Books and Review news - Theo 101

“Let dreams be drowned in tunes and rhythms
And let there be no safe guard
The play button should swim naked
Rest should be chewed by sharks”
-    Misreading Metaphors 

A grimace envisaged—his medieval shawm as pulsates: on the way being sharks' dinner, to know half is more perilous than not knowing at all; there sits the poet, crosslegged. He smirks. And trillions of illustrations on their trapeze of words, swing in the brain-stomach. The bookworms may gallimaufry between the still-chewing and digested pieces of word-papers. The fingers of versifier play his oboe to this cavernous. He chooses unbridling his readers to go and pen the end of the myth. That is thirty four-offshoot sea Theo 101 versed by Ahmed Tahsin Shams for all fond-of-scriptures (or not). Antivirus Publication (Liverpool, England) comes up with the engrossing piece of which have-to-behold petals wrapped so well embossing thoughtful sagacity that even ones who cannot read would love showcasing it. 

Holy shoes run off his doggerels scorning the quirky poverty of slaughtering veins blood-stormed. The gluttony of 'Oesophagus' at the day's fall stabs him to the neck to forget all the fasting and deeds (putrid or not) until evening. From the inception throughout the spree, the poet passes a vibe: the Holy Writs, metaphors and all the deep words spinning since the beginning now are turned into grapevine, malformed, misread where father roared to ignite and his children scheduled 'to fear regularly'! He thinks “only the third eye can read the prophets' deed” for “Patriots and terrorists row the same boat” and truth should never go rapt by the minute flow as can be warped though worshipped. Sarcasm and revolt swivel all over, every black ABC of the leaves he wrote on. Poles apart are the poet's each a sip and the spurious' trivial trip:
 

“Life!
I love, you live”
                                                            —Pages and Words

He skims away the menace “in the name of Godot or Redeemer” on the hazard-ice—“Leaves who love green / Never fear the wind”; for he perceives knowing the 'no' seeking the pen that writes 'water' on water. 

 '(C)_(I)ng' (seeing) through the valiant eye of drawings in the words, Shams' puns offer a ride athwart dot route to the blank root. The poems insist his fellow travelers seeing elf with 'C Elf' (self) mirroring '9|6' to find if they are leading life without living as their crew said or for it is a crusade where the beacon always remains unseen. Enthrallingly, the poet pens colours that he sees in words. He smells colours when he verbalizes our unsmelt violet fragrance. His hypallages pay different melody apiece. He plays a celesta in each assonance, every alliteration; callous or not —
                             “Grey grasses
                                    Mossy fungal cassava
                              Grandiose mushroom
                                    Evaporated opaque genre”
                                                                —Pregnant Pain

Shams entwines never told tales over smoking tea with all his allusions mostly in 'Please Do Not Read'; sometimes just a chat or a warm thanksgiving goes on, and sometimes they smile to his poems or leer to others, or shrug. His readers may get him their first ever pencil mark on the notebook throughout this drive of time and settings. His laid-back storytelling bit by bit sends the neurons a message: as if he were there! While reading Shams, his pesky travelers may sneer and to them, he knows this — so 'Peace! You mumbling fool!' because this is the beholder eying his view from his very own true path. There he has the undistorted books from the Eden, actualities from every rebel living thing talked to, there he meets two Supremes all made up as per individuals' perspectives and a God that badly is secluded craving for a tête-à-tête. 

The post modern poet has some deliberate repetitions and antiquity in his lingo-run that glistens for him even bolder. 'No' is not 'nothing', he knows. So he starts all over from the ancient mossed granite walls to the baffled moribunds this age. This miasmic air endures the hodgepodge muddled out from the cerulean peak of knowledge untouched and he metaphored the ways out, the staircase that elevates to the zero. 

Shams seems to have his self-made epithets keeping some idea on which may help understanding him more. Browns are most possible to be meant humans that are usually claimed to be made of mud, or dirt. Humans in his verses receive metaphors like 'Brainy Grey-Dual Holes' too where grey stands for meanings like a blend of black and white aura inside beings.  

“After meeting all –isms”, Shams' philosophy sketches paws-feet-eyes-mouth of brainless lust as the image of visor mutterings by blinded followers of religions. He goes atleast with no fag creed that instigates, tantalizes towards greed, and flips derision like rewarding with seventy thousand gelmans afterworld in change of fasting the holiness of earthly urge. He portrays an epistemophobic God whom knowledge scares. This God manipulates his creations bribing them, the tree of knowledge-fruit stays hidden aside. 

The figurative mails as the poet unenveloped are better said his masterpieces. 'Letter de Heaven', 'Note from Mirthland', 'Message from an Angel' and 'Letter from a Dead Man' can be found epitomizing readers' thought-cocoons —

“What's a wife cloned in thousand times?
And what's madira not if mesmerized?”
—    Note from Mirthland

Life gets green to greener names amid Shams' touch, vague as he prefers not defining anything, but raw; as Purnendu Patri would say “Prattler Chevalier heaving his thoughts whirl play”. And anti-antonym Shams says “'Peare's poor player life is”; for he reasons the end not valuing only the path and he goes with whatsoever carpe-diem. He sees hundreds of tombs everyday swathing the temples' ground, the heart of nirvana peeps out from corners. Eventually, you never know what this squall is really thinking! His clarinet sings —
“Don't waste your tear
It's just graveyard
Life is life
When
You live out there”