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Zee n Payal n Anosh

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Anosh Payal Best Valentine

**mobasherzia**

SHIKWA (Complaint from a Pakistani)
Atif F Qureshi

Oh Pakistan!

Pure they did name you. Was this a lie or just jest?
For impure you turned out to be when put to the test.

How speedy, how quick, have these six decades passed.
Yet when one is in pain, time is not meant to go fast.

Oh hear our complaint, Oh land of great tragedy,
Treat this not as trivial, or an exercise in mockery.

From Makran to Gilgit, we raised your flag high,
Yet nothing did we reap save a disappointed sigh.

In your mountains you heard our cries of Pak Zindabad,
Were those echoes your reply or was it all a canard?

Frustration abounds when we hear your name,
Leaden-footed we feel as we walk your lanes.

What grief you have wrought, what trials of late.
From the tribulation of this land is there no respite or space?

We gave you our children, we gave you our souls.
What have you returned save for sorrow and woe?

A million and more perished for that 27th night.
Did they not sacrifice so we could all live in light?

But no light is there here, darkness encroaches all-round.
We struggle enchained, ever more tightly bound.

Did our fathers not create you to know freedom and peace?
Why then to their enemies have you been sold and leased?

What say you to them, those martyrs of yours?
Who died at the hands of the savages you abhor?

Those who laid down their lives for your Sacred realm,
So that Believers, and none but, could remain at the helm?

Not their children, but others, then stole,
This Promised Land that we once called home.

Do we not strive for you, are we not slain?
Yet it seems all our struggle is in naught but vain.

Did we not build an army? A force of great might?
With missiles and weapons and jets to fight?

Did we not strive bravely in Jihad in your cause?
Did we not march and fly fearlessly to wars?

What more can we do to protect your mountains and shores?
Yet you still sprout deviants who break all natural laws?

Your enemies vanquished, your protectors return home,
Yet no fruit do they find after the deeds they have sown.

Those that care for you, they see nothing but grief.
Yet why do the most corrupt gain the glory they seek?

Where is the freedom that was rightfully ours?
Why do you prostitute yourself to foreign powers?

So many failures, your achievements so weak,
Surely it cannot be that you have reached your peak?

There is no shade here from the bright burning sun,
Whatever we build, why is it always undone?

Is it so unjust of us to ask, where is order, where is law?
Why is it that your teeming masses are so scandalously poor?

It is time for you to elucidate, time for you to explain,
From your unseemly silence you have nothing to win.

You failed us, time and time and time again.
Will you ever deliver the Promise? How? When?

Jawab-e-Shikwa (Pak Sarzameen’s Response)
Oh my people!

Heedless you are, of my glorious fate.
Deniers you are of reality of late.

Pure they named not I, but you who roam above.
Yet pure I remain, it is you who lack

.

You think I am not pure? Your mothers made wudhu from this dust.
Now you have water, yet your Masajid see rust.

And they perished not, those Mujahideen beloved.
With me they still are, in this land, pure and rugged.

How true they were, to they promise they showed.
With me they still are, and not collections of bones.

Rewards abound for those who sacrifice for me.
How blind you are, for you still do not see?

Success is for those who place others above themselves,
But you can think only of drawing first from the well.

If you expected from me, I felt entitled from you.
Did you not swear by My Lord to create Madinah anew?

Instead you ploughed nothing, and reaped only frustration.
When I call YOU to account, am I above my station?

You ask for order, but what law do you seek?
I despise this foreign law, that makes you so weak.

I did not fail. But instead you failed you.
Yet still My Lord gives, in spite of the evil you do.

Did my Lord not warn against spreading mischief in the land?
Yet still you wonder why peace will not stand?

And believe you that I was created in a single day?
How unmindful you are to think in this way.

When a pious trader crossed through Khyber was I born
It was before your dark age – it was a time of new morn.

When the Caliph heard the woman’s cry, and the young prince-general was dispatched
That, my people, is when my egg was hatched.

Because a fresh breeze did I send to that Beloved of mine.
That Prophet, that Pinnacle, that Man beyond time.

A gift it was, a mere token from me,
For I wished He would pray nightly for the absolution of thee.

Now countless believers roam this land of note.
But how many say a prayer that travels beyond their throat?

You where you tread is a Sacred place?
How confined your minds are in time and space!

What use is a nation, a mountain, a grain of sand -
If it submits not to my Lord’s Mighty Plan?

Sacred is not a word, a thought, a beard on a face,
Only the deed of the believer will cleanse an unclean place.

Do you wish for yourselves a Jannah on Earth?
Between these valleys, deserts and cities of no worth?

Then plant Jannah in your hearts, or do you not care,
For the trials and aches laid to entrap you there?

Traps they are not, nor are they jails.
Liberation lies therein from your complaints and wails.

So straighten your direction! Face Makkah I say,
Toward the House of your Lord – there is no other way!

Heedless you are, of my glorious fate.
Deniers you are of reality of late.

If not you, then let your sons and daughters come.
It is they who will see glory, once you have long-gone.

**mobasherzia**

FABLE OF GEORGE THE NASTY ELEPHANT & BARRACK THE JACKASS
United States of Animals

by mobasher sharif

Once upon a time in the United States of Animals

There lived George and Barrack: two super animals

Barrack was the king of the whole animal kingdom

And George was the son of a navy man,

Barrack was also the chief donkey of his tribe

And so was George the head elephant of his sire.

Barrack the donkey was ruling for over 180 days

Spreading the gospel of peace, prosperity, love and fate

Surveying the universe on his 747 flying mate.

These times were quite restless times

Though big donkeys and fat cats were fine

Dining each night on honey and wine

Everything looked good fairly calm and good

But there was a catch-22 in all this

Because a lot of little animals were being hit
Of hunger, poverty, unemployment and other shit.

George the jackass from the prairie one day

Came to a galloping halt one day and jealously grunted:

“The animal kingom of the USA

Needs a change of leaders after eight years of wait”.

The son of the navy man kicked around a lot

Finally grunting: “Elect me … the Elephant McGovernment of all”.

And all the elephants cunningly laughed and had a ball.

“Look at the facts”, the elephant grunted

“The elephant talks about peace betray

For there is no peace still today”.

He talks of prosperity but over a bazzillion …

over a bazzillion animals are unemployed in abundance.

He boasts of about good times, though

Mice are paying twenty percent more for the dough.

He promises to bring together wolves and lambs.

Even the tigers are scared to go out

Into the forest after dark-outs.

“Listen to the donkey", the elephant charged,

“I won’t reply to his rubbish talks”.

But let me make this perfectly clear to all:

Who made peace with the Bear’s kingdom?

Who flew around the length and breadth of our kingdom?

Who tamed the filthy blood-thirsty dragons?

Who rescued half-a-million Bobs and Toms

By rescuing them from the desserts of Iraq and Afghanistan?

Fellow elephants grunted waving their trunks:

“Eight more years to George!”

The pack joined in and started grunting:

“Eight more years to Cindy and George!”

The bears and dragons swished their tails:

“Sixteen more years to Cindy and George!”

“I have been kicked around by the donkeys,”

The number one elephants grunted shyly.

“They chatter against me in the dark nights.”

On the forest trees they write and practice graffiti.

But, reminded he, “I have long nose and big ears

And the elephant remembers what he sees and hears.”

All the bears gobbling cheap wheat roared:

“Eight more years right now!”

Fat cats dining on lamb chops burped

“TWELVE MORE YEARS WOW!”

The donkey threw his trunk over one tusk

Wiped the TV makeup to impress other animals;

“I don’t say everything is perfectly clear

(In my animal kingdom).

I have seen long-haired dogs in poppy patch;

I have seen the roosters chasing chicks for hash

And even chicks chasing other chicks for a nickel of grass;

I have also seen crime and unemployment surpassed.

But the number one elephant’s grunts continued:

“These are not important things to be reviewed.

All animals must learn in my vast kingdom

See things as the elephant sees them …

If they are hungry they must also

Remember that most animals are not;

If they are old or sick they must also

Remember that most animals are not;

The wolves may be eating lambs though

But the rate of lamb-eating has gone down also …

(Full one tenths of one percent uptill now)

King George … the elephant’s trunk flounted:

“It is the generality of things that must be counted”.

On hearing this some wild horses neighed:

“SIXTEEN MORE YEARS TO CINDY AND GEORGE”.

And when King George threw the final challenge:

“Who can match all my accomplishments?”

Even more doves and hawks together sang:

“God save King George and Sara Palin”.

“I can match his accomplishments,” brayed the jackass,

“The elephant remembers only some of his past.”

A hungry doe can’t eat the gross animal productivity;

A lamb in the claws of a wolf cannot be happy

By the declining rate of wolf’s avidity;

The lamb has to think of decline in its’ own productivity”.

And the forest air echoed with monkey’s chants:

RIGHT ON BARACK!” and “GIVE PEACE A CHANCE!”.

Obama the jackass --- son of a Kenyan man

Continued his grunts at the top of his lungs:

"Any elephant knows what George told us all …

The elephant has tricked us”, accused the donkey,

“He covers up his blunders with trickery and witchcraft;

He works in collusion with bugs on our tribe;

He makes deals with bears at the expense of our appetite”

"The survival of the fittest has been replaced

By the triumph of the trickiest in our beloved place”.

And the number one jackass reminded the fellow casts

“The kingdom needs a good honest clumsy jackass.

Elect me --- Super Animal … the greatest jackass.”

But the snakes hissed and the bears growled

The fat cats grinned and the wolves prowled.

Most of the animals cheered the elephant merrily:

TWENTY MORE YEARS OF KING GEORGE’S TRICKERY!

The jackal’s howl echoed throughout the kingdom!”

“FORTY MORE YEARS TO BARRACK OBAMA!”.

The jackass grinned and winked in hallucination!!!

Some parrots and monkeys wept and acted said:

“Four more years to Barrack the Jackass!”.

But the zoologists blinked with shock and frustration:

“TRUTH IS INDEED MUCH STRANGER THAN FICTION!”

**mobasherzia**

DIARY OF TWO RAIN SUFFERERS IN THE YEAR GONE BY DOWN SOUTH

September 12, 2009

Wishing y’all a Very Berry Berry monsoon season. May the coming months and years bring You Much Joy and Health and Wealth and Happiness.

We have had a lot to be thankful and unthankful for this past year. We kept a meticulous log of our ordeals in the form of a “DIARY OF TWO RAIN SUFFERERS IN THE YEAR GONE BY” and here it is ….

DAY One @ 7:AM – It started to rain athe beginning of the month! First rain at the end of the summer. Rosemary an I took our diet pepsis and sat for hours sitting bt the window watching the niagras of water drift down from heaven. It looked like a GRANDMA MOSES’ painting we felt like newly weds again. We love the rain!

DAY 2 @ 5:00 AM - We woke to a beautiful musical sheet of sideways rain covering every inch of landscape on this day! What a fantastic sight! Can there be a lovely place in the Whole Wide World? Moving here was the best idea Rosemary and I made. Saw rivers and creeks rise and crest and then overflow. For the first time we felt like boyfriend and girlfriend again. Moe did sandbag both our sidewalk and the sidewalks. That afternoon the PUD rainplow came along and pushed more water up and over the driveway and sidewalk. So Moe got to sandbag again. What a perfect life!

DAY 3 @Noon - The sun has melted all our lovely rain at the official start of summer! Such a disappointment. Our next door neighbor Stan tells us not to worry, we’ll definitely have a dry fall. No rain in the fall would be awful ! But our other neighbor Mac says we’ll never have so much rain by the end of fall that we’ll never want to see rain again. Mac is such a nice man. We are so glad that he’s our distant neighbor.

DAY 4 @ 9:00 AM - Rain and more lovely rain on these holy days. All days. Glory Glory Hallelujah. Amazing Grace. 8” since last night. The creeks and rivers are rising again. Observing it crest and flow over to within a few feet of our deck makes everything sparkle so. The wind took our breath away, But we warmed up by sandbagging the sidewalks and the driveway. The PUD truck came back this afternoon and messed up our sandbags. We didn’t realize we would have to do quite this much sandbagging, But Moe will certainly get back in shape this way. I only wish he wouldn’t huff and puff so.

DAY % @ 4:00PM - 20 inches for this day and it is pouring down already! Sold our van and bought a 4x4 blazer. Bought rain tires for Rosemary’s car. Rosemary wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think it is silly. We aren’t in the Amazon Rain forest, for crying out loud.

DAY 6 @ 4:00 pm - A ferocious storm this morning at the official start of summer. Moe fell on his derriere while positioning sandbags around the sidewalks and driveway.

DAY 7 @ 11:OO am - Still pouring down golden rain on this holy day! Roads are too squishy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for five hours. I had to pile the blankets around the window sills to keep the rain from getting in. Nothing to do but stare at Rosemary and try not to irritate her. Guess I should brought her a wood stove, but won’t admit to her. God I hate it when she’s right. I can’t believe I’m perspiring to death in own living room.

Day 8 @ 5:00 AM - Electricity is back on this holiest of holy days. But had the another 14” of the same ‘ol same ‘ol stuff last night. More sandbagging. Took all morning and all evening. That doggone PUD rainplow came by twice. Moe tried to find another neighbor to help him sandbag, but they said they’re too busy playing waterpolo. We think they’re lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying more sandbags and they said they’re out. Mac says we have to sandbag our the PUD man will have to do it and bill us. We think he’s lying.

DAY 9 @ 7:00 PM - 13 inches of liquid sunshine. Blessed us this blessed official start of summer. Mac was right about a dry spring because it is so wet and soggy that miniature water springs are oozing out of just about everywhere. Took Moe 45 minutes to get all dressed up in his snorkeling outfit to out to sandbag and then he had to go to the bathroom again! By the time he got undressed, went to the bathroom and dressed again he was too tired to sandbag. Tried to hire Mac for the rest of the year since has a self-propelled and gas –powered gizmo to sandbag, but he says he’s too busy. We think he’s lying.

DAY 10 @ Who Cares - Only two inches of rain on this holiest of holy days. What a bummer. Rosemary wanted me to start decorating for the holiest of holy days this morning. What is she … nutty??? Why didn’t she tell me me do it a month ago? She says she did. I think she’s lying.

Who Gives a Damn - 6” of rain packed so hard by winds on this fine holiest of holy days! I broke my wheelbarrow. Thought I was having a heart attack. I know the PUD rainplow hides around the corner and waits for me to finish sandbagging and then he comes down the street at 100 mile an hour and throwing rainwater all over again where I just have been. Tonight Rosemary wanted us to have a quite lochs and bagel Dinner, but I was busy watching out for that demonic rain man.

Happy of the Happiest Holy Days @!=3D@x@x!x1 - 20” mo’ of inches of slough rained in. The idea of sandbagging makes our blood boil. God we love the rain so!
Why did we move here? It was all her idea. She is really getting on my nerves. The creeks and rivers are rising again. Still rained in. Rosemary is driving me crazy!!! 10 more inches of Mac says I have to go up to
the roof to clean out the leaves and gutters or it could cave in. That’s the silliest thing I have ever heard. How dumb does she think I am?

Roof is leaking. The PUD rainplow driver is suing us for bajillions of dollars for the bump on his head. Rosemary has left me for Le Chateau du Chaudierre le Lek Tsillan. Another nine inches predicted for 40 more holiest days and 40 more holiest nights. All the sandbags have been swept away by the raging creeks and rivers. No more sandbags left anywhere and no more sandbagging anyways and anyhows.

I feel so good. I just love those recycled electrodes glued to my wrists and forehead while strapped to the bed somewhere and somehow?

Rainfully Yours,

Mobasher Zia & Rosemary
Rain Country Down West, USA

**mobasherzia**

WE SHALL NEVER FORGET!

NEW YORKERS ARE A RELATIVELY impatient lot. Each of us has our own agenda. Our general reaction to changes in our environment is "What's in it for me?" and if it looks like something worth having, "Can I get it yesterday?" Around the World Trade Center where the dust is thick and heavy enough to hold graffiti for more than an hour, someone has written "War" and "God Help Us" and of course, untype-able obscenities as comments on the changes that took place on Black Tuesday. But we are a goal oriented group as well. On the wall at the epicenter someone has scrawled this suggestion on how to proceed. Rescue, Recover, Revenge. This shows our grim love of priorities. Save lives, recover the dead and then support a fire storm from hell to rain down on those who have to savagely tried to destroy us. We are still in the first two phases and very busy.

In order to understand the quiet ferocity under which we are currently living you have to know that New Yorkers are junkies about their city. Mainliners and stoners so hooked on the excitement, the people, the chance to change one's life that this great city promises and delivers, that they die a little when they have to be away from it for too long. New York is their White Lady. Their drug of choice and they cannot, will not live without it. This is why our Mayor cries when he talks of dead fire fighters. They die for this city and for us.
Today I got an E mail from a non-New Yorker whom I love a lot. A good and abiding friend who is not from here but from some bosky southern glen that drips moss and musk, where men say ma'am, still wear hats and tip them and ladies still use fans and talcum powder. He said this has all been too much, too horrible, too scary. He and his lovely southern wife and Bottecelliesque child want to leave - go anywhere where he can make a living - just go - get out of hell on earth where buildings blow up in the shimmering morning sun and snot-nosed teen-age cretins beat up innocent Arab American grocers on Atlantic Avenue.

Last night, he writes, he and his wife stopped in for a bite to eat at a local cafe. There was a firemen at a table. My friend's toddler recognized a hero and offered him his "sippie" cup. The most valuable thing the baby owned.

I wrote my friend that even though he was not a native New Yorker he shouldn't leave, that a child with that kind of judgment deserved to be raised here. Bring up a different kind of kid. One who doesn't cut and run when the going gets dusty and bloody and scary.

LAST NIGHT my older son Josh spent the night in the "hole" at the World Trade Center. They gave him a respirator, an iridescent flash vest, a hardhat that a falling steel beam would crack like a robin's egg, water and as many sandwiches as he had time to scarf down. Because he is a street level working New Yorker, he had the right shoes. This is a town where having proper foot gear can mean everything.

When the crew boss decided Josh was about to collapse with fatigue they told him to go lie down on one of the cots set up in the American Express building (later evacuated. It too, was about the go down.) On his way to a cot he noticed that other workers never made it to the building with the cots. They just sank down on the rubble and slept. Sometimes they fell down in puddles and slept. It didn't matter. When your bones weep, sleep is sleep.

The nightly news showed Clinton on the street here in New York. He was in front of Curry in the Hurry on Lexington Avenue miles from the scene or carnage. He had his arms around a comely, crying brunette holding a picture of a missing loved one. He was feeling her .....pain. Doing something for himself, not New York. Sorry, that may be crass but my loathing for his man requires medication. What, dear God, is he doing here in the first place?

Josh returned from his labors around 2 this afternoon. He had walked most of the way from downtown. He reported that as he dragged his dust covered body passed the loaded cafes, people applauded. A bartender was hanging out a flag in the Village. Josh had strength enough to remind him to fly it at half staff. He got home, showered, changed his crusted shirt and at 5 p.m. he went back downtown.

It is morning now and Josh has not returned from the "hole" where the biggest job is sorting body parts. Matching a leg to another leg, a hand to an arm. If he finds something he gives it to a medic who takes it to be logged. He and thousands are working like this hour on end. They are too old to own and offer a "sippie" cup. Their heart and spine is all they have to give. These are New Yorkers. They don't quit (Fuggetaboutit), they are tough (Wanna make somethin' of it?) and unforgiving (You gonna pay for that, man)
Rescue, recover....that's for now. Revenge?

Hey, bin Laden!

Yo momma!

This was published here the Friday after we thought the world as we knew it had come to an end. Friday, September 14, 2001