404 OF WORDS

Where has words went wrong, that they no
longer had a place in your heart?




404
404











Of words
Of words







































F A T H I M A H

S H A M S U D D I N

A U T H O R ' S N O T E




404 of words is an anthology of collective poems under one
message that I wanted to convey, the importance of words in
communicqting and conveying one's feelings.

404 I used here indicates that a word could have hundreds
meaning but it is also a code for "Not Foumd Error". Just like
chrysanthemum on a grave, I put them on the cover of this
anthology to comfort your grief and bereavement for words that
has long bid adieu and no longer to be found.

I don't wish for you to interpret the meanings with the same
messages that I've potrayed in my writing, I wish you see them in
your own perspectives and have your own outlook on each poems
because a good poet is the one that deliver within metaphors in
aligned script.

| P O E T R Y |



I love how poetry talked about

the moon and star in
replacement of you and I, and
when it sang like birds chirping
for the rhythm of ecstasy that
we composed but soon in another
stanza it mourned about the
raw flesh and bloodshed of war

in favor of death.

|Without which, not|



Sine qua non,happiness in poetry,
A harmless form of paroxysm that incites the wrath,
In how beautiful words are scribbled, I inhale rancour,
And in how meticulous every lines arranged, I savour resentment,
At the very last stanza, I saw how life is only an obligation to death,
Without living, one would never die.




































Sine qua non, sadness in reality,
I was introduced to "once upom a time" scene,
Where there is a moonlight in every darkness,
And there are whistles of piccolo in every dirge,
At the very last breath I saw how death is only an obligation to life,
Without death, one were never alive.

|Criminal|

In disgrace, I cut the tail of fate in half.
To unnamed future, to the blurry hereafter,
Now the tail is a little short, art is still lengthy,
If there's a shortcut in life, then the destination is cul-de-sac,
And I'd go back knowing where I belonged

In remorse, I wrote a decree in poetic manner,
To some named philosophers, to the pedestrian begger,
Now the decree is a little dusty, mind is still hungry,
If there's a sin of men in heaven, is for never lusted over more than a pair of
eyes,
And for at night, they pray to own duplicated minds.

In bliss of ignorance, thou recite petty lines,
To thy nephew, to thy niece, to thy son, to thy daughter,
Now the sin no longer guilted, seeing deed was never a teach,
If there's a satisfaction in repentance, I ought to make another trespass
And so I could be the one and only behind the bars for years of generation.

|Unknown Sonnet|


I can tell you,
Poems which I read,
Books in my shelf,
Strokes of ink from my quill,
But I won't,
Because then you'd see,
How a poet I am,
Succumb to rancour,
Then you'd know,
How my sonnet sail,
Only to sink,
Engulf in feelings,
Since you'd never care,
The metaphors within,
In which happiness too,
Is dark, blood, tears and pain.

|Final Elegy|

If words couldn't describe feelings
there won't be a need for this elegy,
Or a need to be prejudiced
towards thunderstorm and roses in poetry,
If a fast drive of emotions
could bring us to the lowest tide of the sea,
Then the depth of ocean can be foreseen
by a mere metaphor's decree.

But words could unfold thousands of lies that you keep
lying under the elegies that you conceited,
Thus it would cost to be friends
with the words that axed your secrets' fence,
If the ancestors' greed to write,
is the greatest sin ever written in Sanskrit,
Then the consequences are for the descendants like us
to face it,
And so I bid adieu in my final elegy,
To pay for the tragedy,
Because goodbye would stay for eternity.