“Pilgrim Blues” and “Like Waiting” — Two Poems by Junaid Ahmed Ahangar

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Inverse Journal invariably leaves an indelible impression on me every single time I go through the works on it; for that I must congratulate you. With unerring anxiety and a spoon full of anticipation, I am sharing my poetry with you for publishing in your esteemed magazine. The poems are part of an anthology I have worked on for the past couple of years, and I am pasting the synopsis/pitch of that anthology here, I hope this can be useful.

This anthology of poems is reminiscent of the famous latin idiom which reads memores acti prudentes futuri which translates roughly to mindful of things done, aware of things to come; thus both remembering the past and foreseeing the future. It does not feel like a conscious and concerted effort towards an end and yet, to feel is the end while traversing these poems. To feel what is interspersed in themes of guilt, remorse, yearning and loss in these poems, written from within a place of shadows, almost like a womb, dark yet warm at the same time. And every now and then attempted leaps of faith towards a certain brightness to hold it all together. There are table spoons of hope and redemption; a hint at a certain dogged persistence in allowing a cloak of mystery to drape the poems in.

Free verse, the lyrical compression is deliberate and even when brief, they feel taut and heavy in their form and shape. There is a conscious attempt to swerve away from familiar themes and instead embark on meditations around different subjects.

The writing of these poems is tantamount to the construction of a world gone awry with enough room for both plentiful joys and exhausting sorrows. Reading them, akin to embarking the most intimate of journeys. The reader can wander and take a meteoric leap of faith on reading these poems and share a common stepping foot into what eventually is a world of dreams, a world of experiencing and feeling.

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And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep
is what you told me as I set forth on the sabbath
stop scourging the earth below
look ahead, every reason is reason enough only when you’re looking
is what you told me as I set forth on my sojourn
I met a leprechaun mending shoes
having trouble tying laces
he told me he was waiting to run to the edge of the rainbow
I met Alyosha
Alyosha made of compassion, Alyosha moulded in quietness
I met siamese twins learning to walk
I saw birds joined at the hips doomed never to fly
I met a keeper of fasts
who admonished me thus
there’s not enough kindness in this world
which is why you need to write about it, write it to life
to which I said
I’ll try my worst
I saw an artist tugging at pillows
his bed adorned with cognac instead
who complained thus
twenty four hours in a day inadequate for sleep, far too less for penance
I held parchments of memory in my hands
washed ashore by an indifferent sea
I saw a vision of Nazareth
a basilica reverberating with the melodies of Hosanna
drowning out the sermon on the mount playing on my second hand radio
the gate was closed, the key was to ask
Jerusalem, can I visit you?
I met a gypsy bride wearing a crown of thorns
singing a dying lyric
I saw a funeral of trees
I saw sheep leading their shepherd to the guillotine
flanked by a seraph on each shoulder
the leprechaun returned with treasure he found at the ends of the rainbow
‘twas a chest that contained ancient scrolls
ancient scrolls which sheltered vows
a vow of silence
a vow of celibacy
a vow of poverty
a vow of never using vowels
a vow of youth
a vow of mistakes
I went back to sleep
and asked for a dream instead
I opened my eyes to an old house in a forest
brimming with surrender in the dark of night
a light flickering on, a few portraits illuminated
and I asked myself
is it enough piety for a lamp to keep burning all night?

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Like a lover's tryst shielded in the bosom of the night
Like a cage gilded with benevolent caution
Like a gash scarlet and alive
Like a knot blown upon by serpents
Like a solstice standing still
Like a parish empty without deliverance
Like a mask discarded under a damp rug
Like a prayer devout and selfish
Like a caricature blooming on a stingy canvas
Like a candle burning with a meagre flame
Like a mat folded in the shape of a loss
Like a river profuse with sadness and splendor
Like a truce descending into chaos
Like a motif decorated by a child
Like an annotation dying away inside a withered page
Like a fire hose melting into a flower pot
Like a bookmark pretending to be a rose
Like an armistice fending off a war
Like a totem defiled by an invocation
Like a footnote brimming with life
Like a wallflower oblivious to ruin
Like a man's tears uneasy and true
Like a tether holding back solace
Like a poem sacred and quiet
I've waited