My New Writing Journal Arrives!

Hurrah, hooray it is National Poetry Day on the tiny green isle of the UK
And buy did I my new journal today, to heal my Readers far faraway!

A deep, flaky, chocolate bark pushes out of a lush tropic-leafed carpet
Rain-kissed emerald cloud puffs out on top, freedom minus parapet
Bellbirds, Firebirds, Finches swoop-slide, heartbeats fast, bright colours a-smile
Hear Mother Earth sing, her zest of Life a phoenix dream to bedazzle, beguile
And creatures of this first morning brush, from every corner of this teeming paradise
Gather in shrilly party to Tree Of Knowledge, no Devil lurks here in coiling disguise
For we Poets pen our every word in honeyed-remembrance of Pure Spirit and God
Seek we do not fame or fortune, to give flight to Art is a prayer, an applaud

Hurrah, hooray it is National Poetry Day on the tiny green isle of the UK
And buy did I my new journal today, to heal my Readers far faraway… :)) :)) :))

“Hurrah, hooray it is National Poetry Day on the tiny green isle of the UK
And buy did I my new journal today, to heal my Readers far faraway…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

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I Was There For You Once

I was there for you once, my Heart, as they lugged your body to the cross
And the Beast watched amidst crowd, eyes filled with black river’s toss
Your Mother wept silent tears whilst I, devoted Mirium
Whispered my Lord’s prayers, a nightingale’s requiem
Fire struck Heaven as each word of mine shook God’s throne:
“My Love stood by Your side then why this burden on him alone?
For I demand I too shall carry and bear the cross of this world
And my Faith as strong as his, none to order it unfurled”
My Lord replied in deep tongue that was writ in purest Light
Assured my Love and I shall be reborn with every time’s flight
When the world grows dark and the Beast rides her nightly chariot black
So shall I and my Love rise, in flames of hope, neither to look back…

I Was There For You Once

“… When the world grows dark and the Beast rides her nightly chariot black
So shall I and my Love rise, in flames of hope, neither to look back… “

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

My Love Bears The Weight Of The World

My Love knows who I am: the One who’s escaped the grin of clock’s black panther
O savage distance, your withered jungle I know how to decanter
If the cruel absence of my flesh, the crown of my spirit, haunts him day and night
To have storied stones rise, dark celebrations of tree branch, a sight of fright
From his small red heavy heart then, know this, my pen towers too, rubs nose with the Pole Star
And when he reads my words, the weight lifts, a fresh new world and he a Victorious Shah…

My Love Bears The Weight Of The World

“… From his small red heavy heart then, know this, my pen towers too, rubs nose with the Pole Star
And when he reads my words, the weight lifts, a fresh new world and he a Victorious Shah… “

 

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | May Half-Term Getaway | British Museum | London | UK 2015

The Lotus-Eyed Jewel Of My Right Hand

Once long ago in Tibet my name was Tara, a rising golden tree
Could this explain why I love Sirius and all things astronomy?
A skirt weaved in scales of waves, a body undaunted of tearing paint
I promised to be born a woman each time, a gift bearer, a healing saint
Yet further east, in sakura’s Japan, ‘Kannon’, they chanted in my ear
Could this explain why I wield a Magic Box, a gypsy-sighted seer?
A halo as wide as a knightly saucer to an illustrious tea set yet to be designed
My incarnations are many and many shall follow of this compassionate kind
Yet, in always giving to others I seek as well a warm kala pathar of my own
This right hand seeks your hand lines, an ocean quilled of comets and a Rosetta Stone…

The Lotus-Eyed Jewel Of My Right Hand

                             “… A skirt weaved in scales of waves, a body undaunted of tearing paint
                             I promised to be born a woman each time, a gift bearer, a healing saint…”

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | British Museum | May Half-Term Getaway | London | UK 2015

The Robin: The 123-Word Short Story Series

Presenting a bite-size morsel of storytelling magic that shall refrain from tipping over 123 words…

Legend speaks of when Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross to die a tiny little robin, brown in colour and not particularly catching of eye, flew to his side and sang a song so warm and comforting. The blood of Christ burst onto the robin’s chest and henceforth it would carry the red jewel of Faith in every rebirth. Over time the world grew to forget the robin’s story, passing into shadow as most myths do. Today, walking amongst the trinkets of the Christmas markets, I fell upon a robin forged of metal. Despite away from its green woodland haven, this robin sang loud and sweet. On sale for 15 Euros, the red tag gracefully whispered into my ear, “15th, You rose…”

The Robin

“The blood of Christ burst onto the robin’s chest and henceforth it would carry the red jewel of Faith in every rebirth…. On sale for 15 Euros, the red tag gracefully whispered into my ear, “15th, You Rose…” “

 

 

Note. I was born on the 15th day of a summer month.

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester Christmas Markets | UK 2014

 

 

The Most Unlikeliest Love Story

On another one of my jolly old escapades into the antique markets I noticed a most unlikely pair propped behind a glass cabinet and immediately the mechanical cog wheels of my imagination set to work and words began to come through the gauze of my pen’s nib and onto my notebook with the fierce outpouring of a tap that has been released of its stiff neck. I do think that in this instance my own Destiny will favour such an alliance as the one presented in this strange but comforting photograph. The grandest, boldest and most unbreakable of bonds can sometimes be found in the places where no one dared to look…

 

“He was a fool born to click his fingers so that the world may laugh even in its darkest blackish winters. Their worries flung out into the wind for however a short a while brought stashes of riches into his soul, an invisible happening that could only be seen in the growing brightness of his red-red nose. Alas, my clownish fool, my travelling accordionist of pavements and cold starry skies, gave so much away but little did he receive. I watched him from above and one day, as he became too weary with unlove, I abandoned the Kingdom of Angels to walk the earth with him. The day is yet to arrive when he lays his eyes on me for the first time and I say, behold, his accordion shall know silence as he weeps tears of gratitude when he learns of his true identity. A surge in my chest shall follow and rise in the form of a sacred rose, whose blood will have been nourished by the dawn light and dusk sonnets of his red-red nose… ” – Mazzy        

 

The Most Unlikeliest Love Story

“The grandest, boldest and most unbreakable of bonds can sometimes be found in the places where no one dared to look…”

 

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014

You Renewed

It is of no consequence whether you are male or female, if you are reading these words you have journeyed through one of the most unbelievably traumatic and yet dazzlingly monumental feats of Nature’s theatrics: a Mother bore you and she was born the day you came forth from her delicate but powerful body, thus, alongside her, you too were born. That is not where the tale of birth ends with you, dear reader. There is the potential of a Second Birth in the seed of every person and it awaits your realisation, glistening in uncharted depths and carrying the sweetness of ruby red stones as those that rest hidden in an unpeeled pomegranate. It is a very special sort of birth and not achieved by all. It tends to follow after towering loss and shadowing regrets. It is when the Night of your soul smiles profusely because it no longer has any desire to be Day. Night is delighted with its own cloak of a million silver stars for each star is a dawn song of its own.

My Sight has been my guide in life and today, it tells me that are you undergoing your own Second Birth. When will you be complete? I do not know. But I can feel echoes in the air of the cogs of change whirring away and, therefore, I humbly send you healing prayers that I hope will float and settle in the cradle of your heart. I shall know when they have reached their destination…

You Renewed

“…I humbly send you healing prayers that I hope will float and settle in the cradle of your heart…”

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Indian Sacred Medicine Bowl | Pitt River’s Museum | Oxford University | Oxford UK 2014

 

The House Of Love

The poem you will read shortly was inspired by a vision that came to me as I walked by the beautiful wooded river of my alluringly enchanting Cathedral town of Winchester. I do not follow any particular organised religion and yet I am a woman of Faith who can be found comfortably speaking to people from all religious backgrounds, never to have my awe ceased of how a person’s dedication to their religious pathway can be a source of shining inner strength in moments of crisis and a foundation for expressing loving kindness to their fellow human beings. I have prayed in both churches, mosques, temples and under the wide open sky. I have been heard to refer to my Creator as Allah, God, Bhagwan and Great Artist. There is no catastrophic dissonance felt, not a shudder of conflict to rip through my nervous system because my Spirituality is not the province of a rational logical mind. It is the wild meadow that grows with the outbreak ecstasy of infinite springs and countless lights of stars. The language of my soul is a Great Mystery.

My Abba and Amma (Father and Mother) were raised to practice the pathway of Islam. I was always fascinated by the tales told to me of the arduous journeys pilgrims used to undertake to reach their beloved ‘Allah Bari’ – The Ka’aba, the sacred square house draped in black and situated in Mecca and circled by devotees as prayers were cast into the air. It is a formidable sight to behold I am told. My poem is an act of honour to the magnificence of authentic devotion which, if true, will NEVER pose an easy path because it will contain within it the possibilities of spiritual progress and where transformation occurs so will the birthing pain of growth be felt, as when calm waters experience disturbance when the lotus pushes through its surface to face the glory of the sun. True Love is of the same breed and to reach the beloved’s ‘House of Love’ implies active submission to trials and tribulations far beyond anything ever imagined. The risks are indeed countless but the prize is Union. I address my poem to the Love that I have yet to meet and if he, whoever he may be, does read this tonight my Faith shall sound the horn to tell me that he will know what to do…

If standing before the Ka’aba in all its indefinable glory
Poses a rosy pilgrimage – a voyage dispensed of worry
One easily embarked on – tomorrow if necessary
Then, my Friend, you are certainly a man of Islamic duty
 
On the contrary, should you consider the pilgrimage to my Home’s sanctuary
Standing before me – under this emerald tree
An infinitely harder odyssey than that of the devout Hajji
Then, my Majnun, you are certainly a madman who is in Love with me…

 

The House Of Love

“… standing before me – under this emerald tree… an infinitely harder odyssey… “

 

 

Photograph, Poem & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014

 

The Shades Of Trees

I should imagine by now there is not one single tree on the surface of this earth that has not heard of my wish to live under its shimmering leafy dome because, my soul tells me over and over again, that if there ever was a place You would begin your search for me it would be so under the shade of a tree…

 

The Shades Of Trees

“… there is not one single tree on the surface of this earth that has not heard of my wish to live under its shimmering leafy dome…”

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Painting Of Indian Female Ascetic | Ashmolean Museum | Oxford University | Oxford 2013