I miss the hug

A hug that they give you and you forget the weaknesses of your existence.

I miss a kiss

The kiss that someone give you and your stomach make those noise like is full of butterflies

I miss the smile

That childish smile that you have

U are smiling and all nature become

Pink

I miss the walk to the beach

The waves

The perfume of the salt

I miss the sunshine and the sunset

All the simple things that I had

I miss the generosity of people

I miss the kindness of grandparents

I miss the relaxing moments of drinking a coffee

Now, they all want your friend, your position, your talent, your contact, your potential, your life almost but no one…

Nobody want to get in your shoes

They are too tide.!!!! 

at the perfumery

the vibrant fragrance

of freshly peeled tangerine

          my first time 

          dealing cards

Paul Callus (Malta) / Christina Chin (Malaysia) 

– – – – – – – – – – –

the busy 

holiday streets

lovely afternoon

          hawkers experience

          a sales bonanza

Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)

– – – – – – – – – – –

snow butterfly 

clings to the leaf  

beautiful spring

          speckled wings

          on a buddleia bush

Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)

1. Please share your thoughts about the future of literature..

 It gives me the greatest honor to share and partake my own passion for literature, that ornament that embellishes our livelihood throughout lifetime, I am smitten by rendition and erudition of books in all life spheres, to build up a cultural cauldron inside my mind, to dissolve in the amalgam of civilizations and conception of the other, I am not that fond of traveling abroad, for fear of nostalgia to swathes of my endeared heartfelt homeland, rather I consider reading is the solution to unravel the riddle and decipher the intricacies of the others’ thoughts, attitudes and expectations.

It mirrors their torchlight guidance for the generations who are in dire need of your imagination and enlightenment to recognize who they really are, to perceive to what extent they reached out in their conceptualizing the core and crux of what is going on in the literary and scientific arenas.

• When u start writing?

I do start since the prim of my youth, as a curious onlooker youngling in pursuance of language exposure, I listen a lot to the radio transmissions, like BBC news, or VOA coverage, I wrote down what I was hearing with the help of pronunciation skills I gained, the process by which I acquired spontaneity and fluency in English, fundaments in some other languages, didactic methodological errands to tackle my subject matter helped me a lot, throughout planning to – do lists in English, to your amazement, I tried to find out equivalent in my Arabic Fus7a the mother tongue, regarding idiomatic structure, interjection and syntax.

That linguistic inclination granted me tools and opened up large scale horizons to address the other, the process reached its zenith alongside with the gigantic leap of the know how, technological platforms, I jumped into platforms and mobile apps dealing in learning languages, there are so many to imitate the inventory contents and speak with the other. Since then, I planned a pathway to work on translation as a bonfire or a kindled flame to light up minds and allure other to the benefits of linguistics, as I volunteer to do so, awaiting to reap the fruits and my words instilled and inscribed in the scroll of universal history of literature like the notable role models in prose and verse.

• The Good and the Bad.

• Who is winning in nowadays?

That is a philosophical question, compelling me to the inner self of mankind, good and evil deeds created and innate inside of us, instinctively we might be susceptible to both pathways, but the mighty hand of good and righteous so doing is the vanquisher at last, goodness is like the lofty sun light, a heavenly revelation, but all humans err, and have shortcomings and deficiencies engendered, that abomination and obscene inclination dimmed the lovely hearts, that may delude us and made us into an abyss of the hell. There are wise proverbs admonishing us all—do good and cast it into the seas, do as you would be done by. Therefore, emanating from that mundane truth, we must uphold the slogan or motto of good and faithfulness rather than malfide and diabolical intrigues.

• How many books have you written

And where can we find your books?

My printed out paper literary output was not that superfluous, I wrote about 10 short stories long time ago, but some of which were printed, in fact, 3 of which named: a human being.. But?.. The altars of imagination.. Snippets tinged with the savory of one’sself.. So many published electronically on Facebook prose symposia such as:the Golden Forum of short story, the Arab conference magazine platform.. Poetic anthologies are my passion, I wrote rhymed and free verse, my first diwan named : give me some sake, my poetic quill?..’ Hanaiki ‘Published and printed, but alot of poems scattered through websites and platforms, I also translate from other foreignlanguages into the Arabic.

Novels and novella play an important part of significance, the Adventurous novel ‘Nabhan and Dannan Alhazhaian’ – Nabhah and the Cask of Bewilderness, published this year, along with a translated novella— what’s after? Both Arabic and English versions of mine. For me, I dreamt to publish an encyclopedia encompassing most of luminaries around the globe with entire congregational literary genre masterpieces I have translated for them, still that dream awaiting a sponsor to make into the light. Translation is all in all undulating waves of outrageous sea of knowledge, full of untold sunken pearls in need to shine. A plea to all literary avant-garde laureates in all fields—give a keen eye on the translators, supposedly, I am one of them. Also, I am doing great in the sphere of literary criticism, you can follow my studies for the Arab writers through Arab symposium for contemporary criticism, and magazine like Amarjy, Damietta, blue world magazine, Nokhba, and other Greek, Romanian and Albanian podiums.

Anyone can search on my name through Google search engine in Arabic and English: Ahmed Farooq Baidoon أحمد فاروق بيضون.

• What will be the future?

The future is promising, throughout unprecedented microcosm of consensus of literate, authors, playwrights, novelists, poets and poetesses, along with the evolutionary literary new genres, like haiku, tanka, haibun, micro-fiction, micro novella, I wish the future of literature created a venue that shall simplify meeting of the notable acculutred from the entire global territories, to stand united as upholders of word beauty and firmaments, they build up mind apart from undermining mental calibers of the generation by trivial bandwagon of fallacies and violence. We all call upon peace, welfare and serenade, to populate the Earth, to be worthy living and let the children of the world sing the song of unity and unanimous psalms of  love. I dreamt that I could hear  the sparrows chirping again.

• ..A wish for 2025

I wish it will be the turning point for a fruitful future, that’s all,

If only I could see the sunlight without imbued clouds,

If only I could see festivity world-wide without a droplet of tear or bereavement,

Let-alone a world of grudge-free and cherished with tempestuous sentiments.

Be it a dream in impelling need to come true or still the apparition of hatred looms?

• A phrase from your book

(I Am The Wandering Letter)

Behold—here I am the solitary letter,

Let go astray in a paginated paper,

My ink fountain has muttered its insomnia,

I wrote down words and battle myself in a race,

I stay up late at daytime and darkness loom at night,

Therein – could hear all shall carry and trace,

I call upon everyone before the glow of twilight,

How come could eyes blink-my ribs fed up with stress,

How come shall we caress those melancholic setbacks with laughter alright,

And, hide all what may choke of distress,

And, flout all contemptuous abomination and dismiss,

Oh! Let-alone that blackout and sleepless eyelids perplexed till late times,

And, all inflected upon us—such lethal crimes,

I shall lay aside all overwhelming screams into oblivion rhymes,

Behold – the stroke of pens, ripped papers of mine; be it echoless as I feel down,

That serves me right as crippled, knitting my eyebrow and frown,

Does the croak of toads prevail in the universe and trumpet?

Verily, the celestial skies manifested as my salvation refuge to glimpse in slumber,

From color to another, we shall stomp it,

Behold-homesick of days, in grey tug of conflicting starry curtains – please hide,

If only I could be back in shape, a free letter without clipping wings – open- eyed.

i watch as your bright lights pollute the air

engulfing the sky in exhaustive energy that

stings my eyes, burning holes into my

pupils while searing your initials onto my

face. you believe i am yours to control,

yours to entirely claim, and never once

has my body willingly let itself into yours.

i can feel you coming down the hall, your

footsteps rattling inside my veins, and

while my soul fights for a breath free 

from you, my feet never take me away.

why are you so relentless? why do you

fight to keep me by your side? there is

no continuity between us, no bonds

sealing us together as one. your autonomy

over me is fabricated, as it only exists

within the confines of your mind. all i

can ever beg for is that when i finally

leave your thoughts, i hope i never

linger within the depths of your brain.

Poem 1: 

In Memory of Donald Vruwink (Senior)

Your almanac was always breathing.

The heart’s imaginary twin

Will die. “We’ll all be lovely then,” 

You’d say. My bones are done, done reading

The soil. A clever fever’s scribbling

Its high opinion of the moon

On it. We’ll all be lovely, then

We’ll banish imitation’s sibling. 

The death of plethora seems tawdry

When thunder darts the dirt with thin

Flashes. We’ll all be lovely, then

Tornados will be riding shotty. 

Poem 2:

In Memory of Sol Sheff

Words are like eyes; we often fail

To see a thing until it’s said. 

Each poem’s a mental pyramid

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

The rough perfection of a gull

You stewarded in Jacksonville.

And in Milwaukee, there’s a thrill

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

The sun’s ushabti may console

An Army corporal on the beach

At dawn. You gave a crippled speech

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

Poem 3:

In Honor of Louis Pasteur

“The picturesqueness of human thought may console us for its imperfection.”

–       George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty

Nobody honestly reports

On the beliefs of others. Wolves

Explain what alchemy involves

To beakers blackened by beaux arts. 

You said that men who run from warts

Are like a bear that runs from fish. 

And logic’s like a petri dish

To beakers blackened by beaux arts. 

Your era loved what love distorts…

One cannot trust the naked eye

Which craves the novel modesty

Of beakers blackened by beaux arts.

Poem 4: 

Blackguarding Merles

You mock a dahlia’s faith in rain

And March’s hieratic pain

In Wotan’s one good eye. I show

The only serious dog I know

The absence of a final task. 

(His bark becomes so plateresque.) 

Jocasta’s hardship melts the snow…

The only serious dog I know

Is on precocious wisdom’s trail.

Your apperception tugs his tail.

For Tiresias, you set aglow

The only serious dog I know. 

Poem 5: 

Schtupping Philosophy

After Mark Strand

“If only it were so easy to soothe hunger by rubbing an empty belly.” 

–       Diogenes the Cynic, on public masturbation

 “Qui veut faire l’ange fait la bête.”

–       Blaise Pascal, Pensées

Fear pats the propaganda on

Each head. Hate rubs the belly of

Hypocrisy. There’s Puppy-Love,

Schtupping Philosophy again. 

 “O, History, you’re not strapped for time,”

She moans while strapping me in wings.

Her drunken master drily sings:

“Schtupping Philosophy turns wine 

To dust!” When we extremes do meet

In bed, what’s born reveals our chains

And all but holy sweetness feigns. 

Schtupping Philosophy, one ought

To pause one’s speech, but not one’s thought. 

Play Water Music, let all see

The truth’s invisibility. 

Schtupping Philosophy brings out

Third eyes. This post-renewal age

Can’t fathom seasons. Anger warps

Each blossom, buzzing does each corpse…

Schtupping Philosophy onstage, 

I feel the sunlight’s bearded breath. 

The earth lets go of hardness. This

Gets harder moonlight, as does Bliss

Schtupping Philosophy to death.  

Poem 6:

Ode on My Daughter’s Bat Mitzvah (an Acrostic)

“If faith is the sail on a relationship, one with a broken faith is a hardship. What do you build a new sail with when your faith is broken? Hardiness. Jacob is hardy… Hardiness is not the same as hardness. The ‘i’ in hardiness is a reaching hand; hardiness strives, it reaches through hardness.” – Madeleine Sheff, from her d’var Torah

Do not too aggressively light upon

Adulthood, nor too agreeably go 

Usurp its tumultuous limits. Snow

Greets every shoeless shaliach whose crown,

Humility, isn’t the brownest brown. 

Take Laban, who wears mankind’s to-and-fro

Every season, and his deceptive chatter

Richly to the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

Of intellectual hatred, we’ve Yeats

For removing any gray gratitude

(Tantamount to cemetery gates):

Haunted by it, your life’s just a bladder

Emptied at the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

Comedy’s cruelty makes men brood.

Oh, even tragedy must look away.

Muteness sympathizes with nature’s food;

Made wingless in wine glass novels by day,

All of it runs full speed from decay. 

Normal Saturdays are mad as a hatter

Dimmed by the shadow of Jacob’s ladder. 

May the chuppah embrace each ah! bright ray

Eternal nature absorbs from your frame. 

Nouns have more beauty than verbs; don’t name

This place Terra Terribilis then shatter

Seraphs at the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

The Heart is Where We Belong.
– Author Haroon Rashid

We always feel that life is there,
Somewhere, where we want to search for.
But why do we forget that life is within,
The Peace is within, the charm, the spark,
The light and the dark, everything is within.

What do we search outside for?
What is beyond our horizons? Nothing.
There’s nothingness in the air,
There is no flair in the hair.
Everything is in the heart,
And heart is where we belong.
And the heart is with you.
Yes, with you.

And with you, this spark, this light,
This charm, this life, everything comes out.
So live your best life,
Give your heart where it belongs,
And live the life, love the life, and feel alive.
—Written by Author Haroon Rashid

Author Haroon Rashid – Biography

Haroon Rashid is an internationally celebrated author, poet, and scholar renowned for his profound literary works and contributions to global peace and education. He gained worldwide recognition for his poetry book We Fell Asleep in One World and Woke Up in Another, which deeply resonated with readers across cultures and was later translated by Nobel Prize Laureate 2024 Eva Petropoulou Lianou. His book Author Haroon Rashid Quotes further solidified his reputation as a writer who masterfully blends wisdom, spirituality, and human emotions into his work.

Haroon’s literary achievements have earned him numerous accolades, including the United Nations Karmaveer Chakra Award and the Global Peace Award from the Mother Teresa International Foundation. His influence extends beyond literature, as he has been honored with an Honorary Degree in Humanity from La Haye, France, and the Golden Eagle Award for Literary Excellence. He has proudly represented India at various international literary and peace events, including the Paper Fiber Fest and the International Congress of Education in Mexico.

Beyond writing, Haroon Rashid is an advocate for sustainable development, serving as an ambassador for SDG4 (Quality Education) and SDG13 (Climate Action). His works emphasize themes of peace, cultural harmony, and personal transformation through enriching humanity. As the National Vice Chairman of Youth India at the Mother Teresa International Foundation, he actively promotes youth engagement in education and humanitarian efforts.

Haroon Rashid’s influence has reached global platforms, with invitations to speak at prestigious events in Mexico and Greece, and features in O, The Oprah Magazine and The Oprah Winfrey Show. Through his writing and activism, he continues to inspire millions, leaving an indelible mark on literature and global consciousness.

Visible, For Ellyn (Maybe?)

As I wait for our nearly ten hour conversation to upload

This poem is always already published in heaven

with respects to Patti Smith

“Oh wow”-Ellyn Maybe

“There’s something in the collective paw of the world”-also Ellyn (“Whiff of Wonder”)

So where do I begin

of all the

Encomiums pinned to the

goddess fold this is among

The flowers

the surface of the turf of the waves of the silver mine

The dramatic unfolding of the rose within the heart of matter melting into infinity

The remarkable steep climb down/up a very short/long limbed cliff

That makes the counterintuitive look like:

The breath of God

Or maybe the ear God scratches on its fins

Or maybe the…

Gosh

Golly

So yeah

so yeah

so yeah

(Giggles)

Wow, what a trip, right?

I agree

That was wild!!!

A really intense, pleasurable, purely innocent

walk on the moon’s moon

walk on the star’s spume

Walk along the

Hands of the

Golden clock walk in the

Shade of the garden of the

Fauns

and frankly, fuck

Adam and Eve

Nothing against them, but boy is that mythology

Begging for a reboot ‘

‘

Let’s let lapsarian swim some

Laps at the bottom of Rimbaud’s alchemy of the Word

L’alchemie du verbe

Let’s allow the glow to

Gather at our

Toes let’s

Freeze frame this desolate timeline for once and

All

Let’s make quantum theory look like Santa Claus

Flowing in and out of the chimney of God’s

Hair

Let’s make quantum computing look like if

Iceland

was really

Sweden was really

A

Forest of star-spangled

Elephant meerkats

Let’s turn over

First principles

Let’s unearth

the

Satellites we stole apparently Emily Dickinson

Let’s deface the astral mime-field of

Walt Whitman let’s and

Let’s and

Lettuce

See

What is at the end of

The final fork

Oh beauty of a dream of life, terrible and

wonderful and

throned in blood

Oh verite cinema complex where

dragons hit the

Snuff pipe of radiation

Oh Weimar complex where the

Dusseldorf vampire is doing bumps with

The Sno-cone nose of

Adolf Hister

Let’s turn over a new lava lump

and glow

glow

glow

Like

Fabulous

Opera…

Love is a multiple Folio William Shakespeare’s sonnets

paddled out through the

Desert of the waters of the

Future

Love is a pincushion made of

Elves in a

Sidereal blast you

jogged me at the

Elbow saying

In the end it will

be

Okay in the

End it was our communal landing strip where

Bob Dylan and

Dylan Thomas and

William Blake and

All the other

Rock and roll niggers were

Examining the

World’s largest

Tuning farce inside the

Grimdark nostrils of

the grumbling stones.

Photo credit: Alex S. Johnson, taken from a ten-hour zoom conversation Sunday March 23rd, 2025 or it was a minute.