By Robert Warrenjehad Denser and Anna Arabaiter Cooltar
If the man on the moon were a Mozlem!
Why, I sure wouldn’t be so surprised.
Coz everywhere you step in our nation
There be mosques and their holy cries!
.
We let them into our blessed borders,
Gave em chances that they never woulda got.
Coz they come from the land of the A Rabs!
From their sultanic satanic despots!
.
Musty fumes belch out
of Kabul’s downtown sprawling mass
of rambling rickshaws, tooting Toyotas,
trotting horse drawn carts,
heaving and straining
with the weight of rotting carcasses
and the salvaged wreckages of time.
Like
an
inexorable
river
thundering,
gaining in momentum, swelling,
the multifarious world events flow to a waterfall,
spraying
into
the
tributaries of time.
Some drops plummet
like weighty rocks
shattering our surfaces
but other drops
float and slide
restoring unity.
Then foam rises
resurrecting from
the impact of reactions,
forming
convoluted clouds
or arresting apparitions
Before we evaporate into the ether,
Will we fall, or burst, or saturate?
Will we merge, or clear, or emanate?
By Novid Shaid, 2003
.
Using language
is like painting pictures
and shaping sculptures
in endlessly renewable ways.
by Novid Shaid, 2006
.
The screaming of my child,
As she dies of hunger and thirst,
Has destroyed my taste for life
And stuffed me full of emptiness.
By Novid Shaid
Since its sudden appearance one morning onto the Arts corridor decades ago, the “Captivation” painting, a wonderful view of the countryside through a gigantic window perhaps in a stately home, had mystified academics, students and visitors to the university.