{"id":14567,"date":"2022-12-03T10:03:16","date_gmt":"2022-12-03T08:03:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=14567"},"modified":"2022-12-17T10:07:46","modified_gmt":"2022-12-17T08:07:46","slug":"poems-by-yusra-usmani","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=14567","title":{"rendered":"poems by Yusra Usmani"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u00a0Manifesto<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A man needs something outside of his comprehension to revere, or else he makes an idol out of his own intelligence. The absurdity of a God who\u2019s both the first and last; the manifest and hidden; the creator and destroyer, is necessary for this reason. The excess of religious art and architecture thrills the mind, excites the senses, and overwhelms the logical faculties. This way, providence can touch the spirit, which is taken immediately and entirely.<\/p>\n

If poetry is for the same ends, the same means are required: it should be spectacular, meaning an inherently complicated drama is reduced to its associated sounds, symbols, and sensations, which then take on a life of their own. The mind is thus filled with a lurid and disorienting perfume, and with its guard down, the spirit is captured.<\/p>\n

\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Prologue<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

In the beginning there was the word,<\/p>\n

and the word was with God,<\/p>\n

And the word was God,<\/p>\n

And seeking self-expression he invested himself in the hearts of poets<\/p>\n

And the poet employs the power invested in him to thrill the hearts of men<\/p>\n

And the poet has accepted his role as a mouthpiece, he disregards himself in service to what is beyond<\/p>\n

And the poet’s vision isn\u2019t seen by others, his necessity not understood. He subjects himself to this effacement, exhausting himself of all power, keeping loyal to his mission as he remains incomprehensible<\/p>\n

And despite the poet\u2019s torments<\/p>\n

And despite the poet\u2019s loneliness<\/p>\n

He stands tall and speaks with a loud voice<\/p>\n

He is a soldier, martyr, and prophet<\/p>\n

He rejoices and recites with authority<\/p>\n

For God has chosen the poet\u2019s ministry<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My heart was too ravenous to only want happiness. All of man burns in me\u2014I put my white feet on his beaming forehead and I’ll not leave until he charges me full with the charge of humanity.<\/p>\n

\n

Tambourines, cymbals, trumpets and flutes<\/p>\n

As I turn up, people will come<\/p>\n

To roll the front of my tomb<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Then we\u2019ll celebrate<\/p>\n

With feasts and festivities<\/p>\n

And over the brimming plate<\/p>\n

My head will lean heavily<\/p>\n

\n

Firm on the highest stand<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll take my stationed place<\/p>\n

And rap my solemn hands<\/p>\n

As the endless drummer plays<\/p>\n

\n

\n

What is there for me?<\/p>\n

As I preach from my chest<\/p>\n

My fill is away<\/p>\n

By a single hair\u2019s breadth<\/p>\n

\n

Tambourines, cymbals, trumpets and flutes<\/p>\n

As I turn up, people will come<\/p>\n

To roll the front of my tomb<\/p>\n

\n

Will one plough be enough for my wants? At twenty, a time for anxious hopes and dreams\u2014 there\u2019ll be many sighs and sobs as new labours are set forth in front of me.<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

II.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

First daughter tots good and well<\/p>\n

So father thanks God for deliverance from strife<\/p>\n

All without knowing what terror collects<\/p>\n

In the centre of his wife<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Another generation will make way for new sin<\/p>\n

Brains blackened and blue<\/p>\n

Bad blood runs under painted skin<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s a gift from the sovereign too:<\/p>\n

\n

Brought down to their proud feet<\/p>\n

And beaten well with the blows of reproach<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sent towards a loathsome beast<\/p>\n

To whom I\u2019m already known<\/p>\n

\n

With the new and obscure verse<\/p>\n

Which even the devil pales from<\/p>\n

As I mumble an incoherent curse<\/p>\n

Out of my lapping tongue<\/p>\n

\n

\n

He\u2019ll watch the flames as they swell<\/p>\n

On this fated stage tonight<\/p>\n

And experience what ecstasy dwells<\/p>\n

In the heart of this androgyne<\/p>\n

\n

\n

The armies that riot in you<\/p>\n

Have already gone through me<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve heard their heavy boots<\/p>\n

And I\u2019ve seated them at my knees<\/p>\n

\n

\n

All of man takes place in me<\/p>\n

I\u2019m the male; I\u2019m his wife<\/p>\n

All wrong-doing is my doing<\/p>\n

All praise is mine<\/p>\n

\n

\n

I\u2019ll have delusion as my God<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll catch the muse naked<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll be an opera hall<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll make my disorder sacred<\/p>\n

\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

III.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

That steaming afternoon<\/p>\n

Where at each turn an ambush awaits;<\/p>\n

The station filled with brutes<\/p>\n

Walking dead in the hour of day<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Contorting my brows in pain,<\/p>\n

Having a face painted<\/p>\n

I raise my tough voice<\/p>\n

For the choir of God\u2019s creation<\/p>\n

\n

\n

My infamous hand, my relentless deed<\/p>\n

Am I done with my due\u2014<\/p>\n

For the delirious height open to me<\/p>\n

And the life we\u2019re condemned to?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0Manifesto   A man needs something outside of his comprehension to revere, or else he makes an idol out of his own intelligence. The absurdity of a God who\u2019s both the first and last; the manifest and hidden; the creator and destroyer, is necessary for this reason. The excess of religious art and architecture thrills […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1595,77],"tags":[1596,1123,1623],"class_list":["post-14567","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-74","category-english","tag-egophobia-74","tag-english","tag-yusra-usmani"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-3MX","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14567","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=14567"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14567\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14568,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14567\/revisions\/14568"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=14567"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=14567"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=14567"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}