin
    Grown up under the dark brown lady's burden
    But a human rich in melanin.

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    MELANIN QUEEN