JAVED AHMAD - POEMS

Javed Ahmad is a senior medical practitioner and a medical editor based in the UK. In his spare time, Dr Ahmad writes poetry as a hobby. His poems have been published in literary journals and magazines ( both print and online) as well as in anthologies. His poetry collections include Gushing Fountain: A Collection of Poems. Dr Ahmad likes to use poetry to explore the philosophy of life, neuroscience and Kashmir. He likes to write in the language of common people, about their ordinary thoughts and their ordinary insights. He also manages a UK literary project / journal "The Beautiful Space- A Journal of Mind, Art and Poetry
​

Shikara ride 
​

On a hot July day, away from 
The lanes of death, the forest 
Of Grief, the pious 
 
Piffle, the marching boots, he sat 
In a colourful Shikara, rowing 
through Dal Lake, through  
 
Floating gardens,
Moored houseboats, 
Memory lanes.
 
He saw the reflections of a mountain, 
A temple, a fort, a mosque; 
All floating in the water.
 
He saw the gleams of light, reflecting 
From the droplets of water,
All studded, like diamonds, on the lotus leaves.


He saw a timorous 
Mind, a fluttering heart,
A closed chest,  slowly 


Relaxing, slowly Illuminating, 
With a clarity, with a
Cosmic stillness.

​I create a royal road to my misery

​When I judge myself 
When I judge others
When I am oblivious
Of my thoughts
My emotions 
My senses  
And actions. When I live
In my future, in my past. 
When I ignore my present. When 
I intoxicate air by complaining
By comparing
By criticising. When I am 
Unforgiving 
Ungrateful 
Unkind 
And wrapped up in myself
I create a royal road to my misery. 



(Mindfulness)
 
 

I love dreaming
​

​I love dreaming about 
A place, Pahalgam, where I sat
Along the river, whispered 
With the friendly breezes.
 
Where I, burnt memories into 
The hardware of my brain, walked 
In the company of my dreams, discovered 
The face of peace, looked at 


The fluttering wings of butterflies. 
I still hear, the soulful, music of Liddar river, 
That symphony of our tolerance.
I remember, a forest, collecting 


Pine cones as souvenirs, galloping 
A white horse in a meadow, sitting 
On river boulders, dipping
My feet in the river, when 


No one chained our steps. 
I recall, across the oceans, everything:
The sweet delights of life, camping 
In our Eden, shuffling 


Cards of happiness, the comradeship, 
The aroma of saffron Kehwa, 
A neighing horse calling 
"I am here, where are you?" 


I love to return to that magical place, the gateway 
To the cave of a deity, when 
No wailing echoes from its valleys,
When no grief plays on its flute. 
 
One day we will sit, along the Liddar, breathing 
An air of safety, under 
A white moon. Until then, we shall carry the sack 
Of our dreams on our shoulders.