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odeonoud.bsky.social
ghazal azad jahan
@odeonoud.bsky.social
38 followers 48 following 24 posts
poet / glory to the martyrs
https://odeonoud.carrd.co/
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odeonoud.bsky.social
To Exist In A Language
‘To Exist In A Language’ (ghazal) Language is a gentleman’s pride. I am half-madden, half exhausted. I wish no longer adhering. His rulebook, drenched in blood, is a twisting knife in a poet’s heart. It demands politeness. It erases my name — the sole truth of my soul — handing me a shotgun. Should I call him an ally or an assassinator? I am a man of skies, odes and trees. What shall I do with despair? I have rage, a sword directed at my throat and him, deaf of cries. I shall repeat. I shall bleed. But, he is blind. His windows are closed for our burnings. So I be as asked for. I will be a gentleman. Before I do, he should be quietened. In order for that, to be even partially possible, for a second, he needs to take his shaming sword and chip off his tongue. That tongue that bled a hundred of ours. Be his faith. Learn, how painstaken a mouth could be, each time we are needed to bite our tongues for an undisrupted talk. To be known, so gorgeously, under the moonlight we lay side by side. Then, I will speak softly. I will write on sunrises and beaches. Until then, I will have a troubled relation. To carry a burdened heart. How do I say, I am a devotee of words, if all the language does is exile ?
October 20, 2024 at 8:46 AM
odeonoud.bsky.social
To Mothers With Daughters,
To Mothers With Daughters, (ghazal) Before you braid your daughter’s hair, hear a daughter’s heart. A rotten heart where rage sits. So begin by reminding her, we are born of red. Venus — a burning planet is still a symbol of love. Neatly brush her hair. Be gentle on knots. Those tangles; of life and beyond, need time. It is an overbearing labour. I had witnessed the ruins of impatience. A scar left untreated for a perpetual time becomes a part of the body. A daughter is a mother stitching patches of her abandoned selves and unfulfilled purposes to be a shell of flesh where she births her longing. There is a power in knowing you could manifest God. Part her hair. Plant your tales in there. Three strands. In our spines where wings should have been. Tell her, she is as beautiful as the night’s sky. Tell her, she is enough. A daughter learns love from her mother first. A bond is a broken mirror in a closed fist. Those inflicted are neither martyrs nor victors. Just daughters.
October 18, 2024 at 5:25 PM
odeonoud.bsky.social
as ghassan kanafani wrote, “i wish children didn't die. i wish they would be temporarily elevated to the skies until the war ends” i wish too so i tried translating my aching heart into words. for palestinian kids (and adults who were once kids too)
October 18, 2024 at 4:32 PM
odeonoud.bsky.social
bury me with my words
‘bury me with my words’ (ghazal) When death knocks, as a shy lover returning back home, do not hesitate. I longed for her deep kiss. For how long? I could not count. I sink in an ocean that cuts through minutes. I am a frozen clock. Let my beautiful lover in. Her smile is the first sunshine of spring. Open every window. If there is the sun, let it burn each rotten corner. I am Icarus. If there is the moon, let it be a mother and cradle me. Slice me a pomegranate. I need benevolence in ruins. Slice it with care. All my love shall become winds. I hope, I glide over a few pages in a quiet, old library. And, left is this body. Bury me with my words; all diaries I half-lived, all unwritten letters and confessions, even wrinkled pages. May I be : each syllable I had spoken, those only whispered and those I had forgotten. I wish to be whole. Just this once. So absolutely, maddeningly, wholly. Bear the witness. Take a note of my rage and low breaths, oh the mud who confines me. Handle with care, oh the angels raising me up at dawn. Handle this evidence of survival. Let me tear open each page. Oh Judge of All, testify. Here is the blood. Here is the proof of your silence. Here are the cries. Do you feel how the earth crumbles in these hands? How shall you atone? How should a sculptor seek forgiveness if his own creation breaks free from him?
October 18, 2024 at 4:22 PM
odeonoud.bsky.social
a dragonfly’s memoir
a dragonfly’s memoir’ (ghazal) On a hot morning, I saw a dragonfly. So small, the bowl of a teaspoon could become its boat. Two wings like sliced halves of the festive moon. How big is the world, if a paper could become their acres of snowfield? Lord, when I feel so small, ease me with a thought of those little friends. Then, the dragonfly marches inside an electric socket. Had it believed, there was an ancient tunnel? So glad, there was no thunder. Lord, if ever I am in a wrong place; foolishly or hopelessly, let there be gentleness. Let there be a caring presence outside, waiting. Let there be a guiding light. Later, the little friend flew in the summer heat. I hope she is somewhere, resting on a flower. Lord, let there be no prejudice, despite the littleness.
October 18, 2024 at 11:40 AM
odeonoud.bsky.social
Have I?
October 18, 2024 at 8:27 AM
odeonoud.bsky.social
three words
October 18, 2024 at 8:19 AM
odeonoud.bsky.social
ma, if there is a next life, come back as my daughter
October 18, 2024 at 8:15 AM
odeonoud.bsky.social
people i share inherent grief with
October 18, 2024 at 8:09 AM
odeonoud.bsky.social
a good friend’s cat i adore

[for my dearest
@signedech.bsky.social ’s children]
‘a good friend’s cat i adore’ (by ghazal, user odeonoud) I should ask you more often : how has the day been? I dislike rain but your curiosity for clouds is what I am fond of. Yet, I shall never truly know if farewells are just as heavy for you. Maybe, this is a flaw, loving so unknowingly. But, I will try again. I will wrap this heart of mine tight inside a red ball of yarn. Take it. Teach me how I should live. Climb in my bed. I love you so dearly. this poem is written for a dear friend’s cats, whom i love so much.
October 18, 2024 at 6:03 AM