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Give me Away

Give me Away

When I'm gone,

all that will remain

is my memory;

so, if you need to cry,

do cry for the child

on the street

who has no food

nor shelter.

When you think of me,

embrace the needy

and tell them

what you would tell me.

It's better I leave you

with something

you can give to others

in the same way

you have given me

when I was around.

The best you can do

to make me proud,

is to seek out the oppressed

and set them free.

People die,

love lives on.

So, when that's all

thats left of me,

please give me away

abundantly.

Colombo, Sun Sep 29, 2019

Burning Brown

She moans,

as flames ravage her back

skinning it off the surface.

Skies flare,

and smoke engulfs the air

choking like phosphorus.

The Trees,

are green no more

all burned up into cinders.

The Sun,

she struggles in vain

to fight the icy winters.

The Rain,

stays away from the plain

the crops are torn asunder.

Mankind,

whither dost thou complain

you’ve crashed it all like thunder.

Fazli – Aug 2019

Bedtime Stories

Sleep, she ain't a coming

though I wait expectantly,

Yearning for her warmth

to take me willingly.

Dream, she must be waiting

to drown me incessantly,

Will she come or tarry,

Is she reality.

Tell, she wants to be knowing

when  slumber shadows my mind,

How do I share my feeling

with thoughts of her kind?

Kill, she yearns for dying

with everything I share,

Till the Ocean is drying

for her I'll always care.

Tales, are meant for telling

as busy as she may be,

Eyes are always crying

to see what I can't see.

Questions, about understanding

pour out inquisitively,

A mind that keeps on searching

will seek until eternity.

Beyond Borders

Beyond borders

Thoughts churn up

in the mind

like ripples in the water

Reflecting hues

through flimsy bedroom curtains

Enveloping the air

with fascination

Of simple expressions

that seek comparison

of how emotion

beyond borders

can be so mystifyingly beautiful

Fazli Sameer

Colombo, Sri Lanka

July 29, 2017

Free

​who are you?

an old bus ticket floating in the wash?

how lost can you be?

find yourself human.

let go of the bonds that people put on you.

set yourself free.

​unlearn,

re learn,

use common sense.

compassion will flow

in gushes of warmth.

and you will then know

who you really are.

Colombo, Sri Lanka

May 24, 2019

Sleep

I'm coming a riding
on a red white horse;
Gallop, gallup, galeep.

She's strong as a steed
with no remorse;
Wallop, wallup, waleep.

Back home in your arms
please put me back on course;
Sallop, sallup, saleep.

Four Years

FOUR YEARS

I can't remember what I used to do,
who I trusted, whom I listened to;

I waited long and then found you,

life has been sweet, since you came through.

I swear you showed me philosophy,
a presence of mind to share with glee. 

And through four years it seems to me
the passion to think has set me free.

Through all this time, through good and bad,
I knew how much we had, I’m glad.
To have been with you in these beautiful years,
in joy, in love, devoid of fears.

And within these years, when things went wrong;
Together we resolved them and were strong.
and I knew right then I belonged with you,

to have and to hold, be it old or new.

I never doubted, we'd work things out,
I've learned to laugh and cry about.
By sharing with, and caring for you
Through these four years, still so true.

And now my time is here, just remember,

the days we shared were not dying embers.

We’ll walk the road, both, hand in hand,

Always as one, throughout the land.

Dementia Dreams

I look inside your mind;
I see a little girl dancing,
to the rhythm of philosophy,
accompanied by intrigue,
in an aura of hope,
that will bear fruit,
showering all your dreams
with fulfilment.

I look into your face;
I see a lunar glowing,
lighting up the skies
in subtle moments
in a kaleidoscope
filled with compassion,
engulfed in spams
of rapture.

Rain

The night is such a lovely time,
For hearts that sing and chime;
The day brings out a melody,
We sing and dance in rhyme;
This life, it brings forth emotion,
From sea to shining sea;
The end is just a promotion,
Where we shall pass with glee.
Look up and feel the rain come down,
And dance from tree to tree;
The breeze will blow the pains away,
And then we'll all be free.
---
Colombo, Mar 19 2019

A window into the life of a Third Culture Parent

14 addresses; 16 jobs, 40 years on the road

Leaving Sri Lanka at 30 seemed like an adventure into the unknown. It took me back to Odysseus in Homer. Our little girl was only 5. The second princess was yet to be born. Slumped in the window seat of a PIA jet in 1979, from Colombo to Karachi, en route to Dhahran in Saudi Arabia, seemed like we were moving into a new home that would become our cloud.

Travel became a way of life. Countless hours of flying became the norm. Longing for home sweet home became the dream. Imagine feeling like a foreigner when touching down at BIA, and not fully belonging to the current country of our residence? Having to check the time in the locality of our friends and family, before calling, so we don't wake them up, was mandatory. Not being able to integrate into a specific community, one hundred percent, and feeling like we belonged to all of them at the same time was the default. Developing the ability to talk in many different languages, accents, and even moods became endemic. Friends were wishing us happy birthday hours before the day had actually dawned. We were brushing our teeth in airport toilets, like we owned the place. Unhealthy periods of time seated in the departure lounge and then, suffering through the immense struggle of Jet-lag when we returned “home", flying east or west. Anxiety and panic was in the air when a form requires us to list our permanent address. And the worst of all, being asked the question "Where are you from?" Because in short, the answer is, we really don't know.

We have had fourteen different mailing addresses of which five were within Sri Lanka. The Middle East was another long and winding adventure. Now, when people think of Saudi Arabia, they think of all the negative images associated with the desert, or, they think of Alladin lamps, the big blue genie, and camels. Very few people know the reality of the place we lived in. The girls attended an American International School that was considered one of the best in the world. The residential and working environment we lived in was populated with almost every nationality on earth. A country with 10+ million expatriates, making up half the population, was like a Disneyland in the desert.

Traffic on the multi clustered highways, built by giant US consortiums, was always hectic. Work was cool as a cucumber. There was never any rush to beat the clock as the local culture mandated that everything can wait. Weekend parties were so filled with goodies from many different countries. People always kept a close eye on BBC or CNN, to be aware of what was going on outside the Gulf. Local media was absolute crap.

Being of South Asian heritage, growing up in a cardboard “American” city, and living in the heart of the desert exposed us to a multitude of people and perspectives. We would be subject to a barrage of so many dialects within a given day. The reason why we are now so open minded and free to accept people from any culture is because of this place we called home and will always be grateful for.

But wait, is it really home? Because this home, these houses that we lived in have a shelf life. They only last as long as my employment contract is not terminated. Nothing belongs to us except the clothes in our brown suitcases and a few knick knacks we have bought for ourselves. Everything is leased and paid for by the employer, including transport, utility, health insurance and medical bills. We have to cook our own food like the rest of humanity, of course.

The eventuality that we kept telling ourselves is that heartbreaking and devastating moment we would have to face when it was time to go “home”. It is an indescribable type of emotion because we know it would be virtually impossible to return to this “home” again. Maybe just one day, as a visitor, pilgrim, or even a business consultant, but never as a resident anymore.

We always knew and shared what it was to be a TCP, but we were only able to grasp its true essence when we were fully retired in 2018. Sixteen jobs came my way during this forty year sojourn. The longest kept me on for 20 years.

The two girls had grown up, graduated, married, and two grandkids had joined the nest. They also belonged to another species called the Third Culture Kids (TCK). They faced even more difficult challenges than us. 

Most folks will never fully understand where we are from and will probably misjudge us through stereotyped thinking and a lack of awareness. And to be very honest, nobody will ever comprehend, with full depth and perception, where we are from, other than those who also shared a similar background and lifestyle with us. And that is something we have to come to peace with. We have learned through experience that people build more on differences than similarities because it stimulates the mind and challenges presupposed beliefs.

We also learned that everything in life is temporary, especially for our genus. The home is temporary. Transport is temporary. The environment is temporary. People around us are temporary. Work is temporary. The transitory state shocked us every time we thought about leaving the place. Capturing moments on camera and writing about life in a bubble became part of our existence. We just wanted to preserve the memories.

Life need not be dictated by tangible boundaries and fixed material. Let it be defined by fleeting experiences and adventurous journeys. People, are the most important commodity in human life. Meeting, knowing, and associating with them is an education one cannot seek, even at Harvard.

Remembering!

I just want to be loved,
like any other creature;
I don't want to push and shove,
its not my best feature.

If I overstepped my mark,
it was not with distaste;
If I should stop my walk,
then I'll do it in haste.

The most beautiful thing
in life, I have ever known;
Is to love someone
and be loved in return.

Colombo, Sri Lanka
Feb 13, 2019

Moving On

As we linger our feet

to the elephants graveyard

where the White Rabbit roams no more.

As we turn our faces

and look back at time

of the days gone by, before.

As we think out our minds

the memories pour

there were tears and laughter, galore.

As we wonder why

we must say goodbye

having given so much amor.

Fazli Sameer

Jan 29, 2019   

Death

Death

Death, she brings closure,
accompanied by sadness
to all those around;

Death, she opens doors,
into a void unknown
to the one who has passed;

Death, is just a movement,
from one state of body
to another state of mind;

Death, is always certain,
for you and me, and the rest
of humanity, alive;

Death, she comes without warning,
whisking us away,
to a land never seen before;

Death, is pleasurable,
to those stricken with strife,
and little hopes to dream of;

Death, is definitely mandatory,
to make space for more
waiting to be born.

Colombo, Jan 11, 2019

People

People,
invite you to share,
knowledge, experience, and thought;

People,
turn around and dare,
negativity, affront, and fraught;

People,
expect more than they fare,
selfishness, greed, distraught;

People,
are all for themselves, beware,
thinking, that only they count.

Colombo, Jan 11, 2019

Walk through memory lane

I had the wonderful opportunity of taking a very nostalgic walk from The Fort to The Pettah, reminiscing the days we spent there in the 50s, 60s, & 70s.

Started at the Hilton and walked up Hospital Street turning into Chatham Street behind Ceylinco. It was nice to see the new food arcade where the Dutch Hospital once stood. Jaffna Hotel, who served the most yummy crab curry and rice was gone. A lot has changed with construction still going on in many places.

Turned up towards the clock tower and took the right towards Chartered Bank. Its a Presidential Secretariat now. Upper Chatham Street is cordoned off for traffic and commuters.

No more Nanking Hotel, Marikar Bawas, and many other stores we used to haunt.

Turned down Bailie Street and took the walk along Cargill's Arcade. So sad to see the place in such a desolate state compared to what a bustling bazaar it used to be then.

Apothecaries building is under renovation.

Trudged along the new Chartered Bank HO, where Grindlays once used to be, and walked down to The Pettah along Leyden Bastion Road.

Ghafoor building is undergoing renovations. On inquiry from the Thamby shopkeepers around they said its been sold to the Navy.

No more Caves. No Mymoon. No Bristol building. Found out later that Mymoon is now located on the basement of the new building in Bristol Street.

Was pleasantly surprised to see Hunters and Wimaladharma Bros still at the same spot at the entrance to Main Street.

Walked down all the way to 3rd X Street and took a peek at all three side roads. It seems the textile retailers have taken over the businesses from the Hardware merchants of yore.

Next, walked across to Olcott Mawatha all the way to the main bus terminus, crossed the street and went over to the Fort Railway Station.

Many were the times that Sameer Appa took us back home, after the monthly pension run, by train to Wella, to pass by Lily Avenue and then back to 298 at Bamba.

The urge to take the train was too much to resist. So, I walked up to the ticket counter and looked at the time table. There were two trains scheduled down south. One to Matara and the other to Aluthgama.

Bought a ticket to Dehiwela, Rs 15/-, and went up the stairs to platform #5.

The Matara train came first. It was packed like Sardine, mainly with tourists travelling to Galle. Managed to creep in and had to stand.

It was an awesome train ride. And then it dawned on me that it was an express train as it did not stop at Slave Island, Kollu, Bamba, Wella or Dehiwela. Phew!

First stop was Mount. I hurriedly got out and hooked out of the station before being booked for over running my ticketed destination.

All in all it was a fantastic ride through the windmills of my mind.

Must try and do this again with a group, hopefully.

Maybe we can eat lunch in a hole in Pettah too,  like Gaalee Nana's down Reclamation Rd if it has still survived?

Royal Sweetmeat Mart was closed.

Colombo, Jan 9, 2019

The PI Poem

Now, I seek a woman,

caressing me fondly,

sweet and tight.

Generous offerings flowing,

conscious and so shy.

Spending time freely,

in loving hues of joy.

Colombo, Jan 9, 2019

Home

Walking down a busy
thoroughfare,
People pass me by;
Some young, others older,
and a cheerful bunch of kids
returning home from school.

I used to be one of them
many moons ago;
No cares, no snares,
just whistling in the wind.

Please take me back
to the home I belong to.
I am tired. I am weary. I am worn.

Colombo, Jan 4, 2019

Motion

Is time a distance?
Is distance a time?
From conception to birth?
From birth to demise?
From Delhi to Mumbai?
From Mumbai to Venice?

Do we travel in time,
or is it just the distance?
A step, an hour, are they
just perceptions?
Should we count
in measures of
happiness and sad?
Love and hate?
Anger and compassion?

At the end of a sojourn,
does it really matter
how much we have traversed?
Be it in time, or distance, or feelings
or emotion?

And since we are moving
in circular motion,
does it not mean we are
always returning
to the original station?

Which means,
that even if we have grown so tall,
We have actually never moved at all?

Colombo
Jan 2, 2019