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V - Poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca

Years pass.
Cattle cars in the downtown freightyard
squeal and groan, and sizzling grills
steam the Barelas Coffee House cafe windows,
as the railroad workers with tin hard hats
stop for coffee, hours of dawn
softly click on grandfather's gold pocket watches
in Louey's Broadway Pawnshop, hocked
to get a cousin or brother out of jail
City workers' tin carts and long-handled dust pans
clatter in curb gutters
as buses spew smoldering exhaust as they stop beneath
Walgreen's neon liquor sign.
I lean against an office building brick wall,
nothing to do, no where to go,
comb my hair in the blue tinted office windows,
see my reflection in the glinting chromed cars,
on a corner, beneath a smoking red traffic light,
I live-
blue beanie cap snug over my ears
down to my brow,
in wide bottomed jean pants trimmed with red braid,
I start my daily walk,
to the Old Town Post Office,
condemned Armijo school building,
Rio Grande playa,
ditches and underpasses-
de-tribalized Apache
entangled in the rusty barbwire of a society I do not understand,
Mejicano blood in me spattering like runoff water
from a roof canale, glistening over the lives
who lived before me, like rain over mounds of broken pottery,
each day backfills with brown dirt of my dreams.

I lived in the streets,
slept at friends' houses, spooned
pozole and wiped up the last frijoles with tortilla
from my plate. Each day
my hands hurt for something to have,
and a voice in me yearned to sing,
and my body wanted to shed the gray skin of streets,
like a snake that grew wings-
I wished I had had a chance to be a little boy,
and wished a girl had loved me,
and wished I had a family-but these
were silver inlaid pieces of another man's life,
whose destiny fountained over stones and ivy
of the courtyard in a fairytale.

Each night I could hear the silver whittling blade
of La Llorona,
carving a small child on the muddy river bottom,
like a little angel carved into ancient church doors.
On Fridays, Jesus Christ appeared
on La Vega road, mounted on a white charger,
his black robe flapping in the moonlight
as he thrashed through bosque brush.
Sometimes Wallei, the voice of water, sang to me,
and Mectallá, who lives in the fire, flew in the air,
and Cuzal, the Reader of Rocks, spoke with a voice
jagged as my street-fighting knuckles.

A voice in me soft as linen
unfolded on midnight air,
to wipe my loneliness away-the voice blew open
like a white handkerchief in the night
embroidered with red roses,
waving and waving from a dark window
at some lover who never returned.

I became a friend of the old women
who hung out by the bars
on Central,Isleta,and Barcelona,
blue tear drops tattooed on their cheeks,
initials of ex-lovers on their hands,
women drawn out from the dark piss-stinking rooms
they lived in,
by the powerful force of the moon,
whose yellow teeth tore the alfalfa out of their hearts,
and left them stubbled,
parched grounds old goats of tecatos and winos

All my life the constant sound of someone's bootheels
trail behind me-thin, hard,
sharp sounds scraping frozen ground,
like a shovel digging a grave,
It's my guardian, following me through the broken branches
of the bosque, to the door
of the Good Shepherd Home on south 2nd street,
for a hot meal.
Jimmy Santiago Baca

Latest Urdu Poetry

Na duniya ka hoon main na kuch fikr deen ki,
Mohabbat ne rakha na mujh ko kahin ka..

Wagarna kisko haasil thi ye aasaani banaane meiN
Hui thi aag khud shaamil mujhe paani banaane meiN

Ye Saal Bhi Udaas Raha Rooth Kar Gaya
Tujh Se Milay Bagair December Guzar Gaya

Shaam e Gham Ki Qasam

Aaj GhamgEen Hain Hum
Aa Bhe Jaa Aa Bhe ja Aaj Meray Sanam
Dil PreShan Ha

Charaaghon ka gharaana chal raha hai,
Havaa se dostaana chal raha hai,
Jawaani ki hawaayen chal ra

I'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that's just the beginning.
Every day, in

De uThi lau jo tere saath guzaari hui shaam
Hujra e jaaN ki har ik cheez pe taari hui shaam


Gham-e dil ko in aankhoun sey chalak jana bhi ata hai
tarapna bhi humey ata hai , tar-pana bhi ata

Naseeb Aazmaane Ke Din Aa Rahe Hain
Qareeb Un Ke Aane Ke Din Aa Rahe Hain
Jo Dil Se Kaha Hai Jo Di

Be-khuloos logo'n se
Ijtinab karna hay

Mujhy apne rishto'n ka
Ehtisab karna hay

Usay bhool j

Na Uss Ne Murr Ka Dekha Na Hum Ne Palat Kar Aawaz Di.!
Aik AJab Sa waqat Tha Jis Ne Dono Ko Pathha

Aag Aisi Lagi Thi Seenay Main

Aankh Se Dil Main Wo Utar Na Saka...

nahi mujh ko shikayat ab kisi sey,
bus apne aap se rotha howa hun,
bazahir khush hun lekin, ik sac

Bassti bhi samandar bhi bayabaan bhi mera hai,
Aankhen bhi meri khawb-e-pareshaan bhi mera hai,

Knowing you might some day come
and how unprepared I’ve always
like Mr. Sloppy
in Charles

Bichra Hai Jo Ik Baar To Milte Nahi Dekha

Is Zakham Ko Ham Ne Kabhi Silte Nahi Dekha

Ik Baa

Wo Maah-e-Arab Aj Kaaby Me Chamka

Jo Maalik Hai Sare Arab Aur Ajam Ka...

Eid Milad-un-Nabi Mub

Ek roz pyaas kharidega woh ghabroo teri,
paani tujhe jo panghat se bharne nahin deta …!

Dhaiym Para Howa Tery Dhaar Per Nahi Hoon Main
Khak Eysi Zindgi Per K Pather Nahi Hoon Main


Jo kehte thy ke naa jee payengy tere bina hum,,,

Aaj Kehty Hain Chor Do Hath Meri Izzat Ka Sawaa

Urdu Poetry

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