On a rocky mass and hard game, I am moving,
chances are fading, defeat is my world of gaining,
I get hurt; post love is a war, high score of pains,
smiling is failing, eyes are drying, more innings ahead,
I cannot play; my hard-earned runs are useless now,
total love episode destined against destination,
I cannot be a captain; rather I become a looser general.

Inside from the passive crippled edge of love field,
acute pain hitting at me, as if sensations are not sterile,
within the limit, I hold the pressure to be quite,
round after round I am entering in gray jurisdiction,
where people are silent upon me, I become jaundiced
in my discourse of love patterns, thence I moving
with a disgraced mood that is now permanent dialect.

I am emotionally nailed, yet trying to get movement
in my cool pronounced wits, as I have to go more years ahead, I have to be with my dependents, they are me and my mind, surgically I cannot divide them out in two ways.



What a situation…..
My lady-love has gone
I am looking on the vast blue sky
My heart is cut
My dreams are cut
I am surrounded in whitewashed walls,
Except for a hit, “I may come.”

Oh my mind……
My lady-love has gone
I am wounded by the loss
I am not dead
I am like pale plush
I am like a frustrated pilgrim
I am like hindered joke.

Oh my heart…
My lady-love has gone
I am just stepping in
cutting my body and mind
I feel dammed within my walls
I have no walls
I hired them from a social web site

From where I have picked her up
My lady-love has gone
She is now someone’s someone
My lips are pale
My black hair turns white
I make them brown
I want to hide my age’s sorrow

that I have from the cut
My age gap is the source of intense love
Once she wondered and felt proud
to be my darling
She celebrated, this was her love,
She set no heartache
There was only love and adulthood screams.

I am now on one side,
My lady-love has gone
My hands and fingers are forlorn
I am wondering from wall to wall
I murmur within myself
I once think to take pill to kill
Somebody’s someone reminds me

“Do not forget I am always with you.”
Is this false?
Is this true?
I do not know,
I know only the love and the earth
and I have to roam about
and cannot be saboteur

As all lives is God’s grace
I have to honor self
even if my love woman has gone
to be somebody’s someone
I have to honor you
I cannot darken you
I cannot tarnish your new love

God has a plan
He can sign me out of her love
He can make my lady-love happier within
in someone’s grace
I cannot object
Love has the great freedom of choice
I am within this rule.

How I can live….
God knows the best
I can only tenderly bury my wrong love
I can have tears
I can have thumbs down
and to me alone, all cuts can come with grief
and I have to keep a wooden mind with all my cuts.


I cannot be her brave lover,
as her captive is elsewhere,
I know it, and I do my duty,
I leave no things undone,
even I say I do not leave her,
even if she is taken away by her lover,
as this is the chat box
I will sit here alone
and talk with her alone,
the most tragic is that,
she does not come in my chat box
to tell me “Hi, how are you?” , and
she never says, “I am well,
cool yourself, I am in more love
to my age, I admire you.”
I know my life is short, dear,
I do not want to hurt you,
because I have passed
the age of youth time
when I would be jealous of your lover,
and instead I will take you and him
as my friends in my great compassion.

But I cannot tell her
I cannot be her heartache,
She does not have heart counseling
to say only, “Let us be only friends.”

On our first meeting,
my lost woman said in tears,
“After a great heartache,
I find you, and I have no wish to leave you.”


My chat box is calm,
she promised last day she would come tonight,
and she would fill my box with words,
not by proxy words, but with real words,
like operation of my heart to remove blocked arteries.

I feel lonely, and no instrument is found to run my long waiting there
in the box, I am waiting looking into list of friends
available to chat with, and my high-powered
old age spectacles get wet while visiting the box
for long time.

The available chatting friends are ten in number,
but my favorite woman is not there, and
I can talk to any one of them by trial and error method,
But I feel no interest to talk with any one of them,
because if she comes I cannot be attentive to her.

I then searched the friend’s list of each one
of all of them, who are chatting with someone,
or who are posting their status of mind
in the status space that has limits with 420 characters, and
there I find that each one has at least 420 friends.

All the lists of the friends of all ten chatting characters
seems to me as imaginary decorators in vast ocean of
computer programmed settings and silent silver glittering
spread throughout the world, and these are word musings,
and the statistics perhaps shows two billions of internet users in one day.

My beloved woman does not come; I am only blank observer,
I am an idle walker in the fray of able walkers,
I cannot adjust with this new condition
which is now common to all who can afford computer internet
or WiFi cell phones, but I feel feeble as my lady-love is absent.

I feel lonely as her words are like bombs
that can penetrate any mind of young or old,
so I love her, she loves me, but she is not here,
I am led in a trembled situation as this is my first time
I have said to a young woman, “I love you.”

When first time I was saying or typing, “I love you.”
tears comes down my eyes in that I do not remember
I have had said these three words with my lips to my wife,
and my typing was so moved in me that these three words
go deep into my heart, and this dacoit-queen steals my mind.

She was one day so violent that she appeared on computer screen,
I watched her golden cheeks, sparkling eyes, and charming personality
with youthful designs that is made for man’s shake,
and she showed some faithful conducts on my love and body feelings,
thus we moved a long way, confronted many ways, and love came finally.

Today she is absent, leaving me in desert, her guidance is void,
and many times it comes to my mind, should I learn how to love,
and today my poems get no vision, I feel no resonance to write verse,
and my wife comes slowly and says, “Why is your typing not stormy?
Please come to the ground, computer cannot give love, this has no life.”


My lover in the present age
is free from all bindings from me,
she gives me youth and mind’s delight
by the words typed on the keyboard
to feel the touch body and mind
in holy love light,
the warmth of sunny morn bright.

She was once my lover
to feel me fresh and sweet,
met me in the garden of love
where heaviest of sucking of lips
had not removed us from love habits.

Then one day when I am raising
the sense of love from her long covered
garments to find a treasure
to feel an extreme pleasure
one more younger stranger comes near
and holds her hands before I touch her
she immediately said me, ”Forget me.”

To my utter surprise,
I become fading and turn white skinned
as if no blood I have in my arteries,
her tender voice strikes my brain,
“Forgive me.” and in the jolt
I hear no words of regret in her voice.

How beautiful she hovers in my mind till now,
I am shocked as I am not accustomed
to the terror present age errors,
love is somewhat instant episodes
to live with memories on the shore,
I have to leave love and its habit of romance
to live on a blank page of love resort.

What I wished to have love from her before
turns now harder to tear up lover’s love, only tears.


This poem is dedicated to Ms. Mary Ann Parker

In her appearance in Facebook,
I see her she is working and busy endlessly always.
My window gets her picture she is sober
and she likes to be hour after hour stayed in searching
illness due to war for medical research papers published
wherein diseases due to war are largely effects
to those who are real participants of war,
and she makes all alerts over warrior survivors’ illness
all over the world, and makes comments on
scientific findings and doctor’s recommendations
of sufferings of illness of war veterans.

-“Why you search effects in war related diseases, Madam.”
I ask her.

-“Yes, I was in Gulf War Desert Storm in 1991.”
She says.

-“Are you sick in that war?” I say.

-“Yes, oil exposures made me very sick.”
She says.

-“O my God, you are suffering from war effects.”
I say.

-“Yes, yes I have been battling Gulf war illness for 20 years along with other chronic illnesses caused by the vaccines, burning oil well smoke, chemical gas exposures…” She says.

-“What is its effects on you?” I say.

-“Well, one of the problems I had after the war was severe stomach trouble and I cannot go out in public with my boy friend. I used to have diarrhea so bad I cannot go anywhere, cannot get to work, shop or nothing for a few years. It was horrible.” She says.

-“Then what are you doing now?” I say.

-“I am writing a memoir about my experience in Desert Storm.”
She says.

-“What is the title?” I say.

-“The title of my book is: 20 Years of Living with Gulf War Illness. How do you like the title?” She says.

-“Yes, title is good one. Have you got a publisher?” I say.

-“I am trying to get a major publisher.” She says.

-“Good, I want to buy one. When published, give me book seller’s name address.” I say.

-“Yes, I will give you the book seller’s address. I am going to tell the real story of war veterans. The public has no idea what really goes on.” She says.

-“Good. Thank you.” I say.

You are the war veteran of Gulf War, 1991.
You are the language that screams the war burns.
You are disabled by the vaccines, burning oil well smoke,
and Chemical gas exposures.
You are the victim of the revenge of warring headstones.
Your memoir will signal out warning against war.
We read it, but do not learn to phase out war syndromes
from our loving earth’s peace triumphs.


Just passing an age of maturity, I am writing this poem
with my searching of love with a woman living far away,
on a land where I never can go to conquer her.
She only says, “I am poor, I have no internet link,
I cannot talk with you in Facebook in time.”
I am passing on a crucial life winter
that cannot bring me news for my love
and its acceptability, at my age of dying lay.

When she comes first I do not resist me
and I love her, more than what I can express here,
I do not think how to prepare for love or not to love
with zoom lenses, and consider whether I am fit
for her young love, and I lean
to her beautiful hands, with kisses and greets,
then I have no thinking whether this young woman
may have a link to be somebody’s darling.

Then I cannot litter my love objects,
I cannot think, my time is out of joint venture,
and now I link myself with her rosy cheeks
and touch every curve on her body
and move like a dream of love designed.

I never think of jolting with nothingness in beauty,
I never analysis of protests she may have within,
I never think of the pulse of the reality in her,
I never think of the escapes that may occur,
I never think of the backlash of wrong love.

I become astonished how this poor and beautiful woman
has a good sense of loving me, and her using of words
which is so powerful that she can love the world
and I think about her strenuous job of being poor,
yet she is romantic to me on all ways
and shows a long-lasting devotion upon me
and she can live here with love and sing for love.

Yes, she is an expert woman with kisses
she is an expert in making love poses
she is an expert in painting on mind’s mists
and once she said, “As we two are in poverty,
our love is mare love, one of us should work
for our love’s materialization We both need peace.
our life is short, do something now, Asim,
otherwise sorrow will be long-standing wraith.”

I am passing through questions
Is there a life before my death?
This I have to look into
how far I am competent and coherent
with this new age love,
But I do not resist embracing her in deep love-making.