Tag Archives: Poetry

Why Seek The World?

hands

This world of palaces, thrones, and crowns.

This world of societies that resent humanity,

This world of those hungry for [material] wealth,

What is this world to me, even if I can have it?

 

Each body is injured, each soul is thirsty,

With confused eyes and hearts full of sorrow,

Is this the world or the dominion of senselessness?

What is this world, even if I get it?

 

In this world where a person’s being is only a toy,

It is an establishment that worships death

Where it costs less to die than to breathe,

What is this world to me, even if I can have it?

 

Here youth wanders in hopelessness,

Young bodies are decorated and sold in the market,

Where love is treated as a product to trade,

What is this world, even if I get it?

 

This world, where human life is nothing,

Where loyalty is nothing, where friendship is nothing,

Where love has no meaning at all,

What is this world, even if I get it?

 

Burn this world, set it on fire!

Move this world away from me!

The world is yours, you take care of it.

What is this world to me, even if I can have it?

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Yeh Duniya Agar Mil bhi Jaaye to Kya Hain? (Pyaasa, 1957)

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Subhanallah, what a beautiful, yet tragic Urdu poem from the 1957 classic Pyaasa. It is worthy to share this ghazal in time where ‘success’ is equated to fulfilling or striving for worldly pleasures. But what happens when one attains all the so-called worldly ‘pleasures’? You gained the world, but at what cost? Does the heart feel full? How many lives were slaughtered or degraded in the process of obtaining “success” and “happiness”?

I’ve met many great souls who are tormented, silently. They were, at some point during their lives, duped into believing that they weren’t ‘successful’ enough because they weren’t attaining enough worldly ‘pleasures.’ Or, perhaps, like myself, they obtained the so-called ‘good life’ and realized it meant nothing. My desire to ‘gain the world’ has lessened. It is my hope that myself and others can gain the strength to resist the deceptively-charming-in-your-face forces that are rampant in society. Life has so much beauty to offer that isn’t always visible to the human eye. After all, what significance is the world in a superficial sense? What significance is a body with no spiritual depth? It is only the soul that is immortal.

I actually feel great sadness when I realize many people are still chasing the worldly ‘pleasures’ to the extent that they become apathetic and soulless. People are seduced by this false notion that ‘gaining the world’ makes a worthy life. Such a predisposition suggests that a life without glamour, superficial beauty, money and power is unworthy. Again, does money, prestige and power make the heart feel full? Or does one even have a heart once they’ve slowly bartered off their soul for their ego?  The world (duniya) is only temporary —  Life becomes meaningful when one focuses on enriching their soul, not their ego. 

Duniya

 

 

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An Honorable Love

I honored the memories by enduring the pain,

I did not numb, I did not run away, I just lived and accepted the torment.

My silence was my honor.

You, however, honored it by drowning yourself in alcohol.

In this new far away place,

Without heart, you perform your 5 daily prayers.

And this is how you show your honor,

Desperate to boost your ego, your faltering sense of ‘pride,’

By buying women, using them to quench your hunger, and discarding them once you’ve eaten their souls.

Oh, an honorable lover indeed.

Foolishly, I once considered our seperation akin to tales of the Great Lovers.

Only to realize, I was the only one mourning.

Oh, what wasted tears.

To realize all that flattery was really a slow, indirect rape.

Cunning foxes always use their charm,

To use others to please their own selfish desires.

Does a fox ever repent for the blood that remains on his teeth?

I will burn, I will accept the humiliation and embrace it,

For pain is ultimately strength, and I fear no longer to endure it.

Unlike you, who fears a drop of despair.

The laws of physics now apply:

“What goes up must come down,”

you have fallen from the pedestal.

And thus, no longer worthy of honor.

-Myself

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fragrant garden

The following poem was written by a man, in praise of the scent of his lover:

A Woman’s Scent

That night when my mother
took me to her breasts
I knew woman had a scent
quite different from man’s…

Tonight you still remind me of
my mother’s old fragrance
though you too have your different scent –
a scent entirely your own!

In summer, an aroma of apple juice
envelopes your breasts. In monsoon,
the wet fragrance of wild forest flowers
in your hair. And in the winter,
your arms smacking of honeyed milk
and your lovely feet of jasmines. In spring,
this strong odour of musk in your loins,
and in your navel that faint lavender!

In different seasons, you smell differently.
In different places, you smell differently.

But when I smell you entirely at once,
my love,
your scent becomes
an undefinable something!

-Dr Tapan Kumar Pradhan

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Sheherazade Becomes Marginal in a Society that Embraces Apathy

Image

When you live in a society where shallowness is embraced, there will be a mass following of people who imitate shallowness.

You see, the elite can only thrive with a mass following, by creating a mass appeal, popularity.

The merciless thrive by exploiting the basic human desires, and brand their strategies with the facade of “love” or “humanity.”

This shallowness is a form of turbulence — keeping us distracted, distancing us from Light.

Light can seem invisible with turbulent vision; yet the wise know Light continues to radiate in full spectra in undetected forms.

The wise know to be wary of “charming” promises, as Plato says “Things are not what they appear.”

It is only those placed in liminal states who are able to contrast between discourses.

But you see, our state of being is not a static entity. Circumstances can harden us, circumstances can soften us —

Can one be so optimistic these days?

Something new is occurring in human history, with humans being hardened into objects, irreversibly.

Resistance is strategically kept powerless and marginal.

If only Foucault was alive to see his biopolitics now.

The once optimistic feeling of softening the soul is being negated in a new social transformation who’s future is unknown.

Long ago, Sheherazade softened the heart of King Shariyar. But this was a time when the art of wisdom was embraced by the ruling elite.

Once, people were aware of the dehumanization resulting from objectification.

An objectified human becomes inanimate, lacking substance — yet this obsolescence is embraced!

Now, increasingly, the art of wisdom is silenced, and instead ‘information’ prevails.

Modern education is information, not knowledge — and the marginal are drowning.

A life of simulated shallowness, avarice and merciless individualism is propagated as “the promise” and masks the greedy profit that lies underneath

I have softened the hearts of many men. Though, I am limited in the abundance of human drones.

A drone is taught to valorise surfaces only, like the body; it cannot detect the emotional depth of the soul.

How foolish of me to consider myself a Sheherazade in a society that is morally bankrupt!

You see, in a world where shallowness prevails, the shallow ideals will be rewarded.

Oh, the days when I was an object, I only attracted objects!

Oh, I am fully aware, that if I transformed myself into a walking simulation of stupidity (a shapely ass and big pair of tits as my sole identity), then I will reign popularity.

But you see, now, I refuse to be an inanimate object.

How could anyone be an object once they’ve reached their soul?

I speak in a language that cannot be comprehended so easily,

it will only resonate by those immersed in Love.

My silence speaks this language.

My God, I am so thankful You reign in my heart, radiating Your Beauty

The burning of my heart keeps me from solidifying into a cold, hardened object. I’m melting in Your bliss.

Love will shine, it radiates in all forms to those whose surfaces are still permeable.

-Myself

*The tale of Scheherazade is symbolic in showcasing that wisdom is what makes a human worthy of being. Scheherazade changed King Shahriyar’s murderous vengence towards women, and inevitably softened his heart. How? She used her wisdom, her knowledge — she was not simply an object. The symbolism has relevance to today’s context: When a human is simply an object, devoid of inner depth, they become perceived as insignificant, disposable as an inanimate object. Sadly, it has become a trend in modern societies for people to identify in objectifying manners, thereby neglecting the ripening of their inner beings. This trend is a reflection of the ‘popular’ social values that are advertised by all forms of media/social media. 

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set free

“They have taken us prisoners,

They’ve locked us up.

But that’s nothing…

The worst

is when people –knowingly or not —

carry prison inside themselves”

-Nizam Hikmet

(trans. Sisir Kumar Das 378)

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Do Panjereh

(…)

always been a distance

between your hands and mine.

always with this bitterness

our days and nights have passed.

 *

there is not a very long distance between us, but

(even this short distance) seems so far.

the only connection between you and me

is the kind caressing hands of wind.

*

we are forced to stay captive.

we will stay captive as long as we live.

for us the only way to freedom is death.

as soon as we are set free, we will die.

*

Oh, I wish this wall would fall down

so that you and me will die together

and in another world

we will be able to hold hands, be together.

may be in that other world,

the pain of shunning and hatred wont exists in hearts.

(may be in that new world) between their windows

wont be any barrier of walls.

-Googoosh

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Three Years Of Escort Diary

Old Man: “From the hot fire of being apart, comes the flame that burns the heart”

Lateef: “That was beautiful, you speak very well.”

Old Man: “These are words from the heart, my son”

-Dialogue from the film Baran (2001).

courtesan-dressingI started this blog three years ago. I started it during an important change in my life. I had just left my engagement. I had just immersed myself into the realm of working independently for the first time, without knowing what to expect. I was also a full-time University student. Three years later, I claim myself as a high-end courtesan, and strangely enough I feel a similar emptiness that I experienced when I started this blog three years ago. But much has changed indeed.

It would be incorrect to say that I’ve been empty and sad continuously. A prostitutes life and experiences witnesses an amalgam of emotions; nothing is static. In the past three years, there has been happiness and many blessings, and I’ve had many beautiful experiences. I am very thankful for them. My heart was grasped by my great lover, the Sheik, whom I wrote about in these past years. And as I had written, our love did eventually hit a brick wall, shattering our hearts. Wounds remain fresh. Burning, I am trying to see the beauty in this pain. For the moment, I honor this love by lonesome tears, finding the torment of separation unbearable, hopeless at times. The beautiful memories are starting to become clouded amongst the pain. And worst, I never showed any sorrow outwardly. Strangely enough, I concealed all of my pain with the facade of pride, thereby masking the tears of honor. In hopeless moments, I wanted all the love to turn into hate. But the truth remains in the heart. God only knows the extent of my heart, the honoring of love through tears.

Here is an incomplete poem I wrote a while ago: 

In the midst of helplessness, I sought to destroy my image.

Perhaps intentionally, I destroyed myself before your eyes,

Tarnishing your perception of my beauty, my grace,

Converting the good memories into hate, regret, despair.

But my intentions were for the sake of survival,

So that you can feel no remorse, so you forget my beauty, forget our bliss.

You can say, “She never loved me. She only loved money. She is happy selling herself. She has other men in her life.”

I painted this false impression.

Yes, in my state of helplessness, I wanted you to believe these things, so you feel no guilt.

For hating me will make your life easier rather than seeing that I loved you with all my heart and life.

Though silent and concealed, God only knows the extent of my honor,

The secrets lay concealed in my heart.

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For this post, I will share some meaningful, poetic lyrics to a song:

madhubala-tawaif

Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya  – When we love, why should we fear?

The following lyrics are from the masterpiece film Mughal E Azam (1960) which is filled with the most enriching Urdu dialogue and songs. The film depicts the legend of Anarkali, the tragic tale of the Mughal Prince Salim and his love Anarkali, a courtesan. In the film, Anarkali sings the song Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya to defend her love with Prince Salim, and also to defend the honesty of her heart (she was accused of deceit). By revealing her heart in this song, she was risking her own life. Her honest heart lead to her imprisonment.  Her love, Prince Salim, also endured all the punishments for the sake of their love. For as the song says, “We have only loved, why should we be afraid?” The Urdu lyrics are powerful and expressed so beautifully. Visually, I love watching the actress Madhubala performs this song so eloquently. Here is a translation of the lyrics:

It is but once that man falls in love with another

In anguish he lives, in anguish he dies

When we have loved, why should we fear?

We have loved, not committed a theft

We have only loved

Why should we be afraid?

I’ll reveal today the secrets that stay in my heart

Death is what the world witnesses

What good is dying a death of sufferance like this?

We have loved, why should we fear?

In desire of him, I shall burn

For love, I shall live

For love, I shall die

Nothing more is my will

Now that I am in love, why must I fear?

Our love will not remain hidden

Everywhere around us are stories of our love

There is nothing that separates us from God

Why should we create barriers between humans?

We have loved, why should we fear?

Watch Madhubala’s beautiful performance of Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya in Mughal E Azam:

On a final note, here is another powerful line that is attributed to Anarkali:

While flowers wither away, “Thorns live not in fear of wilting”

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A Courtesans’ Perspective: Fragments of Thought

Lately, I am reluctant to share my thoughts. Sometimes I see no purpose to continue writing at all, but then I’m reminded of how my writings can, perhaps, comfort and help others with similar experiences. Rather than a usual post,  this post contains fragments of my writings in recent months.

nature

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(…) I am immersed in emptiness. Yet this lonesome exile inspires my poems. Had everything remained glorious, would I ever conceive these poems? These thoughts brew endlessly in sleepless nights. If you see beauty in my words, then please know that they are the result of pain and tears.

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(…) At least, with your protective arms, I could forget the world. Forget all my worries. But now, there is no hope. No security. No protective love from you. Everything is gone. I want to escape so desperately. But I can’t. I am on my own. And this debauched society tells people to be ‘independent,’ in an effort to mask their exploitative interests. Yes, I am praised for being ‘independent,’ yet this made me further isolated from warmth and belonging — who did this really benefit after all?

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On “The Impact of Travels” :

(…) When I was in my early teenage years, I remember walking along a narrow lane in a busy city in Northern China. I was starting to become aware of my rapidly blossoming womanly body. My appearance caused the attention of onlookers, who first complimented my appearance and then ask “Where are you from?” Ethnic wise, I can be anything from Turkish to Turkmenistani, so whenever I travel internationally people often assume I am mixed with their local culture. As I walked along, an elder man, who seemed to look like a holy man of some sort, stopped before me. He bowed at my feet and then apparently blessed me. These early instances of superficial admiration started to build my growing sense of self..

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(…) I realize my daily routine is really just feeding someone else’s dream. Countless hours spent studying, reading. And I do this with painstaking joy and curiosity. But why through these elitist institutions? It’s very discouraging when realizing that most of our lives have been strategically tailored to maintaining a system of profit and greed. 

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Poetry:

(…)Let me wither away. Let me be like a corpse, a dead body, attracting all the vultures. Let them feast upon my body until it’s empty. What is the point to remain a half-dead body? 

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“Hopeless Moment” :

I cannot bear to be a burden to anyone anymore, so I stay in my own prison. If I don’t sell my dead body, then my savings will go dwindling, just like my heart. How can an escort remain successful when she is dead inside? My success is tied to my sense of hope — but how does one continue this work when all hope is faded? This smile is so fragile. I cannot bear to be fake, but I have too. 

My ‘sweetness’ is fragile, and I pray that good men will approach me. I fear the bad side of this industry, as I’m far too weak, at this particular moment, to deal with the bad seeds. And sadly, bad seeds are increasingly abundant….

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On “Annoyances of Advertising” :

In a perfect world, I could advertise and only lovely men would contact me. But in reality, my carefully outlined website isn’t enough to deter morons from contacting me and wasting my time. Yes, there are hungry vultures of men who sit on their computers, calling up escorts and inevitably waste our time. They have no sense of courtesy or respect. I ignore these types, yet unfortunately they are part of the process of sifting good potential clients from bad ones. I must say thanks to God, because my clients are lovely men who are deeply respectful. But sadly, an escort has to encounter the BAD to see the GOOD. And even worse, sometimes it’s not so easy to tell the good from the bad. 

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On “The Doctor: an ‘Endowed’ Client” :

(…) I was not used to his endowed thickness. He was too lovely to deny, so I wanted to try. He asked, sweetly, “Are you okay?” I told him, “Yes,” and motioned him to continue pushing it inside me. Whilst this handsome young doctor was attempting to fill me with his thickness, I was fantasizing that my previous lovers were watching me take it. I expressed this fantasy to another client, Mr.Zee, last night. Whilst he penetrated me very passionately, I said, “I wish a group of young handsome men are watching us, would you be shy?”

At times, that’s one of my main fantasies: to have my lovers watch me getting so wet and horny for another handsome man’s thickness. I want my lovers to get angry, yet at the same time see their manhood getting immensely hard. And then, my lover, of course, gets his turn after the other(s) finish. I do not actually consider doing this fantasy, but talking about it can be exciting…

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On “My Heart and Love Cannot be Bought” :

I swear, it is really the most strangest feeling to be extremely sad, hopeless, unhappy whilst simultaneously laying in the arms of a man who thinks you are a Goddess. I can illustrate this by narrating a client I recently saw. This client was of similar origins to myself. He saw me and couldn’t stop praising me. He said I was his dream girl, and he wanted to dedicate the entire appointment to praising me. His flattery was along the lines of “I’ve been dreaming about the most perfect girl all my life, and it is you.” He literally was licking and kissing my body for 2 hours. After he made me orgasm, he insisted that I come again, and again. Eventually, I had to forcefully push his head away from between my thighs. I found his sweetness very lovely, and felt very thankful for it. But I knew what he wanted — he wanted love. And I have no love in my heart to give him, except for the moments he paid for. He reminded me of my ex-fiance, who went to all lengths to make me feel pleased and happy in the most selfless manner. I feel sad that I cannot give him the love he desires. 

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Without love, everything can seem so pointless. Why aspire to anything if life is going to be lonesome and meaningless? And ironically, there is love all around me. I do have men who love and admire me, offering me the life I dream about. But I do not love them. I cannot force myself to love someone. I want nobody else. I have no desire to meet others. My heart is in exile. 

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Poetic Thoughts:

Let me burn. Let me burn until there’s nothing left. I swear, I am only a body now. My soul has departed. Like Pakeezah called herself, I am just “a dead body.” I am a beautiful body, who’s dead inside. I am painted with kohl and red lipstick, appearing like an elegant beauty of exotic regions. Once, this beautiful body and face was filled with light within, but now, everything is gloom.

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More on “My heart and love is not for sale” :

(…) Lately, I’ve met too many single clients who are trying to get a relationship. Most are humble and respectful about it, which doesn’t bother me. But some are arrogant, who mistakenly think they can impress me with their money and so-called ‘success.’ To the arrogant types, I feel like saying, “I’ve had much BETTER than you. I’d rather DIE than settle with you.” Yes, that’s extremely harsh, but honestly sometimes that is what I feel. One overly-confident client asked, “If a man supported you financially, would you be with him?” And I said, “Only if I loved him, but otherwise no.” No, my love is not for sale. 

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I am back in hell. Silenced. I do not dare to share my pain with clients, or anyone. If I wanted to, I can be loved and cared for. But I don’t want to be near somebody I don’t love. I’d rather sulk alone. I don’t want pity. The only one who can console me is the one who just died. 

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(…) and these nights drenched in tears, surrounded by abundance, has made me realize the most invaluable purpose of life: God (love). 

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On “Mourning” :

It feels like I’ve spent these weeks in mourning. Mourning, yet there is no comfort in the sense of closure. Finally, I went to a place of death, where there is only mourning. And I cried. I was shocked at myself, as I almost never cry in front of strangers. Everyone around me was crying, and somehow I absorbed their pain too. But for the most, my tears were in vain, as I was mourning the death of my own love. And how does one mourn when their heart is shattered? How does one just continue in life? Life can never be the same. 

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