Shamima-nama

Sajid Javid,
Bus driver-er bachcha,
Killed the child of a lost begum of Bethnal Green.
A round of applause for the soon to become Chancellorwallah.

Citizen stripping,
Systematic unpeopling,
From the udder of parliaments,
Through the Brahminocracy of Dinia,
Devilapement programmes galore,
To the burning cinders of Arakan.

Get over your issues of shame and blame,
Bhodro Bogeymen and Bogeywomen,
Affirm our enduring existence, resist and thrive.
So that the Mulberry orchard grows strong

Tasbih Assemble

There is no Instagram feed
Worthy of worship, sharing or liking
But Allah.
And
Facebook
is
not His
messenger.

We are woven together,
In ways that continue to transpire

Through cyclones and earthquakes of time
Laser beads of prayer,
A golden necklace around the world
Ziyarat untill Qiyamat.
A womb with a view.

Oh you in unmarked graves,
despairing feudal, national, capitalist slaves,
May He fortify and inspire you
To upend the situation that mires you.

And you, walnut whip in your hand,
Making things worse,
Are a boil on the bum on a missionary.
In the passport queue for Neoliberalistan.

The Bilad of Tulip and Rupa

Granddaughter of the Nation, 

Kinnockite Kilburn MP,

Blows casket at pregnant producer,

Forgetting to offset human rights hypocrisy,

Any display of compassion for victim and family.

Just a hollow trained technocratic dismissal,

"Who dat? 

He My constituent? 

He British? 

Me Bangladeshi? 

You racist? 

Want some?"

To the sympathy and deferral of The Silver Truth.

And roaring laughter.

Impunity and sycophancy, 

Entangled in two sick establishments,

Female BME Labour MP,

Intersectional invulnerability,

"Awami League is Labour's sister party"

Well May Be,

But THAT Moronarchy?

Business as usual Cornberry?

So lets celebrate our shit Bangladeshi MPs.

Anthem of Participatory Genocide for the Border Guards of Digital Bangladesh

Border Guards Bangladesh,

Pilkhana decapitated, gutted and rebooted you,

and Shapla Chottor completed that reformat,

You protect the borders of the Bengali nationalist mind,

A very small perimeter, I understand,

Bloody, stupid, civilisationaly mutilating.

Not just for yourselves, and your unfortunate progeny.

But for us who share the same air, soil and blood.

The Tulip and the Aunt be Damned.

Run, fight, survive and thrive Rohingya.

Bear witness against your "Bengali" sister and brother

On that day when colonial pretension,

and government pension,

Will count for nought.

The (march of the) Two Million

Haunting the boundaries

With indeterminate zeal

Like pastoralist northern Nigerians,

Unsettling the calculations

Of their settled southern partners

in nation building.

Newton says a lot of things

Some might say he's straight talking

But these ghosts only come out

at night, or Brexit.

Oh shit where did they go?

Arman

Another disappeared brother,
and struggler,
You stood your ground and didn't leave,
Despite years and years and years of grief

We pray you are well and strong,
along with those who for too long
Have been strained and fizzed.
by this Gopalganj Horror Show.
That specialises in making orphans.

Maybe,
God forbid,
They have murdered you already,
Like the garments martyr Aminul Islam
Or worse still the victims of the Motijheel Massacre.
Scores if not hundreds dead, buried and erased.
Do you know what the exchange rate is these days?

Desh's political cul de sac,
never fails to find new ways to suck
It is a killer's market,
Better still if the killer is the state.
Best of all with a War on Terror mandate

Maybe,
And I suppose this is the better case scenario,
They'll charge you with some epic bullshit offence,
Some say conspiracy and cock up theories are mutually exclusive

Oh to have the power,
To break you out of your confines,
Using nothing but the power of our minds.

Undying Benefactor be generous

Lightened up and t shirtified
White supremacist Neoliberalism strikes again with ironic splendour.

A Queer universal chord
Struck across developmentshire
From core to semiperiphery,
Universal exclusivity.
Tormenting the other men and women put in their graves, pyres and asylums
By this regime of epic homocide.

We mourn and mark
With prayer and resolve.
For all souls and hopes
In His way.
Keep those selfies for Benazir.

Shaytan,
Ustad of hypocrisy
Laughs his head off.
"What do you know about justice?"

The death of two shall outweigh that of the hundreds thought massacred in Dhaka just three years ago at Shapla Chottor .
Two human bodies over hundreds invisible subhuman bodies

Monitoring & Evaluation report
Their value
multiplied by white
to the power three.
Upper middle class,
foreign embassy staff,
lgbt.

Shaytan,
Ustad of misdirecting rage
Laughing his head off again,
begins to fill in a very important
Socio-spiritual Impact Self Assessment form.
And abandons his tools to their fate.

Tony's 99

There aren't enough cards in a pack,
Or violence with which to attack,
Blair's line of defence to Assad,
Through Tony Benn's son's revenge bombing charade.

For what it's worth I wish Momentum good LUCK,
This tradition's destroying the earth,
Boiling grannies alive on sustainable jive,
Pouring bombs on the darker nation's hurt.

What to do, what to do, what to do,
From all we have learnt since 2002,
Assemblage & rhizome, let's transform this biome,
Not (further) poison those dear Syrian's stew.

NGO Facility girl

Liberally drawn,
Mediocre pawns,
Of Multicultural Theatre,

Enwhitened noise,
Colonial decoys,
Careers a prominent feature.

To this growing genre,
Of coopted creatures,
I pray alternatives reach you.

Five thousand miles and 95 years

An accompaniment to Salaam Blog's A Hijra to Nowhere

My dear great grandnephew

Five thousand miles and ninety five years

Down the stream of my tears

On a caravan bereft of mind

We were once at a similar place,

Clutching at straws in desperation

Following mughal capitulation,

Corporate colonisation, and failure of insurrection.

Others have been there too,

Been an awful five odd hundred years, since 1492.

Bani al insan is covered in such wounds,all over her body.

Bani al insane to add to them, so fecklessly as you do.

Remember ‘British India’ PO Box Dar ul Harb?

Those days when Hindustan was the hearth of anti-colonial endeavour.

Several partitions ago.

And the ulama were more worthy of the name

Seizing opportunity from uncertainty,

Somebody suggested Muslim exodus from India,

A hijra to Afghanistan.

Thousands followed, selling their assets for hope

The seduction of an escapist idea,

An emotionally palliative bumwave

Fiqhxed like a brick through the window of the tyrant's palace.

That simply sounds the alarm to further lobotomy

We be meat to the political cleavers

Of sold-out imbeciles bearing arabesque words.

Golden Ganders for mincers

Makers of our own annihilation

My dear great grandnephew

Five thousand miles and ninety five years

Down the stream of my tears

On a caravan bereft of mind

Moving out of coloniality

Reducing White supremacy

To its actual minority

Takes more than salafi necromancy.

The mujahids of 1857

Could sure have used your IT.

So how about a time machine?

Write back soon.

Tuliberation

A vote for Tulip

Is a vote for Hasina's brutal dictatorship.

She who spoke in the capacity of that state.

Now feigns innocence and ignorance 

The Labour fake.

–

A vote for Tulip,

Is not a little respite from austerity,

It is a shot in the arm,

For the one party state of Bangladesh

That massacres its Officers,

Workers and Protesters,

With bullets, rubble and lies.

A vote for Tulip,

Is not a vote for parochial concern,

For Hampstead and Kilburn,

But a dodgy dossier all of its own.

There's a Brown Girl In the Ring

Tra lala la la

There's a Brown Girl In the Ring

Tra la lala lala

There's a Brown Girl In the Ring

Tra la lala la.

It looks like Labour knows they're dumb.

A vote for Tulip,

Is a vote for STOPKONY,

Asif Zardari and Chemical Ali,

Their worst qualities, all rolled into one.

Try to resist the left white liberal moronarchist drum.

With thought for those in desh at the end of the gun

A vote for Tulip

Plays Labour's BAME game

Which helps keep us lame.

Didn't Sadiq Khan's dirty tricks

During last year's Tower Hamlets theatrix

Give you your fix?

A vote for Tulip

Is a banana to Macaulay's monkeys

An apple Macaulay's donkeys

A promotion to Macaulay's flunkies,

and a five year Freedom Pass to Macaulay's junkies.

A vote for Tulip,

Is a vote for an actual Trojan Horse,

Who will say anything to get you on side,

Just a shot of Pussy Riot pride, 

'I challenged Vladimir Putin on Gay rights'

Raaaaight.

Our votes, Our words, Our song and our hearings on Tulip,

Are generative, not at all foolish.

May we raise the game

Of Action and Creation.

Fundamental transnational Chetona destabilisation.

We, the fundamentally undermined, hereby give notice, 

Of our absence and rejection,

Of this political coronation,

We affirm the value and dignity of lives in Bangladesh.

With our resistance,

B ( A) M E

B (A) M E
Reduces your coloniality
Forces me to minority
False and tricksy white supremacy
have some fucking humility

When I see your letters
In the environs of my name
I duck and run for cover
From the indignity in your frame.

Tulipvangilism

Political Fact
Or not.
It is from the head
That we rot.

There is no such thing
As Original Sin,
It's the conscious spin,
With unnaccountable transnational ring,
That makes this Political Fact detestable.

A not entirely unattractive prospect
Politically, quotically, such trickery.
Female, Asian and Muslim
A White Liberal's wet dream
On Hampstead and Kilburn hallowed grounds.

The British establishment
Has always had
A soft spot for
A South Asian dynasty

A granddaughter,
That Bangladesh begot.
Chewed the bones of the 2009 Pilkhana massacre,

To Aunty, 

Representing the party and government of her Aunty,

And her uncle's military 'restructuring'

Then deleted that archive of blog posts.

Six years down the long game,
The return into autocracy,
Is clearer to us.
Like watching an implosion in reverse.

The first move was the boldest one,
Mutually beneficial to both partners,
On each side of the border.

Lights camera action.
With socialist blusher,
A sepoy's revolt.
Sends dissent through the Bangladesh Rifles,

A blusher to mask
Assassination's marks.
The first powerplay of the session.

Roll on 2013,
At the court of Putin,
On a mission for a fission reactor,
Stockpiles of small arms,
Dipu Moni's small charms.
Not what I would call a
"two second private meeting".

Meritocrats argue
While tonight the meritorious await death,
And the mediocre and privileged await election.

[New Word] Voetry

You my dear are so much more
Than a cross in a box
A nose counted
Quantified
Normalised to zero

Commodifying you
Is so easy.
welfare nostalgia
Where the virtual should be
Imperious mistake
Excluding the worms and bees

An ode to CAGEgate

Brother, brother against the wall.
Who's the most beligerant of them all?

Look  - No Hands!
A mighty dissenting bombshell
Delivery a bit clumsy
Spun out of control

CAGE rattled, with tittle tattle
Sufis absent from field of battle

Unimpressed by years and decades of hassles;
Epistemicidal, takfears and Salafi rascals.

Horizons made narrow through long winded debating,
Or compromised Preventitude that's morally castrating.

Who said that those in salafi stained glass houses shouldn't blow kisses?

The College of the Oppressed

A young lady bleeds in Jatrabari,

Body punctured by the Chhatro League

Who came for her father

Then followed orders from their masters

To annihilate the progeny of political adversaries.

Lord console her parent's trembling hearts.

Shaheeda Iffatudoha Sadia,

May you be raised amongst the highest,

In His gracious sight,

In the hearts of green birds

An afterlife of delight. 

Be strong dear survivors,

These years of torment,

In the College of the Oppressed,

Could turn lesser humans to beasts.

I pray that you may contribute

To transformation - head and root,

Of this bedevilled nation

Of multiple and extreme exploitation. 

Truly Asia?

"Malaysia Truly Asia"
The entertainers sang with glee
Orang asli black face
Recruited into the fantasy.

Well I'm Asian too
And saw these moves
Poured over the ICT.
Those judges lied.
We saw Futuricide
And thousands cried
Into a soup of fear and tea.

Fantasia Truly Asia
Lord spare you the brutal scene
That degenerates my delta
Step away from the whitening cream.

Forget isis,
Oil prices,
This is the crisis,
Political Epistemic Encephalitis.

#StepDownHasina : A Poem

Uh oh, Sayedi appeal verdict time

The blood lust continues
Warped historical values
Condemn an innocent man
for the crimes of another
As part of the chetonazi development plan.

White House Muslim

Please let me introduce myself
I am a (wo)man of influence and taste
I've been around since the Ummah began
Sold out many a Muslim's faith

I was around when Mir Jafar let down
Bengal for the East India Company men.
I made sure I went to Downing Street
As they bombed my Afghan brethren

I'm pleased to meet you
I hope you guessed my name
What is that troubling you?
Are you just jealous of my fame?