Sue’s Gift: When Shadow Seeds Became A Red Flower

I shan’t attempt at concealment but acknowledge wholeheartedly to You that today someone was ever so close to pushing me towards the edge from which anyone would shed tears of breathless joy, and to make things even more awkward it happened whilst I was working. I was certainly not expecting that a gift so profound and unthinkably deep so as to strum my very heartstrings was to make its way to me. I felt as if my Almighty had put his fatherly arms around my little shoulders, reassuring into my ear, “My Daughter, you spoke of your shadow seeds to the world, not caring for how they would come to see you, let Me now gift you with the very treasure that you have sought to return to the world…” Indeed, my stubby and hobbity garden fingers, even as I am typing these words onto the screen, tremble with balletic gratitude for Destiny exuding once more a sign of its alliance with my objective to inspire people to re-embrace the power of the book.

Ah, yes, You are lost! Please permit me to start from the beginning because that is always a good place from which to begin! Giggle, giggle!

Sue is a lady approaching her 70th birthday. An artist, designer, poet and writer, I am not Sue’s teacher, though it must be said that in light of her abundance of life wisdom and her constant desire to help others to come to realise what their purpose is to be on this earth makes her meet my criteria of what a good teacher ought to be. An orphan who was lucky enough to be raised by loving and supportive parents, Sue grew up in a family environment that held an unshakeable commitment to encouraging the little girl to flourish in whatever field she wished to make a niche in. Alas, in her teenage years a serious illness thwarted her education and many years were lost to ensuring that her health returned to normal. Her darkest and most shadowy of years was also the very period in her life that the clarity of her Destiny became more lucid than ever before, she knew that her path was one of constant expression as an Artist and to use that gift as a basis from which to support and inspire others. There was a sure and uncanny resemblance between Sue’s timeline and my own. We were both children who had at one time harboured shadow seeds in our soul, but never did we accept defeat by its overwhelming and heinous desire to obscure.

We did not strive for Light. We sought to be the Light.

Sue was a complete stranger to me – a bit like our dear Lata ji – and she would come into the shop now and again, where I do extra shifts in the weekends to help my family out, and I would always make time for her, listening to her speak about her latest writing assignment or craft project. A lady of a multitude of talents, it was not so much her technical proficiency that had me absorbed, but the warmth in her storytelling aspect. She seemed to be not speaking words, what I heard was more like the rays of the sun and somehow they had found a way to be spoken through the lips of a human being. An extraordinary lady, I was always humbled in her presence and if only I was not working I would have requested that she sit down and that I make her a cup of tea so that together we could share in the beautiful joy of learning about the stories that made us who we are today.

On Friday she came into the shop for the first time in the new year, and we immediately fell into a chirpy chat about my teaching and photography and writing.

She touched my arm and said with the sweetest of whispers, “Mazzy, it is so wonderful to meet someone on the same wavelength, the world is going so fast but you make me happy. I am going to bring something for you tomorrow, a present and I want you to have it”.

I smiled and rubbed her arm and said that was not necessary and that to see her, every now and again, was enough for me.

No, I insist!” Sue was solidly fixed in her intentions.

Admittedly, I was curious as to what she had in store for me. We exchanged farewells and setting head to one side, like You do when You fondly admire something that deserves utter reverence, I thanked my Almighty for sending onto my path another angel in the guise of a human.

And it was today, whilst in the hive of activity of work that Sue appeared out of the blue and from her Mary Poppins bag she pulled out a white envelope studded with silver stars.

Sue, what is this, my lovely?” My breath hung between two heartbeats and already I could sense what the package contained. I could feel tears welling up, but I did everything I could to hold them back.

Mazzy, you are wonderful lady and it is always a great pleasure to speak to you. You make me feel good about myself. This is for you…” Sue opened the envelope and out came a book, a modest and yet beautiful piece of art, filled with pages and pages of poetry that she had penned during the years she nurtured her shadow seeds. The words were not pretentious or showy or fanciful, they were instead simple and bold and, most importantly, honest. When I turned to look at the back cover I was greeted with a stunning botanical drawing of a deep red flower composed by Sue herself, I shall let the photograph below speak for itself! Sue does not exist in the virtual world and her work, like my own, was not meant for fame or fortune, nor was it designed for accruing ‘Likes’ or praising comments. She, like I, sought to be Light and that implies shining our words out to the world, never ever asking for anything in return. Tell me, my dear reader, has the sunshine that basks your face in its amber brine ever demand that You return its Light back to them? No. We Artists are of the same ilk. Ours is a choppy sea, a pot-holed path, a steep ascent and a dark cave but we always find a way to work with it so to distil the essence of Light.

Sue, I have no words left in me. You should not have to do this. I am truly humbled.” I closed my eyes and told myself not to cry, not here and not now.

Mazzy, it is for you. You were meant to have it. It is my legacy to you. Pass on the message.” I could not tell if it was Sue or God smiling. They were indistinguishable to me.

I grabbed her and kissed her cheek. She hugged me with maternal tenderness, priceless and divine and to say anymore would be a futile exercise in attempting to capture the sanctity of Life itself. I am only a small hobbit in a chaotic world, yet Sue seemed to know something about me that even I had not yet allowed myself to see. She had that special knowing look about her, and as we were about to go our separate ways I promised that I would send her a letter of thanks after I had finished reading her gift. She grinned. I think she knew I would do something as old-fashion and sincere as like that in order to express my gratitude! Great minds think alike, right?

I thanked her profusely and told her that I would share her extraordinary story with other people. It was the least that I could do for this amazing lady, and as a Storyteller myself, the necessity to recite the goodness of a good soul is always a moral imperative.

Bye bye, Sue! Come and visit me soon, my lovely!” Waving our farewells, I turned and walked to my colleagues where I excitedly spilled the story out to them with enough cheer and energy in my voice as to lift a hot-air balloon off the ground! A rare and special book had entered my orbit today – ah, how wondrous this thing called Destiny!

I am sat on my bed as I come to closing these words for the night before re-joining my family downstairs again, however on my bookshelf I am drawn to the sight of the Holy Koran and its verdant emerald green cover, for it glows at me with the sheen of satin grass and I hear my Almighty as clear and syrupy as the robin’s song at dawn, “My Daughter, now you have two of me…♥♥♥

Sue's Gift

“… Mazzy, it is for you. You were meant to have it. It is my legacy to you. Pass on the message…”

 

Sue's Gift

“… Shadow seeds can grow to become deep red autumn flowers…” 

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

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Chloe’s Book: Paddington At Work

An exceptionally naughty and mischievous youthful sprite, my very good and chirpy mate Miss Chloe and I are like two bulbous peas in a pod, and despite the mammoth twenty year age gap, anyone passing by would think that we were mates from the same school year! Rubbing my fingers on my chin and whilst looking upwards, towards the diagonal right, I would guess the most tell-tale whistle blower of my true circa date of birth would have been given away by my companionable carpet bag, a typical ‘Mary Poppins’ artefact that is blessed with the flavoursome scents of musty eras, a magical cave in its own right! Since the hilly pile of my equipment had propped itself on top of my jolly old bag, the clue that would have blown my cover was – ahem ahem – covered up! Giggle, giggle!

Chloe and I arranged a rendezvous to happen after our respective classes were over so that a snappy session could proceed in which she could showcase a book from her collection that meant a lot to her, whose sentimental value was an impossible thing to price and that if it were lost to her, say tomorrow, she would toss and turn in her sleep because beneath the covers of its unassuming pages resided an unspoken depth of embracing comfort. At such a young age as hers she showed no shirking away from the challenge that I had set her and promptly turned up at the Winchester Discovery Centre – our town’s answer to the Library of Alexandria! – loaded with an armoury of hard covers sticking out of her rucksack. I was biting my lip so hard that I felt it would bleed!

Mazzy, these belonged to my dad and he loved reading them when he was a boy”, and in my little palms she placed a box set of – CUE DRUM ROLL – a vintage set of PADDINGTON BEAR stories and so aged were they that when I turned the covers around the price marked at the bottom read ‘50p’.

First published in 1960, the pages were as fragile and brown as crispy leaves on the brink of a tree exposed to the first harsh winds of late autumn, and indeed, some of the pages were on the verge of detaching themselves from the central spine of the book. I felt an immense wave of honour, for this was personal history I was cradling in my arms, and though each individual book was light in weight, I could sense that a beautiful and dense creature of passing time and memory had made a loving home between the pages of the books. It was almost as if the stowaway bear who was always in search of a new family had finally come home to Chloe’s family. I suppose that is how all good books should be made to feel.

As we set up the gear for the shoot, two library staff approached us and quizzed me on my assignment and when they learnt more about it they urged that I keep them in the loop by creating an alliance with their Facebook page. I much more prefer the narrative-friendly WordPress world and find Facebook a limited format for my storytelling ambitions, but I made the promise to the staff that just for them I would, now and again, post an abridged version of an old photo report on my Facebook photography page and that if they ever wished to they could transfer my material to their website. They would be more than welcome to do so! A deal was struck! So dear reader, should You see an occasional post on there, please do not think that I have added something extraordinarily new to the tale, it is only for the benefit and viewing by the staff at the library. To my friends and family who are inside my Facebook circle, you will most likely NOT see the post since I have not tagged anyone apart from the Winchester Discovery Centre, however I shall persist to publish my stories on my private page so that our buzzing conversations and colourful discussions may continue to happily press on! Giggle, giggle!

The library staff were so impressed with my noble storytelling project that they gave me special permission to enter the gallery space that lay behind the giant glass doors, a sacred place where photography was strictly prohibited.

Are you sure I can go ahead”, I timorously asked, and then thinking to myself that I should not have done that, in case I had inadvertently changed their minds!

Yes, absolutely! There is a leather white chair in there so you could have your friend sit on it and take pictures!” I smiled so brightly that my dimple was that close to leaping off my face!

Like two hungry children unleased into the canteen after hundreds of years, Chloe and I charged at the doors, yanked them open, and stepped into a hushed world of curious imagery hung on long walls, waiting to be admired and deciphered. I was about to add a bear to the proceedings! Giggle, giggle!

As Miss Chloe made herself comfortable, it became apparent that not only did she bring with her a pack of books that I was tempted to filch from under her eyes and to then make a runner out of the country, but that she went on and paid a sparkling tribute to my storytelling prowess by contributing her own stories that had my jaw dropping to the floor like an apple that had suddenly met gravity!

Mazzy, did you know that my grandma knew the REAL Mary Poppins?” She had a smug grin on her face because she had already foreseen the utter awestruck complexion of my brain cells!

Miss Chloe, do not stop there, tell me more!” I felt like she was about to recite the story of my own past, Mary Poppins and I shared far too many common quirky traits that one could quite easily dare to ascribe the magical governess as an individual belonging to my own family tree!

My grandma and Julie Andrews – who played Mary Poppins in the film as you obviously know – were school friends!” Chloe’s eyes lit up like two newly formed stars and I must say I was immensely touched to see that someone so young had already shown signs of warm appreciation for the power of reminiscing. What amazing treasures I was being gifted today, a veritable boon by Destiny itself!

I let Miss Chloe decide on which of the Paddington books she wanted to be portrayed with, since as a fan I had no obvious preference, they were all as like tiny nuggets of gold that had travelled to my arms from the heart of the sun! And choose my adorable mate did, the book entitled, PADDINGTON AT WORK. I had no part to play in her selection, however, I am certain beyond reasonable doubt that there is a MAGICAL LINK between the title of the book and something that YOU might have posted today in the virtual world. Am I right?

At the end of the shoot we hugged and reminded each other that we would be meeting again on Saturday, and I could not stop thanking my young friend for opening a new door for my work so that I now shared an artistic alliance with the Winchester Discovery Centre! How splendiferous! Miss Chloe expressed that she was only too happy to help, and then as she disappeared into the distance I stood in the library and thought to myself how memorable and extraordinary that in a space of an hour a lost bear from Peru, an umbrella-toting nanny and a fascinating alliance with the kingdom of books all came together at the right time, a destined choreography of elegance and perfection, and that I could, with smiling confidence, conclude that more of the pieces had been added to the jigsaw of my life… ♥♥♥

Chloe And Paddington At Work

“… And choose my adorable mate did, the book entitled, PADDINGTON AT WORK…”

 

Chloe And Paddington At Work

“… I am certain beyond reasonable doubt that there is a MAGICAL LINK between the title of the book and something that YOU might have posted today in the virtual world. Am I right?…”

Chloe And Paddingto At Work

“… First published in 1960, the pages were as fragile and brown as leaves on the brink of a tree exposed to the first harsh winds of late autumn…”

Chloe And Paddington At Work

“… There is a leather white chair in there so you could have your friend sit on it and take pictures!” I smiled so brightly that my dimple was that close to leaping off my face!…”

 

Chloe And Paddington At Work

“… As Miss Chloe made herself comfortable, it became apparent that not only did she bring with her a pack of books…”

Chloe And Paddington At Work

“… how memorable and extraordinary that in a space of an hour a lost bear from Peru, an umbrella-toting nanny and a fascinating alliance with the kingdom of books all came together at the right time…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

I Can Make The Trees Flower Again!

I shall never fully comprehend the workings of time and how swiftly it can pass us by so that events that seem still tender and raw to the touch, as though they had happened yesterday or the week before, are actually no longer eligible to be classed as moments existing around the realm of the present. Time flies in a nutshell.

It is exactly five years to this day that on January 26th 2011, which was a cold winter’s evening, that I received that call from the hospital and heard words down the line that I never wished to hear in any life, spoken as softly as possible by the attendant nurse, gently breaking the news that my beloved Abba had slipped away in his sleep, peacefully, without anyone knowing when it had happened. What followed next I cannot, and wish not to write of, but I can conclude that on that evening I learnt about too many things all at the same time, a flood of hard-earned wisdom entered my veins with forceful intent, and so evaporated from my being forever the last drops of childhood innocence. I was lost out at sea and no hand was close by to pull me back onto the raft.

Looking back today I must confess that it still surprises me how the admired and adored person that my Abba was, indisputably the unconditional oak tree of guidance in my life, suddenly transpired from being a living and breathing human being on one day, into an elusive mist of memory the next. Dark days followed and darker still were the lurking shadows that crept up on my normal sunshiny spirit, and it affected all of us in different ways, for grief was a shrewd assailant and no one was spared.

But Life always finds a way and it did so for me.

It was the months after Abba’s passing away that some extremely instrumental happenings occurred in my universe and what I had resigned to be a life that would be threatened into an impenetrable and eternal night came to be punctured at so many points that I wished inside that I could have had more than one head so that I could watch them all go at once! Starlight had been born out of the womb of raven night! A New Hope that shone with an almost celestial sheen trickled into me, slowly but surely, feeding into the brooks of my heart. I felt warm again. I was alive and renewed!

In the last five years I know I have been more alive than ever before, for I let myself be vulnerable to new risks and proceeded to tackle challenges that never crossed my mind when my Abba was by my side. His mortal absence unlocked a hidden creative potential and unleashed a side of myself that could have only braved to emerge into daylight by initiation of receiving the key of pain and loss.

I realised soon enough that the true masters of art must and will always work from the universal core of tragedy, for energy is not created nor destroyed, and so the true artist proceeds to take the greatest of losses and wounds afflicted from deep within and transforms them into the blazing Light of Art for the world to see and explore. We are all children of shadows and sunlight but the choice is always in our grasp as to how we respond to them. It took time but eventually I learnt how to accept that my shadows could be moulded into seeds and that I would not disdain it, instead I chose to take care of the very thing that had endangered my sense of self, watering it and singing into its earthen resting ground so that in the end it would be forced to grow because it knew it was loved. In time the shadow seed turned into plum trees and marigold flowers and strawberries, the darkness of loss had been awakened into the Light of Life!

And so today, five years on, it gives me enormous pleasure to display to You the profundity of that light – an old fashion Victorian Lamplight of Lucy’s Narnia so to speak – as a testament of my unceasing celebratory tribute to my beloved lovable rogue, my Abba. Every bead of sweat that had tapped down his dark face as he worked late into the night just so that he can provide for our family and the fighting rebelliousness that he showed consistently against social norms so as to ensure that I pursued my Destiny can be seen in every word and humble photograph that I have ever penned or clicked. To this day I choose not to parade my face in endless selfies. How could I when I can still remember so vividly the vicious and barbaric cancer that eroded and ate through my Abba’s face, leaving him unrecognisable and disfigured that even the so-called respectable community loathed approaching him. I vowed, instead, to celebrate the faces of others. It would be there that I would capture the fond glimpses of my Abba’s enduring love for me. I think You would agree…

I could not rustle up a more life-affirming tribute to my Abba today than to have our favourite queen of cheek, Little Miss A, pop round for a spot of Haribo munching and to discuss her latest piece of reading pleasure. I added to her mumsy that should Miss A describe her reasons for choosing her book in a clear and convincing manner that she would be rewarded with an entire bag of sweets! No, it is not bribery and corruption, simply a cunning example of positive reinforcement! Giggle, giggle!

The wind was blowing in all directions and for a minute I thought the two of us would be woefully swept off our feet, yet we are hobbits of quite the dogged character and we stood firmly our ground as Miss A spoke of her liking for the female lead of the story, and I even noticed that she had creased inwards a corner of the book which she proudly showed me as evidence that she had indeed been reading this with frenzied appetite! Well, as long as she does not gobble up the book in the literal sense I wholeheartedly back her devotion to the text! Giggle, giggle!

The title is perhaps one that would not instantaneously grab You by the shoulder and have You plunge into its pages like an upside duck wriggling for food beneath the waters of a pond, but it is a dorky DIARY and, as Sir Oscar Wilde has once succinctly put it, “one needs something sensational to read on the train” and according to him, dairies – sorry – diaries were just the thing to hit the spot!

When I asked my little munchkin to turn to her favourite page she knew exactly where to flick to, the story obviously quite fresh in her mind, and turning it around like a trophy won for some impossible Herculean task she had completed, I was thoroughly gobsmacked, not by the text as such, but by the little hairy beastie staring back at me, almost seeming that he was about to walk off the page and straight into my face! Now I was well and truly enticed, why on earth would the diarist draw such a monstrous oddity? Or had she parodied the drawing on someone she knew, depicting them as she sees fit? Well, whatever the real reason may be, Little Miss A had certainly that priceless brand of magic up her sleeve by which even an ancient bookworm like myself, who is known to have read the heaviest and complicated of tomes, was glued and hooked to the voice of the storyteller – just as I once had done so when Abba used to recite to me his maverick tales as a village boy in a faraway land… ♥♥♥

LINK: As soon as I entered the virtual world Mr Coehlo echoed the voice of my Abba with a succinctness that is as sublime as when I am quick enough to catch the moon watching me from above:
https://www.facebook.com/paulocoelho/photos/a.241365541210.177295.11777366210/10153835584046211/?type=3&theater

 

I Can Make The Trees Flower Again!

“… I could not rustle up a more life-affirming tribute to my Abba today than to have our favourite queen of cheek, Little Miss A, pop round for a spot of Haribo munching and to discuss her latest piece of reading pleasure…”

 

I Can Make The Trees Flower Again!

“… and turning it around like a trophy won for some impossible Herculean task she had completed, I was thoroughly gobsmacked, not by the text as such, but by the little hairy beastie staring back at me…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Garden | Winchester | UK 2016

The Midnight Messenger

Last night my family and I enjoyed a late midnight feast before splintering off to our respective rooms, but as is my usual nocturnal routine, I stayed up a little longer in my bed reading my latest book, and that is something that always brings tremendous joy to me, because at such an unearthly hour when I indulge in such pastimes it feels as if I am being let in on a secret that no one else shall ever know! It is a scrumptious feeling and most definitely one that I would consider as life’s little but greatest sources of contentment. Irrespective of how the day has gone, sinking into my favourite book at night is a boon and a balm that soothes the tiredness of the body and soul with efficacy that ought to be saluted at!

Whilst I was reading my little tome it suddenly came to my attention that I was not alone. A beautiful singing had begun somewhere outside my room, which coincidentally faces the garden, and given my working knowledge of the natural world I immediately figured that it was the speckled barn owl. I cannot recall for how long I sat there listening in to his rustic voice but I am certain he came to me as a Messenger of Sacred Knowledge. A deeply revered bird in the west, I know he was sent to me as GOOD LUCK TOKEN from my Almighty and from my Abba. Having said that, there is the issue of the lingering mystery in his echoing call and that I am sure that one person shall be reading my words tonight and he will recognise himself as the third sender of my midnight gift. Who are You, O Constant Watcher? ♥♥♥ 

LINK: It is another demonstration of the magic of Destiny when I say that my good mate Ginny is a carbon copy of the first female long distance aviator that the world has ever known and her name is Amelia Earhart. Like a GOOD LUCK TOKEN slipped into my library book, I discovered this piece of breaking news today which features for the first time an unpublished letter penned by the female adventuress of the skies that was directed to a young dreamer girl who needed a few words of mentoring encouragement to get her going. Written on 14th August 1933, it was addressed to a ‘June‘, a name that undeniably contains the zest wink of summer and is now being auctioned for 15,000 dollars. My dreams are pure, my Almighty knows that, perhaps that is why my words persist to come alive, every single day… ♥♥♥

http://news.discovery.com/history/us-history/1933-amelia-earhart-letter-encourages-aspiring-aviator-160125.htm

The Midnight Messenger

“… A deeply revered bird in the west, I know he was sent to me as GOOD LUCK TOKEN from my Almighty and from my Abba…”

 

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

In Among The Leaves I Found A…

Have You ever returned home, clutching a library book that You have spent months and months dreaming about, only to then discover upon opening its sacred and protective covers that something exceptionally wondrous drops out and falls onto Your lap and at that precise moment everything in the universe seems to be in the most perfect alignment? Destiny has been extremely kind to me that I can actually reveal that on more than one occasion I have come across objects of profound mystery and baffling prettiness hidden inside the cave leaves of my library book, things ranging from love notes to dried flowers, and now I make it a point to always leave a dried petal, plucked from my own garden, and place them lovingly in books that I have borrowed and that have moved me in unexpected and unforgettable ways. Sometimes I like to imagine the next reader, sat on a bench, beaming a smile that shall never end, all because he found my gift tucked inside, a gift to remind him that deep down, and at the end of the day, the world is a small place, for if it was not so, then how would it be possible that my garden could become a vast bridge that connects us together whenever it wants to… ♥♥♥   

LINK: 15 instances of surprise additions which readers have stumbled across in their library books. Many are undeniably disquieting and worrying to think about, however, since I am a TEA-CHAR, You must scroll down to image 4. That is the one Destiny has chosen for me to gift to You – no need to thank me, simply promise that You shall festoon me with Haribo sweets if and when we meet, one day… ♥♥♥

http://www.buzzfeed.com/tabathaleggett/the-notes-youll-find-in-library-books#.fjAxaORPP

In Among The Leaves, A Bloom

“… Have You ever returned home, clutching a library book that You have spent months and months dreaming about, only to then discover upon opening its sacred and protective covers that something exceptionally wondrous drops out and falls onto Your lap and at that precise moment everything in the universe seems to be in the most perfect alignment…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

I Adore The Secrecy Of Fog

Poetry Fest is still running strong here at Hobbit HQ, Winchester, and all the better as it means that I have legitimate grounds on which to argue in my defence that the camera is taking a well- earned break, allowing the gypsy poetess inside to take to a phenomenal phoenix flight with her fantabulous fizzy toolkit of jiggling words! Giggle, giggle! Today’s offering concerns that amazing of nature’s starlets, I mean to say the seductive allure that one can find embodied in the gauzy and shifty canvas of early morning fog. Such potency for hypnotic powers, the fog has always transfixed me on the spot and if looked at with enough careful attention I do believe it has a certain impressive capacity to create a poet out of anyone! ♥♥♥

LINK:  Things will either appear enigmatically beautiful or intriguingly suspicious inside the dense nebula of morning fog, and, I hasten to add, no one is spared, not even accident-prone bears from Darkest Peru! So please do not jump to the conclusion that just because he has elected to send Your way a ‘hard stare’ that he is out to get You in trouble, allow time for the fog to brew up into the vanishing ether so that our little friend can have the rightful chance to show everyone what a truly fine chap he really is! ♥♥♥

https://www.facebook.com/PaddingtonBear/photos/a.157585777634955.33066.125079994218867/1019004551493069/?type=3&theater

I Adore The Secrecy Of The Fog

“… Such potency for hypnotic powers, the fog has always transfixed me on the spot, and if looked at with enough careful attention I do believe it has a certain impressive capacity to create a poet out of anyone…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

 

My Bean Bag – Homage To The BFG!

Many poets will attest that it is worthy only to write poetry that extols beautiful things and their associated phenomena. In the fashion of a proper eccentric I forever fancy capturing the world from an alternative angle, toppling the establishment with a bang, and to induce a sense of disorientating wonderment in the reader as it draws on them that they have just managed to see something so ordinary in the most extraordinary light. Whilst sat in my living room I was suddenly inspired to write a poem about the imaginary power struggle that could exist between the dignified and poised classicism of my leather settees against one singular orb of casual cool – my delectable bean bag…! Giggle, giggle! ♥♥♥

LINK: In Mr Dahl’s wickedly delightful tale of a little bookish girl who comes to befriend a giant who is an OUTSIDER in his own world, the cloaked figure of THE BFG likes to refer to human beings as ‘BEANSbecause, firstly, he has trouble pronouncing words correctly, and secondly, to him we are indeed as minuscule as the tiny beady balls that lie concealed in pea pods or indeed of those that fill the tummies of the household beanbag! Yet he clearly comes up trumps in proving that size does not matter where legendary friendships are concerned! ♥♥♥  

https://www.facebook.com/BFGMovie/photos/a.333569856810712.1073741827.309072625927102/550512141783148/?type=3&theater

My Bean Bag!

“…size does not matter where legendary friendships are concerned…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

My Constant Red Scarf Saves The Day!

As always I took to my feet today as I set off from home to make the long and arduous trek to work and in that half-awoken dawn light, that had strenuously climbed down from the skies and through air that was bitterly pierced by unforgiving and migrating Siberian winds, I discovered a new-found appreciation for my trusty blanket scarf. The motif of the ‘constant red’ scarf saved the day in other ways too and if You wish to learn more then click on the Link below and be prepared to be surprised by a tense and literally gripping ordeal of a tale about how dangerous rips and tears in the fabric of vast swathes of ice were overcome in saving a person from a horrid predicament, and all because a few people were a dab hand with my constant red, the good old Sellotape of wool… ♥♥♥

LINK: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/peoplesdaily/article-3409753/Extraordinary-moment-crowd-passersby-join-forces-use-SCARF-pull-ice-skater-fell-frozen-reservoir.html

My Constant Red Scarf Saves The Day!

“… I discovered a new-found appreciation for my trusty blanket scarf…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

 

My Indispensable Dictionary

I was set the challenge to compose a poem about an object that most people would not think twice about. Mundane and commonplace, dull and unremarkable, the dictionary is that one tome of the shelves that encompasses perfectly the devastating polar opposites of being essential, and yet not remotely pleasurable. Brain cells were indeed sent into acrobatic compression as I gathered my wit, guts and gallons of brute resolve to crack down and deliver an alternative perspective, breathing upon it a revitilizating twist to a book that sadly, time and time again, passes into shadows and forgetfulness, and whose tale is all the more poignant because he is only reached out for as a means to an end. Using the time-honoured literary technique of personification I attempt to create a poetical portrait of an unsung hero who, coincidentally and eternally, means the word and world to me♥♥♥

LINK: Read about the eccentric ‘OUTSIDER‘ orbital path of what scientists believe to be the newest kid in our solar block, a PLANET NINE, and though it is said that a CAT has NINE lives, on the contrary, Planet Nine must have felt that its thread thin luck had run out, for consider the enormity of time that has passed without its detection, until today! I suppose it could be said that my beloved dictionary shares in the sentiment too, he is over the moon that so many of you have taken the time to read about him, he feels as if he is that wooden toy of fairy tales who finally became a real boy… ♥♥♥   

http://www.theguardian.com/science/2016/jan/20/ninth-planet-solar-system-edge-discovery-pluto

My Indispensable Dictionary

“… O dictionary, my moist maypole of refreshing rains; With You, I rewrite the constitution of stones…”

 

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

My Constant Red

I parted the curtains early this morning and the light that poured through me, crystalline and purer than white itself, there and then had me elevated from observer to connoisseur, for it afforded me that title because this light that I speak of was genuinely convinced that I was the only person on earth who had seen it – without intrusion of bias or motive – for what it truly was. Everything in the world beyond my window was touched by ice-crystals. The frost had come at last. Then, I too soon pleasured my imagination in that instance by entertaining the wild idea that while I was asleep the entire garden and park and the houses beyond must have been submerged in some ancient ocean and that all of a sudden, as the sun had risen, the water had hurried and dried up and left only of its strange echoes in the arcane form of salt deposits, twinkling from every surface and ground. I want to keep that secret to myself but I know that I am not doing a good job of it! Giggle, giggle!

Anyway, whilst I was lost in admiration a little visitor flew down to greet me and that is the spark which led me to scribble this poem in my journal… ♥♥♥

LINK authored by a chap of the same name: https://www.facebook.com/theofficialrobinsharmapage/photos/a.10150107495570040.292989.105875750039/10153829686955040/?type=3&theater

 

My Constant Red

“… And, then, mirroring the profundity of a lion’s roar, A truce of cute redness: He jumps out and turns on the Universe…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016