She Rose

She Rose

That soothing touch of the night cannot revive me.
Its silence, riding on the pleasant wind
or its dark shroud, hiding my sorrows for the rain
can no more imbue me with the light of creation.
What else is more unique to humankind alone?
How else can I justify my blessed breaths?


This hazy roller coaster ride, the one
we so lovingly plan ahead in time,
without knowing which way is the next turn –
up or down, how sharp to the left or right,
emboldens us to call those rare few without plans
as outcasts for not yielding to the perceived norms.


And lo, still I write, though since dawn I was
bleeding to death on the red plains of Mars,
with the dusk She rose like the rising sun,
halfway to Venus my spirit returned!
Is it not the way true love should feel like,
the more one lives, the less the other dies?



A Straight Line

A Straight Line

My heart aches, to see myself morph into
a straight line from the old triangular shape,
a form, I had grown so comfortable with
but dreaded change is the sole constant of things!

I have never had circumference as
one of my vital properties, unless
one considers the entire breadth and width
and height too, of the visible universe!

Even in my rare lucid dreams, if I
had ever imagined a curving line
being drawn by Fate around my existence,
the center remained on the other side!

The snarling faces will never relent
from across the mirror, jeering at life,
so, no matter what, why should I resent,
being a full circle, a throbbing triangle or a straight line!



Satan’s Lamentation

Satan’s Lamentation
Watch and Listen to a Reading of the Poem.


“I give up,” – said Beelzebub, vexed with frustration,
his face, more livid than the fire, burning
in numerous corridors leading to
the great hall, where he sat, flushed, on his lavish throne!

A wary whisper of bewilderment
rose and ebbed through the ranks of his puzzled lieutenants,
as they looked on their lord, who hid his face
behind the licking flames of his hairy palms.

They wondered what ailed their master so vividly
but were too afraid to ask, lest his wrath
send the questioner with a corrupt scheme to earth,
‘O boy, O boy, doomed would be he on whom
such a curse might fall’, they all thought in unison,
for their schemes of late had grown less and less
sinister for human taste, almost angelic
compared to the latter’s own, almost fair!

Soon the tension inside that fiery hall
became palpable, as the assembly grew restless
for the reason behind their lord’s distress
and the orange flames on their backs turned a trepid blue.

At long last Beelzebub raised his horned head and spoke,
“When God created me, long before human beings,
I was a lowly child but rose up through my remembrance
until God anointed me as His head seraphim
but woe unto me, then God breathed His Light
into the souls of Adam and his partner, Eve!
The rest you know, I was undone by jealousy
and pride. I was expelled but not before
I could ask from God the power to penetrate
the human souls, He said, “Except the believers’!”

And that was the deal since the dawn of man on earth;
that they would come and seek their origin, as I
shall try to lead them astray from the path
and you know the last century has truly been
a golden age of success for our kind,
so much mayhem, bloodshed and anarchy
but now with our trade’s dynamics in their able hands,
they have grown more violent than we could ever hope to be!

Once was enough but now wretched humankind
has beaten me twice, once before the dawn
with their grandeur and now at the onset of dusk
with their internal crookedness!”, he paused and heaved a sigh
then rambled on, “What an irony, despite my name
human evil keeps beating mine, time and again!”



Missing Poetry

Missing Poetry
Watch and Listen to a Reading of the Poem.
[Forewords]: Regretfully, since starting the channel @ The Lone Wolf Creations, I have not been able to write poems at all. Here are some words I just wrote while brooding over the fact. After all, as a poet, no act of creation makes me feel more complete than the act of writing a poem.

Am I officially single now, a celibate?
Where are the words, the sole love of my life?
O my dear syllables, how I miss your throbbing gaits
on our bed, discolored pages, once white!

And I miss playing with your minute phonemes as well,
through my fingertips, throbbing even more
at the sheer bliss of heaven while being in a hell,
that is what creation feels like to my core!

So, please show me your countenance, my dear poetry,
for I have sought you like the whirling waters seek
the comfort of an ocean in their destiny
as they keep falling down from a blue mountain’s peak!



© Amit Rahman, 27 August 2016